Even after the desensitization of my life and the passing of all those years, I still got the chills when I got close.
Oh, Seattle…the land of Pearl Jam and Nirvana and Soundgarden and Jimi Hendrix. Though I couldn’t listen to music much anymore, it was music that seemed to define this place. A fog hid the skyline until we were right up on it. Like a burlesque dancer, the city slowly began to reveal itself as I hung a right onto I-5, first the Mariners’ and Seahawks’ stadiums and then the skyscrapers of downtown. I couldn’t see the surrounding mountains today, but I knew they were out there, and they’d dropped my jaw more times than I could count. Seattle was a magic city, filled with darkness and mystery and life.
CHAPTER 5
Dr. Wilhelm Sebastian’s house was located a few blocks from the water on the top of the hill in Magnolia, a peninsula neighborhood northwest of Seattle that they called the “Island,” despite the facts. Tall bluffs lined the shore, dropping steeply down into the Puget Sound where the water bashed the cliffs on nasty days, splashing up toward the giant homes resting so close to the edge.
The house was full-on Art Deco—lots of glass and modern angles. The kind of place that “new money” (something Seattle has in spades) builds. I’m sure you could see the entire city and half the state from the front door when it was clear out. A cold May wind pushed its way inside the door as we entered the house. Hopefully it would warm up soon, but summer doesn’t start until July in Seattle, so I wasn’t holding my breath.
Our team was on high alert. The threatening phone calls were a big deal. They had the family scared out of their minds. Especially considering that the Summit was coming tomorrow. We had the phones tapped now. Not much we could do as far as being on the offensive. We had nothing to work with.
After I met the team, Ted sent me and his cousin, Francesca Daly, right back out into the gloom to walk the perimeter before we moved. Francesca Daly: not exactly what I’d expected. She looked nothing like Ted. I guess I was expecting some ultra-tall woman with a bald spot and fifteen-inch biceps. Not so. Francesca was classic Italian, borderline cliché. I could have guessed her name. Long brown hair with a bit of natural curl. Warm amber eyes. A little mole on her right cheek. She was medium height and in good shape and had the disciplined posture of a military-type.
We had barely even shaken hands when she decided to take a step way over onto my bad side.
I asked in the most courteous way, “Where are you from?” Looked her in the eyes, waiting on an answer.
She turned away from me. “Don’t look at me that way.” Her English came with a healthy Italian accent, and it sounded more British than American. “It’s not going to get you anywhere.” Yes, those words came out of her mouth. That took guts.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, lady,” I said. This Italian transplant had gotten the wrong idea. I flung out my hand and pointed at her. “Women are the last thing on my mind.”
“I bet.”
“Look, you might be Ted’s family. Hell, you could be his favorite person on earth, but that doesn’t mean I have to treat you like your shit smells like tulips. I’m here to do a job. If you are insecure about your good looks, you can take it somewhere else. I barely noticed.”
She wasn’t even looking at me. “Please. I know your kind, and I’m just saying, don’t bother.”
“You know what? You need to tell yourself that exact thing. Don’t bother, lady. In fact,” I added, putting two fingers under my eyes, “look at me for a second.”
She turned her head and put those brown eyes on me.
I continued. “Consider me married, unavailable, uninterested, gay, castrated, transgender, unisexual, and full of hate, all wrapped into one. You can even think of me as your grandma if you want. I wasn’t looking at you like I wanted to get into bed with you. If I
Oh, Seattle…the land of Pearl Jam and Nirvana and Soundgarden and Jimi Hendrix. Though I couldn’t listen to music much anymore, it was music that seemed to define this place. A fog hid the skyline until we were right up on it. Like a burlesque dancer, the city slowly began to reveal itself as I hung a right onto I-5, first the Mariners’ and Seahawks’ stadiums and then the skyscrapers of downtown. I couldn’t see the surrounding mountains today, but I knew they were out there, and they’d dropped my jaw more times than I could count. Seattle was a magic city, filled with darkness and mystery and life.
CHAPTER 5
Dr. Wilhelm Sebastian’s house was located a few blocks from the water on the top of the hill in Magnolia, a peninsula neighborhood northwest of Seattle that they called the “Island,” despite the facts. Tall bluffs lined the shore, dropping steeply down into the Puget Sound where the water bashed the cliffs on nasty days, splashing up toward the giant homes resting so close to the edge.
The house was full-on Art Deco—lots of glass and modern angles. The kind of place that “new money” (something Seattle has in spades) builds. I’m sure you could see the entire city and half the state from the front door when it was clear out. A cold May wind pushed its way inside the door as we entered the house. Hopefully it would warm up soon, but summer doesn’t start until July in Seattle, so I wasn’t holding my breath.
Our team was on high alert. The threatening phone calls were a big deal. They had the family scared out of their minds. Especially considering that the Summit was coming tomorrow. We had the phones tapped now. Not much we could do as far as being on the offensive. We had nothing to work with.
After I met the team, Ted sent me and his cousin, Francesca Daly, right back out into the gloom to walk the perimeter before we moved. Francesca Daly: not exactly what I’d expected. She looked nothing like Ted. I guess I was expecting some ultra-tall woman with a bald spot and fifteen-inch biceps. Not so. Francesca was classic Italian, borderline cliché. I could have guessed her name. Long brown hair with a bit of natural curl. Warm amber eyes. A little mole on her right cheek. She was medium height and in good shape and had the disciplined posture of a military-type.
We had barely even shaken hands when she decided to take a step way over onto my bad side.
I asked in the most courteous way, “Where are you from?” Looked her in the eyes, waiting on an answer.
She turned away from me. “Don’t look at me that way.” Her English came with a healthy Italian accent, and it sounded more British than American. “It’s not going to get you anywhere.” Yes, those words came out of her mouth. That took guts.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, lady,” I said. This Italian transplant had gotten the wrong idea. I flung out my hand and pointed at her. “Women are the last thing on my mind.”
“I bet.”
“Look, you might be Ted’s family. Hell, you could be his favorite person on earth, but that doesn’t mean I have to treat you like your shit smells like tulips. I’m here to do a job. If you are insecure about your good looks, you can take it somewhere else. I barely noticed.”
She wasn’t even looking at me. “Please. I know your kind, and I’m just saying, don’t bother.”
“You know what? You need to tell yourself that exact thing. Don’t bother, lady. In fact,” I added, putting two fingers under my eyes, “look at me for a second.”
She turned her head and put those brown eyes on me.
I continued. “Consider me married, unavailable, uninterested, gay, castrated, transgender, unisexual, and full of hate, all wrapped into one. You can even think of me as your grandma if you want. I wasn’t looking at you like I wanted to get into bed with you. If I
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