Chapter Twenty-Seven
(Thursday, Noon—Owen)
Owen played morosely with his shrimp. Gordon was on the phone again. Somebody had called earlier and wanted him and Faulkner to drive out to Flour Bluff. Something about a dead body, Gordon had said, though he’d seemed to think that was funny. They were eating quickly, in a hurry to leave. Owen found himself stuffing food in his own mouth out of some sympathetic bingeing instinct. But then Carl had called, and Gordon’s dyspeptic expression took Owen’s appetite away.
Gordon finally hung up and turned to Owen. “Is this guy LaMott a total flake?” he demanded.
“Not…always,” Owen said carefully.
“First he tells us he needs to check facts at his office, then he calls ten minutes later to tell us he’s made all the arrangements on his cell phone. From his damned car.”
“He does get enthusiastic sometimes.” Occasionally. Well…often.
Gordon put his phone away. “If he gets enthusiastic today, he might end up dead.” He picked up his fork, then sneered at perfectly good fried flounder. “LaMott’s supposed to meet Sheffield at the food court in Staples Mall at four-thirty. He says Sheffield hinted at a bribe, and he hinted at accepting it.” Gordon shook his head. “I want to know, so what? It’s not illegal to bribe a reporter. Or if there is a law against it, and I gotta admit there’s a law against nearly everything else I can think of, I never heard of it and it’s still not gonna help. The way I see it, even if Sheffield gives him money, and LaMott takes it, Sheffield’s still gotta kill him somehow, sooner or later, just to be sure. And we’re helping set him up for that.”
“You think Carl doesn’t know what he’s getting into?” Owen pushed his own fish away. “He’s impulsive, but he also knows this could turn into a really big story, and he wants it.” He paused. “I’m a little worried by how badly he wants it. But this is what he does.”
Faulkner nodded. “Phil…they would have done this anyway, or something like it. This way we’ll be involved, which is better than if they tried to handle it on their own.”
“Yeah. Involved.” Gordon reached for his cigarettes, but his hand stopped short of his pocket. “We’re involved, all right. If he gets himself killed, it’s our fault.”
Owen wanted to hit the table, but he had a cup of tea in his hand. He set it down carefully. “No. It’s not.”
Gordon’s eyes locked on his. Faulkner nodded and gave Owen a faint smile.
Owen cleared his throat. “It would be nice to protect everybody. I’d like to have done a better job of that myself lately.” Gordon nodded, with him so far, but Owen wasn’t done. “The thing is, other people get to make choices too. You can’t keep them from being who they’re born to be. This is what Carl does. I appreciate your concern, and I’m sure he does too. But those badges you wear don’t make you better judges of what people should do than they are. They don’t give you the right to limit people’s actions for their own good. You work for the people, Gordon, but you don’t own them.” His face burned, but he wouldn’t let himself look away. He needed Gordon’s help. Why antagonize him? “Sorry. Maybe that went too far. But it’s something I’ve had to think about a lot lately.”
A hand landed on Owen’s shoulder. “Good call, dude. I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”
Gordon looked up. “Who’s this? He came to the hotel yesterday, right?”
Owen sighed. “Aaron. He’s a friend. Who doesn’t listen very well.”
“Huh.” Gordon eyed Aaron for a moment, but asked no questions. He turned back to Owen. “Okay, Tremaine. I don’t disagree with all of what you said. Let’s just leave it at that.”
Faulkner stood. “Mr. Tremaine, we should be on our way. However unofficial certain aspects of this investigation may be, I can assure you there will be several policemen following their consciences—rather than departmental regulations—to the mall this afternoon.” He nodded politely and, glancing at Gordon, headed for the exit.
Gordon laughed quietly. “He does that when I irritate him.” He stood up and rapped his knuckles on the table. “See you later, Tremaine. Stay away from the mall.”
Aaron flopped into a seat as soon as Gordon turned his back. “Sorry about that. We got hungry for something besides ice cream and I came to see what was what. I would’ve just walked right by you, but it was too good to pass up.” He grinned.
“It’s fine.” Owen took out the Hermit’s phone and dialed Johnny Opiela. He got voicemail and asked Johnny to call him back.
“Who was that?” Aaron asked.
“A friend.” Owen stood up. “Let’s go tell Martina I’m done. And if you guys are gonna eat here, I want to get some ice cream from next door.”
“Everybody should,” Aaron agreed. He followed Owen out the door.
Martina was leaning against a rail, watching a 60-foot cruiser chug its way up the Intracoastal Waterway. For a moment Owen longed to take the Fusty Navel and follow them. He’d never been to New Orleans, and maybe he should take a look at what was left of it these days. With his new tanks, he wouldn’t even have to refuel.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
He walked over and leaned beside her. “Pretty well. I think.” He was more worried about Carl than he’d wanted to admit to Gordon.
“Well, the ice cream was good, but I’m ready for some real food. Come join me and tell me what’s going on?”
“Sure. I just want to get some of that Mint Chocolate Chip you guys were talking about. Be back in a bit.”
”‘Kay. Aaron! Food!” She marched inside. Aaron mussed her hair as she went by, and she kicked him in the shin. He followed her, limping extravagantly.
Owen joined them at the table a few minutes later, bemused by the blue-haired teenager with a ring in her nose who’d served him the ice cream. She’s been polite and friendly, but he’d wanted to offer her a handkerchief. The ring looked…well, untidy. Though in reality it was clean enough, and he’d never carried a handkerchief in his life, so where did the urge come from? Watching too many old movies?
He looked at Aaron speculatively. Clean-cut, no obvious tattoos or pierced body parts. Did kids like that girl bother him? Did he even notice them?
Get a grip, Tremaine. The kid was a part-time porpoise. Hey, nice alliteration there. Aaron might not have any choice about his normal-to-Owen’s-eyes appearance. Heh. Would puerile piercings persist post-porpoise? Tattoos might not last for a shape-changer either. Who knew what might get lost in the—for want of a better word—shuffle? Maybe the kid couldn’t even dye his hair without having to redo it all the time. Aaron was interesting in his own right, but probably not the best source of information on what the current crop of teenagers considered to be “normal.”
Aaron noticed him staring. “What?”
Owen gestured toward Scoopy’s. “Just noticed the blue-haired girl back there. I got to wondering what sort of life you lead. I mean…parents? Other relatives? Do you go to school?”
“Yeah, I go to Carroll High School. I’m on the swim team. Go Tigers.” His eyebrows danced. Then he shrugged. “One of Andrea’s friends—she lives near there—posed as my mother to get me in and so forth. My parents died a while ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Martina said.
“It was a while ago.” He looked directly at Owen. “I keep saying life is different under the water. One of the differences…well, death is everywhere.” He smirked. “Like in that Depeche Mode song you probably listened to back in the Stone Age when it was new.”
Owen let it pass. Every dog, his father used to tell him, gets one bite. Though that was because they’d get shot after the first one, wasn’t it? Anyway, he could tolerate trivial temporal teasing from transformation-happy teenage twerps. Maybe even twice.
Aaron waited a moment, then continued more seriously. “We kill every time we eat, and things are always happening to people we know. I’m not very good at mourning, because I just can’t be too surprised when stuff happens.” He looked
down at the table. “But I didn’t want you to think I was a jerk. Sometimes it’s just hard to figure out how to act around normal people.”
“Don’t worry about it.” The kid had enough problems. It must be hell to be a teenager who really was different from everybody else. And anyway, Aaron’s outlook sounded reasonable to him. “Just be yourself, at least around me. If you piss me off,” Owen went on after a moment, “I’ll just hit you. Deal?”
“I’ll hit back harder,” Aaron promised. “Deal.”
Martina pointed at both of them. “That was a very nice testosterone-induced bonding moment you guys just had. I’m glad it happened. Really.” She focused on Owen. “But what’s going on with the police and your friend Carl?”
He started to answer, but Martina’s name sounded over the loudspeaker.
Aaron jumped up. “Food!” He went off to get it.
Owen waited for him to return, using the time to good effect by finishing off his ice cream cone. Martina glared at him, but he was pretty sure she wasn’t serious. He took a closer look while licking a section that had started to melt. Well, reasonably sure.
Aaron brought the food back on two trays. They sorted it out. Martina looked ready to stick her fork in Owen if he didn’t start talking. It was plastic, but it still might hurt.
“Okay.” He told them while they ate. Aaron listened raptly, obviously wishing he could be the one meeting Danny. Martina had a different reaction.
“What’s this going to solve?” she asked. “Are you hoping somebody tries to hurt Carl?”
Owen would have preferred to phrase it differently. But…“Kinda, yeah. I’m also hoping he comes out of it without a scratch. But the problem is, the local police can’t do much to help right now and the federal cops seem to be on the wrong side. So we’re hoping this shakes something loose.” He didn’t think she was buying it, but finished anyway. “No matter what, we’ll get some kind of information from Danny’s reaction.”
“It sounds really dangerous.” She saw Aaron’s eyes widen. “Oh, I know, you think that’s great.” She dunked a piece of fish in tartar sauce and stared at it. “But I can’t think of anything else to try, either.”
The phone rang in Owen’s pocket. He looked at the number. Johnny, calling back. “Ah, it’s pretty noisy in here. I’ll take this outside and be right back.”
He answered the call as he walked out the door. “Hello?”
“Owen?” Johnny sounded cautious. “What’s going on, man?”
“A lot. And don’t believe everything you hear. Reason I called—are you still trying to figure out what’s going on in the company?”
“Sure. But hey, man, I was sorry to hear about Shawna. I liked her a lot. She always had something interesting to say. And you’re supposed to be wanted for murder? I like you too, and you’ve always acted like a decent guy, and…anyway, I don’t believe it. What the hell’s that about?”
“Thanks, Johnny. It’s a pretty ugly story. But I can’t talk about it right now.” Snoopy’s had filled up. Even the outside walkways had customers milling around. “I’ll tell you the whole story as soon as I can.” He winced. He would probably leave certain parts out. “But look, that’s not what I called about. If you still want to figure out what’s going on, I happen to know Danny has a meeting at four-thirty this afternoon in the Staples Mall. So his office will be empty.”
“Oh, man.” Johnny caught on immediately. He sounded tempted but wary. “I could get in there, I guess. I never thought of doing that. But what would I be looking for?”
“Anything. Look, I think Danny’s mixed up in some pretty bad shit. Those mystery customers? I think they work for the NSA. But I don’t think they’re exactly coloring inside the lines, you know? There might not be anything to find, because Danny’s pretty careful. But if there is, it could make a big difference to me and maybe some other people.”
“The freaking NSA? And you want me to spy on them?”
Owen sighed. “It might help.” He grinned suddenly. “And remember, information wants to be free.”
“Come on, man. Hacker slogans? You know I’m not into that crap.”
Hah. He’d do it. “Come on. I’ll give you a whole case of Jolt Cola and introduce you to a real live girl.”
Johnny laughed. “Promises of hacker heaven, now? I have to tell you, if you’re sending me out on a suicide mission I think there should be something more specific in there about a great afterlife.” He hesitated. “And not necessarily one with girls. I thought you knew that.”
So Martina had been right? He’d known Johnny for years. She’d talked to him for an hour. “Sorry. They were all I had in stock, and there isn’t time for special orders.” Just one more thing to think about…later. “Look, I don’t think it’s all that dangerous. I mean, if they figure you don’t know about the NSA involvement, how upset can they get? Especially if you come up with a good excuse to be in his office. You might lose your job. How bad does that sound, right now?”
“You mean I could get a vacation? Doesn’t sound bad at all, especially if it’s true about this government crap. I don’t want to work for them. Seriously, though, what am I risking here? Federal charges?”
Nobody stood nearby at the moment, but Owen lowered his voice anyway. “The truth? I don’t know. People are getting killed. If you’re casual about being in there, and you have some kind of cover story, even if you’re caught I think you’ll be okay. But I can’t deny there’s some seriously nasty shit going on. And I already told you they’re not playing by the rules.”
“Fair enough. I’ll think about it. You’ll be at this number if I need it?”
“Sure. Though I’d appreciate it if—”
“Yeah, nobody gets it from me. Unless they pry it from my cold, dead cell phone contact list. I’ll let you know if I find anything. If I decide to look. Talk to you later, dude.” He hung up.
“Who was that?” Martina asked as Owen sat back down at the table.
“Johnny Opiela. Returning my call.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I thought he might want to know Danny wouldn’t be in his office this afternoon.” He held up a hand. “I also told him people were getting killed over this thing. But checking out the office shouldn’t be too dangerous.”
“So you’re asking him to risk his life for you?”
Was she jealous? Of what? “To some degree, I guess. If he decides to do anything. But he asked me to look into this, remember?” Hadn’t Martina been angry just yesterday because he’d wanted to limit the risks to people besides himself? Besides, Johnny was pretty damned smart.
Aaron’s eyes were shining. Owen tensed for an argument, but Martina just closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. “I wish he didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly.
“Yeah. Me too.” But somebody needed to do something to straighten all this out.
Aaron looked at Martina curiously. He turned back to Owen. “So what are we gonna do?”
***
Shiver on the Sky Page 43
