A Studied Lack of Circumspection (Harlem's Deck 14) Page 2

  *

  In a world where a suitably gifted (and certifiably insane) individual might petition the services of some fiend or spirit to break into corporate property, it was no real surprise that businesses had been forced to consider this other threat to their security.

  How, after all, does one protect against individuals who might be able to circumvent the most comprehensive of modern alarm systems by the simple expedient of stepping through to the otherside.

  (Simple, yes, but again – crazy.)

  Any kya worth their salt could tell you that to choose to spend time on the otherside was to choose to play dice with your sanity, not to mention your soul. And yet people still did.

  Yeah, go figure.

  So big business was forced to come up with contingencies to deal with these esoteric break-ins. And since there were only two agencies that provided personnel willing to work on the otherside, and only one of those ever answered the phone (so to speak), it was inevitable that the damned found themselves with a nice, legitimate shoe-in to doing business with the mortal plane.

  It was one of those 'facts of life' that nobody liked to talk about, outside of the sort of corporate scare stories that were bread and butter to the tabloids. But the only alternative was to pay the exorbitant fees the kya fellowship (as embodied in the dojos) charged, or employ a priest.

  This later was great if your thief was packing a daemon, but not so much if your felon was one of the many variously shaded witch/mage(etc)-style magic users whose ancestral blood the shallows had woken from its slumber.

  (Things were not of course that cut and dried, with such things as level of piety and strength of will an important factor. And of course there were the undead to consider. But that was where things started to get really complicated...)

  There was also with a priest the slight sticking point (for many) that the church demanded regular attendance at service from any and all who sought their services as a non-negotiable part of their standard contract. It was surprising how many people would rather risk fiscal loss than set foot in a nave. Elliot really couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Especially when the alternative was a (carefully leashed) atrocity slathering its way about your premises at night. He'd take a man of the cloth and an hours piety over a daemon any day of the week, shackled or otherwise.

  The practice was, of course, strictly policed. The NPD had a department specifically tasked with the job. The officers thus employed were the closest that the force had to bonafide Nu Shakya on their payroll. Indeed, the only reason they didn't actual have kya of their own was the jealous hold the dojo's kept on their training, supported by Neppon's wealthier families. By continuing to pay (and thereby reinforce) the ridiculous prices the dojos charged the families ensured they alone held the power of the kya in their sway, keeping it well out of the budgetary reach of the civic constabulary. And this neat little bit of capitalist elitism found support from the masses for the simple fact that by the funding the dojos like this the families freed them to throw their doors open to almost any and all comers, at the sort of nominal price practically anyone could afford.

  It was an imperfect system, filled with iniquities and open to abuse.

  Which was exactly what Elliot was counting on this evening.

  “Ah corporate espionage. That great, unacknowledged reason we kya exist.”

  “I'm sorry sir?”

  Elliot glanced up from where he practically lay, sprawled across the Moonbeams palatial back seats. “Sorry Brahms, talking to myself.” He swiped at his phone's screen, slipping it back into the pocket of his trousers.

  “Very good sir.”

  “You two getting on okay up there?” He shuffled forwards, poking his head between the front seat head rests to glance between the imposing driver and the dead crow on the seat next to him.

  “We're fine, aren't we B-man?”

  “Mr Daiko and I were discussing the implications of the various party promises offered by the winners of last week's vote.”

  “Oh aye? And what did you conclude?”

  “That they're all a bunch of liars willing to sell their grandmother if it'll get them a spot in the hot seat.”

  Elliot glanced at Brahms, who smiled beneath his wraparounds, eyes never leaving the road. “As Mr D puts it. The playing field is levelled somewhat by their posturing.”

  “I won't tell Jay you said that.”

  Brahms' lips quirked. “Mr Roscan is well aware of my ambivalence for his policy. I believe he and Mr Wilson listed it as one of the reasons they originally hired me.”

  “I don't doubt that.” Elliot settled back into the cushioning. “Reminds me: gotta send a quick message seeking assistance from a fellow ambivalent. Give me a shout when we're almost at the first stop?”

  “As you say.”