Zero, What a God!

Chapter 4

Vittorio raised his head, and his voice came out low and heavy. "Insult me all day. Leave my mother out of it!"

For one second, he saw exactly how Brock's elbow would bend and how far it would go before it snapped. The cold climbed up his wrists, and the tattoo under his windbreaker began to warm.

If it glowed here, Leviathan and Crimson Wolf would both learn which gate Zero guarded. The man who sold him at Gallows Ravine would arrive before noon, and Teresa's killer would disappear before Celine ever gave him a name. So Vittorio counted four breaths in and held four, the way the Corps had drilled it into him at fourteen.

The cold sank back into him before the tattoo could glow.

"Wh-what was that?" Brock muttered behind him, and his grip slipped a fraction.

The slip was all Vittorio needed. He turned his wrists once, Brock's thumbs lost their hold, and Brock stumbled backward into the coffee machine.

CLANK!

The pot tipped off its plate, and hot coffee splashed down the front of Brock's uniform. He yelped and hopped away from the counter, slapping at his shirt.

Victor pointed the black card at Vittorio. "He attacked a guard! You all saw it, he attacked one of your own men in front of a resident. Ron, call the police before he runs!"

Vittorio ignored him and picked up the night log from the counter. For six months he had written down every plate that came through the barrier, while Brock and Chase slept in the back room and Ron called the log a waste of ink.

He opened it to last night's page and turned it toward Victor. "Ten past one. A white convertible left the Langley driveway with no exit pass, sir. Every car that leaves after midnight needs a pass from the resident, so I wrote down the plate and flagged it for the morning shift."

Victor's mouth opened, then shut again. Behind the desk, Ron pulled the log toward himself and found the red flag in Vittorio's neat handwriting, right where the morning shift never bothered to look.

Then Vittorio turned to Ron. "Play the gate camera for that minute, Mr. Diaz."

Ron glanced at Victor, then at the log. The dead cigarette trembled between his fingers. Finally, he dragged the mouse across the desk and opened the camera file.

On the screen, the convertible rolled up to the barrier under the floodlight. The young man at the wheel waved at the booth without stopping, and the gold statue sat on the passenger seat with the seatbelt buckled across it.

Chase made a choking sound, and even Brock stopped wiping his shirt.

Victor's face went from red to gray. That was his son, and every man in the room had recognized him.

Victor recovered first and raised the card. "Fine, my son borrowed the statue, and that's a family matter. It doesn't explain this. A guard doesn't carry a card like this unless he stole it from someone richer than him!"

He still had a weapon in his hand, and he believed it was loaded. Vittorio almost felt sorry for him.

Without raising his voice, Vittorio nodded at the card. "Call the number on the back, sir."

Victor sneered, flipped the card over, and dialed on speaker so the whole room could hear him win.

A woman answered on the second ring. "Private client services. This line is recorded, so how may I help you?"

"I'm holding a black card that a security guard stole from somebody. The name on it says Moretti, and I want it cancelled today," Victor said, smiling at Ron.

The line went silent for three full seconds.

"Sir, is Mr. Moretti present? I need to speak with him directly," the woman said, and her voice had lost all its warmth.

"I'm here," Vittorio said.

"Mr. Moretti, on behalf of the bank, I apologize for this disturbance. The card is valid, and it has never been reported lost or stolen. Would you like us to record the caller's name and report him?"

Victor's smile slid off his face. He stared at the phone, then at the card, then at the bruised guard with coffee on his boots.

Vittorio let the question hang until Victor's hand began to shake. "No need. He was just leaving."

The card slipped from Victor's fingers and landed at Vittorio's feet. Victor hurried out of the post, clutching his robe closed, and his slippers slapped the pavement twice as fast on the way out.

Nobody in the room understood what kind of bank apologized to a night guard, and nobody dared to ask.

Ron yanked the cash box out from under the desk. He moved so fast that it slipped from his grip.

CLANG!

The box hit the floor and burst open. Coins rolled under the chairs, and Ron dropped to his knees to gather the bills.

"About that pay cut, Mr. Moretti, it was only a joke. You know how we are around here, always teasing the new guy. Here, every cent of it, and I'll put you down for the full week too."

Ron smoothed the bills against his knee with shaking fingers before he held them out. For six months, this man had docked Vittorio's pay for clocking in two minutes late, and now he was crawling under chairs for coins.

"We… we didn't mean anything by it, Mr. Moretti. That stuff about your mother was just talk." Brock bowed his head, and beside him, Chase did the same.

Ten minutes ago, Brock had said it with his mouth against Vittorio's ear. Now the two of them bowed the way they bowed whenever a resident drove past. Vittorio gave them nothing back.

Vittorio picked up the black card, took his pay from Ron's hand, and walked out without a word. A guard's night log and Zero's old card had cleared his name, and he had not needed a single punch.

At twenty to eight, he chained his electric bike behind the Lucky Suds Laundromat and climbed the stairs, where the smell of hot bleach rose from the dryers below. Trent's loafers were gone from the mat, and someone had swept the glass from the broken wedding photo into a pile by the wall.

The door was open.

Vanessa sat on his couch with a new diamond ring on her finger. Her mother Diane stood beside her with her arms crossed, a pearl necklace gleaming at her throat, and her brother Kyle leaned on the wall with his phone raised, already filming.

Diane threw a folder at Vittorio's face. "Sign it, you thief!"