Not that Canada was any better. Grisly stories floated from the massive no-fly zone. At the beginning of the outbreak, Canada had a no-kill policy. They emptied prisons to make room for mutt containment. Potentials were gathered, confined, and left to die. Those pits of carnivorous despair went rabid, overflowed, and broke apart. Even humans ate each other up there. If I made it over the northern border, I'd have to survive in the wilderness, away from all human contact, without a permanent dwelling that might show up on satellite.
Sounded nice, right about now.
Possibly, my paranoia was out of hand. Probably, I should get on with my life and pretend I never went to the bar.
I pulled the sweatshirt hood over my hair, tucked my chin, and braved the familiar world of self-pity and self-hatred.
As I walked into the community center, Margret upended the last ounce of sickly black coffee from the pot. She'd poured it for herself but smiled and offered it to me. That's the kind of person she was. I echoed her smile and shook my head. She wagged the cup insistently, so I took it. She winked.
The group prayed, piling religious guilt on our heads, which was somehow supposed to provide a dash of hope.
I sat in a hard chair and twisted the foam cup in my hands, making half-moon scars with my thumbnail. Fidgeting. Anxious. My brain clogged with the day's events. Did Lurch sell me out? Was it even him who contacted me? What if the man in the bar had been my pirate? Unlikely. He hadn't been carrying anything to indicate he was there for me.
Yet he'd avoided me.
Then two forms had appeared behind me, lurking in the darkness.
Christ, Durant, stop worrying like a bitch and pay attention to the damn meeting.
Chapter 12
Rainer
I felt dirty.
Devious. Sleazy.
And I own a porn shop with overused jerking booths, so that said something. I didn't alert Marc to my plans. He wouldn't approve of sending a comrade behind these particular enemy lines.
Geordi, on the other hand, jumped at the glistening opportunity. He earned his nickname by wearing visor glasses to hide his lazy eye. Thought he was James Bond instead of a pubescent teen with the culinary disposition of a goat. Had an obsession for dipping Twinkies into a vat of syrup. When summoned, he appeared in no time at all. Like he'd been beamed up. I counted on him to do anything in a timely manner. Anything.
Also, he was human.
Mostly.
I caught a glimpse of something in Geordi that made me think otherwise, but he wasn't mutt or a vamp. He didn’t heal quickly, drink blood, or do anything blatantly unnatural. He was simply a bit off.
I didn’t know if more supernatural things were out there. I truly didn’t want to know.
His sweatshirt was stained with dirt, the scent of acrid grass, lingering fertilizer, a rub of Rufus' dog-scent on his hands, coffee, sweet soda, hot sauce, oranges, potato chips, hotdogs, and cigarettes. A teenager's buffet of choice. Perceiving all those scents alerted me that I was skittish and close to a shed.
He was homeless. The fact that he'd eaten so well today meant he had broken into someone's house to raid the fridge and watch television. Too bad he hadn't showered, too. He needed new shoes. Or rather, he needed shoes, period. His bare toes reminded me of dirty sausages.
I sated my hunger with a dozen protein bars.
“Have a favor needs doing.”
“Right on,” Geordi said. “I was getting bored anyway.”
“And no one can know.”
“What do you take me for?”
“This is a reconnaissance mission. I need you to seamlessly enter a home, poke around, plant a pair of cameras, and leave without a trace.”
“Planting cameras in someone’s home? That's not like you, chico. Some bitch cheating on you?”
“Something like that.” I gave him the address and showed him the place on the map. “Gated community, not too tight on security otherwise. Tell me everything you can about this person based on what's inside the home. And dig deep, because I suspect some underground business. Replace everything exactly as you found it. Don't take chances. I'm going to give you an earpiece for communication. Need a taser?”
“Taser? Pffft. Don't plan on getting caught, my man.”
“Utmost caution, Geordi. Seriously. She's the lethal type.”
“In white bread suburbia? Nah, I got this.”
“I'm serious.”
“Yeah, I hear you. Very dangerous stuff. No reason to get bent out of shape. Does she have a pet gargoyle or something? Just joking. Ain't nothing I can't handle.”
“Don't leave prints. She will run them, find you, and punish you.”
“Sounds hot. But if I discover leather in her closet, what happens afterward won't be my fault.”
“I swear to God, Geordi—”
“Consider me warned. In fact, that's me. Nice to meet you, I'm Warned.” He snickered.
“Are you high? Jesus. This is a bad idea.”
“I'm excited.”
“Where do you get your pot? I'm looking for a dealer.”
“A crackhead on Welch. He sells pot to buy the new, streamlined meth. Cuts a great deal.”
I knew him. He wasn't the dealer I needed.
“Will you need a car to get across town?”
“Nah, I'm good.”
“Don't get caught boosting a car while you're on my job.”
“Rainer, you stress too much.”
“No speeding.”
“I promise, you won't even see me coming. Give me thirty minutes.” He fingered the earpiece. “Can't I tell you about it when I get back?”
“I want to be interactive. We'll discover more if you know exactly what I'm after.”
“I don't want someone squawking in my ear while I'm doing sensitive entry maneuvers.”
“Then turn it on after you get in. Here: two cameras. One for the kitchen, one for the garage. Don't even think about planting one in the shower.”
“No fun, man. None at all.”
He left and I paced, shoving protein bars down my throat in quick succession. I nearly trampled a hole in the floor before I decided to make hot tea. The earpiece blipped and Geordi said, “I'm in.”
I rushed to the computer and pulled up all the accessible cameras within the area, on the lookout for Durant's truck. It remained parked at the community health center. If she moved, I could give Geordi a head start. “Can you hear me?”
“No prob, man. Nothing doing. Uh...you said a girl lives here?”
“Why? What do you see?”
“Looks like a man's apartment. Living room has a treadmill, a television, a couch, a bald lamp. Man, what an ugly ass lamp! Movies are stacked behind the television. No girl stuff. No candles, plants, or throw pillows. And fugly curtains.”
I heard him draw the curtains back. “Don't do that! Someone might see you.”
“Fine. I'm just saying, this place needs a makeover.”
“Any books?”
“Nope.”
“Is the carpet tacked down all around the room? Check to see if it has been pulled up.”
He hummed and mumbled.
“What's that?” I said.
“Nothing. A song. Give a guy a break. Talk about uptight. Naw, there's no activity or undue stress around the carpet's edges. Nothing in the cracks of the couch either. It smells like beer and mothballs, by the way. Ah, hold on...Jesus. There's a shotgun underneath the couch!”
“Leave it there.”
“Like I'd touch it again. Gunmetal is so creepy. Nothing else to see here. Moving onto the dining room. Three chairs at the table. Dusty though. Looks like there used to be a sliding glass door but she had it replaced with two ugly pieces of wood, like church doors. This place is a fortress. She doesn't garden either. Weeds poking out from over-stretched gravel. A dying palm tree in back, worse than the two up front. Something odd about the energy. Ah, hellooo. Sweetie pie, we have a safe.”
“Probably more guns.” But I was excited.<
br />
“Hey, don't ruin the ending.” He mumbled the strange song while he worked on the safe, and I don't know much about picking locks or breaking combos, but the kid was wicked fast. “Alright, ah...disappointing. Guns, guns, ammo, more ammo...a ten inch knife. Who needs a dozen guns and a big knife?
“Bigger is better?”
“Ha! Penis joke,” he announced. “Keys. Unlabeled. Do you want them? Maybe the key opens a top secret, secure location or a deposit box—”
“Put everything back as you found it.”
“Buzzkill. We have an envelope. Some papers. Birth file. Med file. Social security chip. Kaidlyn Quinn Durant? Why does that sound familiar? Oh, she's definitely a pirate. We have an alternative ID here, too.”
“What's the name?” I said, bursting up from the chair.
“False alarm. This is an older woman, maybe like her mom's ID.”
“She's dead.”
“Dead mom, huh? Sad. Hey!”
“What?”
“Kaidlyn Durant? The kid who killed her entire family? I'm in the Princess' house? Holy Harvester!”
I didn't correct him. Durant hadn't killed her whole family, just her brother.
“Adjust and move on, Geordi. And take me seriously when I say a job is lethal. You don't have much time.”
“No joke we don't! That lady is not catching me here. I'm so out of this place.”
“Got scared, huh? I understand.”
“Not scared, per se, only not eager to die like a dog in an ugly house.”
“If you're that frightened, by all means: vacate.”
“Hey, I don't see you here. Agoraphobics can't be picky about who they send to do their dirty work in a homicidal maniac's house. I'm tired of...oh. Hmmm. Hellooo.”
I heard him open the fridge and shook my head. The boy was ruled by his stomach.
“Nothing but a jar of olives and ranch dressing. What kind of monster lives here? What, evil doesn't eat? Ooh, pimento stuffed.”
“Get out of the fridge, Geordi. I doubt you'll find anything important in there.”
“Nothing in the freezer, either.”
I heard suspicions sounds and caught my breath. Not key-turning-in-a-lock sounds but wet, sneaky sounds.
“Geordi, are you eating her olives?”
“Nah, man, no. Hey. Who'd do a thing like that?”
I growled in frustration.
“I'm a nervous eater,” he said.
“Get out of her kitchen!”
“Right on, ol' chap, don't get your pajamas in a bunch. Mail on the counter is addressed to Kaidlyn Durant, and why not? She does live here after all. In this very house.”
He sung. It grated me. I clenched my teeth and monitored the gate so Durant wouldn't sneak up on Geordi. No reason for anyone to die over this.
“Time for the rest of the house,” he said. “Bathroom. Gun strapped to the side of the toilet's water tank. Who does that? No smelly soaps. No candles. Two different bottles of shampoo, both cheap. A razor. Want a DNA sample?”
“Nope. Already have it.”
“Medicine cabinet is empty. Not even Tylenol. No makeup. Ah, bingo. A girl does live here after all. Houston, we have tampons, epsom salt, and bubble stuff.”
“Bubble bath?” That wasn't important, was it? “What scent?”
“Vanilla almond shea.”
I imagined her in the bath with bubbles up to her chin, perfumed. Vanilla. Almond. Shea. My gut coiled. A flash of heat seared through me. Guilt lapped behind.
“Focus.”
“Bedroom,” he said. “A trail of dirty laundry from the floor to the bed. Slob. Gun kit by the bed. All sorts of swabs and oils and shit.”
“Oils?”
“Gun oil, you dirty old man. Nothing under the bed but dust. And a book.”
“What? Which book?”
“D.H. Lawrence.”
“Oh.” I was only a little disappointed. I liked Lawrence, but he wasn't on a blacklist.
“She's using a parking ticket as a bookmark. What stupid cop gives a fed a parking ticket?”
“Where?”
“Um, I know this address. It's outside the small brown library up north where no one gives a shit for the books and can't spare a quarter for the homeless. Mostly because the clientele is all homeless. Wait, that's where you had me plant a note.” He poked around and I heard things opening. “Ah, mamacita.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“You're in her underwear drawer!” I said.
“What? Of course not. What an indecent, sleazy, inappropriate thing to do. A gentleman would never—”
“What color are the panties you're holding?”
“Black, cotton, boy-cut. And every bra in here is sports-capable.”
“Move on.”
“Let a man work. It's a delicate process. Oh, my! A flimsy red pair. Still has the tag on them. She was feeling sexy but never followed through.”
“Red?” My face warmed to that shade. I grunted. The entire reaction was silly.
That didn't seem to matter. My gut howled, blood surged. I clenched my eyes and fists tight. This was only a reaction of hunting, after a fashion, and peeking into a woman's private world. I wasn't being unfaithful to my dead wife. I cleared my throat and tried to push down the various rages. Hunger. Anxiety. Desire. Frustration.
A horrible time to have beastly impulses.
Red undies and vanilla bubbles.
“But it's only satin,” Geordi was saying. “Nothing lacy, I'm sorry to report.”
“Put them back,” I snapped. “Anything else?”
“Tube socks galore.”
“I meant in the room!”
“Sensitive today, are we?” He started humming again, a tune I didn't recognize, intermittent with grunts and bits of words I didn't catch.
“Geordi, what's that song?”
“Nothing. Heard it somewhere, is all. Ah, here we go. Dumping out her laundry. Don't worry, I'm not rummaging in her panties or bras or knickers.”
“Knickers are panties.”
“Hidden compartment.”
“In her underwear?”
“You are a dirty man.”
I growled roughly.
“In the laundry basket.”
Oh, Father in heaven, this was it. I jumped up and clenched the table so hard my fingers left dents.
“Yeah, boy!” Geordi said. “There's a book in here. Not very thick. I've never heard of it.”
My pulse raced in my ears. I couldn't breathe. Voice came out like a squeak as I said, “What's the title? What's the cover say?”
“The federals...The Federalist Papers.”
“Holy shit.”
“Sounds like dull reading.”
“Holy...Are you wearing your gloves?”
“Of course.”
“Pick it up and feel the spine. Is it knobby like vertebrae or smooth?”
“Feels striated, like a dry leaf.”
“Oh, God. Put it down. Precisely as you found it.”
“It's worth something, isn't it?”
“That uncensored volume is worth about twenty years in prison or a firing squad.”
“Ew. Putting it back. Promptly. Never touched it. Never even saw it. Heck, what's 'it'?”
“You plead the fifth, I get it.”
“A fifth of what?”
“Never mind. Plant the cameras and get out of there. Make sure you don't leave telltale dirty footprints or smudges on glass or whatever. Spotless. And don't steal anything.”
“Spoilsport. Hold up. One more room.”
“You're pushing the time, Geordi.” I checked the monitor. Durant's truck was still in the health center’s parking lot, but the meeting would end soon.
“Last one. I swear. Huh. Yep. Lots of books man. Like, a library and a half worth of books, but only one bookcase. The rest is piled high in all sorts of chaos. This is totally your kinda gal. Minus the crazy killer part.”
“All the books
are out in the open? Probably means they aren't illegals.”
“Oh, howdy there, kiddo. Rainer, you didn't tell me she had a cat.”
“A cat?” My brain drew blanks. I frowned. She hadn't registered a pet with state animal control. She never bought cat food, made no vet payments, and didn't seem like the cat type.
“Aren't you a cutie? Well, in your own way, I'm sure. Maybe you have a good personality,” Geordi said. “Gah!”
I heard slapping and thumping and a banshee hiss.
“Jesus!” Thump. Crack. Screech. “Damn cat! I'll get you, ugly little shithead. Come over here so I can throttle you!”
“Geordi! Leave the feline alone. And keep it down. Don't alert the neighbors. Whatever happened to your stealth mode?”
“Something very, definitely odd about—Gah! He bit me! Went right for my ankle like a terrier. And tore my jeans.”
“As if they weren't torn and covered in filth already.”
“C'mere, you bastard. Eeeee!”
“Geordi, leave off with the cat!”
“He peed on me!”
“So you know, that was the girliest shriek I ever heard.”
“Oh, gods, it's coming back.”
I heard him running.
“Really? Running from a cat?”
“I'm swearing on my future gutter of a grave, Rainer, that was no ordinary cat. Orange-furred bastard. Screw the cameras. I'm out of here.”
“Agoraphobics shouldn't choose ailurophobes to be cat burglars. Cat burglars!”
I laughed so hard I fell out of the chair.
Chapter 13
Kaidlyn
The AA meeting dragged on forever.
Juan, my makeshift sponsor, stood and grabbed four donuts off the tray. He walked hard, as if his leg was too heavy, like something bad pooled in his blood. He was injured or on something. He sat and devoured the sweets so quickly that I wondered when he had his last meal.
When it came his turn, he didn't want to share. His throat twitched, lips flat in a line. His neck convulsed in separate minute twitches, as if nerves, not muscles, were contorting. Distress. Wound tight. Not on booze. Meth? No. His whole body wasn't involved, only his neck ticking against his collar, a jaw strung so tight it might snap, a sliver of a pulse above his cheekbones.
I rounded the row of chairs and sat one seat away. He remained so focused on the serenity prayer that he didn't notice. I let him finish, because if anyone needed peace, he was that guy. The meeting ended and people mingled. Juan stayed.
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