He grew antsy. His feet in dress shoes clacked against the hardwood floor in an anxious rhythm, far off from the tempo of the music.
Penelope had her arm around him. Her head rested on his shoulder. She recently finished her third glass of wine—she gave in to Solas; she took that initial wine offer. Now, unlike Davy, she had no problems with managing to resist suspicious facial expressions. How could she afford to give a smirk with mindless laughter possessing her body? She was loose. She laughed without control at the funny old dancers in front of her.
“I want to dance! Look at how much fun they’re having. When we’re that old, will we ever have such fun? We’re twenty and we don’t even have fun now.”
“You’ve danced enough, Penelope.” Davy checked his watch. He peeped over at Solas and took a pretend sip of wine. When the old man focused his eyes elsewhere, Davy dumped his wine into a plant beside him. He put the glass down on the floor and rose. “Come on. We gotta get moving.”
“Finally!” she said, throwing up her arms. She was not exactly drunk, but certainly relaxed. She wrapped her arms around Davy and leaned into his face. She said breathlessly, “Show me the way, David, honey.” And there was a touch.
She offended him—she knew he was with Namiane, but continued her advances. He had to ignore her—he fought her off all damn night—as he turned his head away from her lips. She huffed and dropped her head.
Davy gave a quick scan of the ballroom. Not a single old mummy sat, save for Solas, who had drowned himself in a cloud of cigar smoke, putting himself in a calming stupor. Everyone else danced to the classical music. All drunk, they twirled like a snowy twister with the shedding of their crusty skin and their white hair spinning.
Davy grabbed Penelope’s hand. He turned his head to watch Solas and waited for the next puff of his cigar.
There it was. Solas’ face disappeared in the cloud of smoke that even his over-dilated, coked-out blue eyes couldn’t pierce.
Davy jerked forward with Penelope. He led her into the pit of dancers, disappearing among them in the snow. From the other side they emerged; the dancers blocked them from Solas’ view.
With Penelope he rushed to the doors. He opened one door a crack and they squeezed out.
Outside they met the guard of the doors. He gave them a look.
“Whereabouts, sir?”
“We want fresh air,” Davy said. “That’s all.”
“Yes,” Penelope said. “Imagine how stuffy it feels in there!”
“Very well.”
Penelope laughed. “Maybe you can go inside and enjoy a party for once, and we can watch the doors!” she said. “Right, David?”
“Sorry, ma’am. No-can-do.”
“She’s drunk,” Davy said. “Sorry.”
The guard broke his stern character with a chuckle. “If you’re drunk in these times, then you’re better off than most people. We’re glad you are enjoying Mr. Solas’ marvelous bash.”
Davy, awkward, thanked him. He tugged at Penelope’s arm and led her to the railing overlooking the shore of the reservoir, the spot at which they stood earlier. Davy felt an absence of wind—it was now calm, along with the reservoir.
“It’s good that I’m a bit tipsy,” Penelope said. “It was my plan all along to drink all that wine. They’ll never suspect a drunken girl. Do you believe me?”
Davy was quick to cover her mouth with his hand. “I’m begging you to shut up. Okay?”
“Okay, boss-man!”
Davy peeked over his shoulder to see the guard watching them. The guard didn’t hear her. Otherwise, they’d have been in cuffs, surely, by now, and dealing with Solas standing a foot away with his binoculars, counting the hairs in their ears.
Turning back to the water, Davy took Penelope’s hand again and took a deep breath.
The ballroom doors opened, and an old couple tripped out. Davy turned to see the guard help them up, and he bolted away with Penelope, walking along the railing.
They entered into the grayness, out of the range of the strobe lights. They descended the hill as the shadowed tip of their heads soon disappeared from view.
Penelope giggled as they ran through the vegetation. Davy had to shush her more. They skirted through the trees; coconuts dropped as they covered their heads. They rustled through the bushes. The noise made Davy slow the pacing. He hoped the guards, if they heard, would think it was the workings of the wind, or some creature.
It grew darker the farther they walked away from the ballroom, down the hill. It turned quieter, the music and laughter of the ballroom fading. They moved faster. They tripped through bushes as blackness swamped. By this point, they reached the bottom of the hill, and as soon as they touched flat land, they were already beginning to climb up another one.
Davy paused and turned behind. He listened. The bushes rustled as if an animal trailed them. But he felt a stirring of the wind; he blamed that. He saw no one following, not an odd shadow in sight, and he carried on with Penelope, as the trees swayed and flung fruits at their feet.
They reached the surface of the new hill and traveled opposite of it. Then downhill, again reaching flatness. They dashed across.
Penelope, breaking her giggling, gasped: she grabbed Davy and pulled him back. If she hadn’t, he would have turned to toast—he would have run into the electric fencing as it was hardly discernible in the darkness.
They collapsed together, sitting in silence and pure blackness. Through the crickets Davy heard the splashing of the reservoir—they were not far from the water.
Davy rose and gravitated to the noise, walking with caution, holding his hands out to feel his surroundings. The darkness blinded him. Penelope sneaked a finger into the tightness of his belt to not lose him.
Soon they heard waves slap below them. They squinted to see the reservoir through the blackness. The strobing lights painted right over the water in infrequent, unpredictable flashes.
“Where’s the pump?” Penelope said. “How will I ever find it? It’s too dark.”
“It should be right across the water,” Davy said. “Directly across from here.”
“I need to swim?”
“I don’t see any other way. The forest looks a little dense along the side. You’ll make too much noise going through it. You have to swim. Quietly. And you have to try to avoid the lights.”
Penelope took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Fine.”
They stood silent. The faint sounds of song and laughter drifted through the woods to them. The ice-cold wind blew and stirred the bushes. Now that they stood still for a while, they lost rapid blood flow, and they shivered.
“It’s so cold,” Penelope said. She jumped up-and-down to get the blood flowing.
“I know.”
Her lips turned blue and her teeth chattered. Goosebumps popped up all over her body. Davy saw, and he rubbed her arms.
With this opportunity, she forced herself onto him with an embrace. Her jaw rattled on his shoulder.
In the cold, it was difficult to speak, but she tried: “I always thought we would be alone like this, together, at least once.”
Davy sighed. He pulled his head away from her. “Penelope. I’m with Namiane. You know that.”
“But she doesn’t love you. She doesn’t believe in what you’re trying to do. She’s trying to control you. Can’t you see it?”
Davy hesitated. “Nonsense.”
“She hates your father. She hates everything. I want to live with you, with your father, and we can sail together, and go fishing all day, and . . .”
Davy looked at her trembling lips. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. God forbid we focus on the task at hand.”
“But it’s all true!”
“Quiet, Penelope,” Davy whispered. “They can hear us.”
Penelope caught herself and her eyes wandered. “I’m sorry. I . . .”
Davy looked around for guards, for shadows. It seemed clear.
He led Penelope up a small hill. T
hey crouched underneath a trio of rustling trees, dodging falling coconuts. The other hills blocked the strobing lights of the ballroom; they could hardly see a thing.
“Don’t let her ruin your dream,” Penelope continued, unable to contain her emotions. “Your father’s dream.”
She sounded like Namiane with that protesting, Davy thought. Except she was on the other side of things.
Davy sighed. He turned to Penelope. “Please, leave me be. You’re a temptress yourself.”
They stood in silence. Davy observed the ballroom as he searched for a higher vantage point; then there was a whistle. The two jumped, startled—they realized this whistle was not a whistle of the wind. They turned their heads to it and spotted a shadowed man standing outside the fences below them.
They walked down the hill and approached the fences to see the figure. He was hard to make out. But he was young, in black attire of some sorts, and holding a rifle, which was a silhouette sticking out in his hands.
“Rafael? Is that you?”
“Boss.”
“Right on time. What’s the situation?”
“It’s all clear. We haven’t spotted any guards. We attached the tube to the pipe and we’re in place waiting for you guys.”
Davy flinched. “No guards?”
Rafael shrugged. “We haven’t seen any. How about you?”
“There’s a couple on the ballroom roof and by the gates. One guarding the ballroom. You really haven’t seen any in the desert?”
“Not within a half-mile, as far as we can tell.”
Davy found it hard to believe that Solas had a mere handful of guards. But he trusted the Water-Thieves and their competence. “Solas might have directed some out there. Keep a keen eye, and keep quiet. You got our guns?”
“Catch.”
Rafael tossed a handgun over the fence, and it fell to Davy’s feet. Davy picked it up. It had a silencer attachment. He handed it to Penelope.
And a second was already thrown. Davy grabbed it. He turned to Penelope and nodded to Rafael, who had already walked off, disappearing into the desert as a shadow.
“Let’s move.”
He grabbed her hand and they climbed back over the hills. They ventured deep into the foliage, retracing the path they had taken. The music of the party increased in prominence as they made their way back.
They soon reached the tallest hill which held the ballroom. Emerging, they became exposed as the strobing lights flashed by them. They dodged the lights, crouching around to the rear of the building. There, they found a ladder attached to the wall.
Staying silent, Davy signaled to Penelope around the corner of the ballroom. She nodded and left, disappearing into the shadows of the trees.
Davy pocketed his handgun and began to climb the ladder. It squeaked. He paused and bit his lip. He took another step. Squeak. He took long pauses as he climbed to allow each squeak enough time to disappear from the paranoid minds of possible listeners.
He reached the top. Still standing on the ladder, he peeked over the railing of the roof. He saw two figures sitting on the other side overlooking the reservoir. Black sticks stuck out from their mouths, creating smoke—cigars. Silhouettes of rifles leaned against the railing in front of the figures.
Davy took a silent, deep breath. He took his handgun from his pocket and clutched it with his teeth.
He took the final step and emerged over the railing. Taking large, light steps, he took the pistol from his mouth and aimed it toward the figures.
“And then the crazy old man wanted us to stop the damn wind.”
There was a bursting laugh. “He’s lost his shit.”
Davy got closer.
One heard an unquiet step: he jerked his head to see Davy.
But his rifle was not ready; he reached for it as his cigar fell out of his mouth. And he yelped—
Davy shot him, straight in the forehead, and the second, who jerked his head a couple seconds too late.
Davy dashed to catch their dead bodies before they could collapse and make noise; he laid them flat.
He crouched and peeked over the railing. From this viewpoint he felt like a king: he could see the entire great compound within the range the (suppressed) strobing lights permitted; everything else was indistinguishable. Even so, all the black figures of the hills stuck out, and the black glimmer of the reservoir below still could blind if one were to stare.
If it were light out, Davy would have been able to see the entirety of the desert from this height. He floated in space, in endless blackness. It brought him back to the summers when he sailed on The Spirit of the Lake at night with his father, in the middle of his father’s lake.
From what he could see in the limited lighting, the scarcity—rather, a complete absence—of guards baffled him. He peeked down. All he could see was the guard of the doors, who stood, oblivious, unaware of what had become of his colleagues above.
What incompetence was this? Was Solas that arrogant, that he felt invincible? Davy was underwhelmed by the “most powerful and dangerous man in South California.” (Most powerful and dangerous, Governor Vendicatore labeled Frank Solas, though the governor seemed to overlook the Water Thief.)
Davy ran across the rooftop. He looked down the hill, toward the gates of the surface level, at which the two guards stood. Davy saw Penelope, a shadow herself, creep down the stairs down the hill. She crept on the guards and jerked away, blending into the great shadow cast by the ballroom.
And the guards fell to the quiet bullets.
Penelope bolted to catch their bodies, but it was too late—they thumped to the ground first. She dragged their bodies away as fast as she could, one-by-one, into the shadows of the woodland. And she ran off.
Davy returned to the ladder and climbed back down to meet Penelope as she caught her breath.
“I’m sorry.” Filled with ecstasy, she said, “I-I tried to catch their bodies, but—”
Davy looked around. “No one heard. Don’t worry.”
“I didn’t see anyone else. But it’s so dark to tell.”
“Yes. It’s a bit strange. But we’ll take it. There isn’t much time.”
Davy took Penelope’s hand yet again. They retraced their steps back, through the foliage and up-and-down the hills, and returned to the edge of the compound, the spot at which they met Rafael.
They ran to the shore of the water. Davy squinted over the reservoir, at the land across. He looked hard and found something jutting from the ground. A black figure—a pump. He pointed toward it.
“There. That’s it, between the trees. Do you see it?”
Penelope followed his finger and squinted across the water. She nodded.
“Knowing Solas, it’s still operational,” Davy said. “I’m sure he never once thought of this happening to him. He’s too worried about Vendicatore’s men invading to think of someone stealing from within.”
Davy took a deep breath. Penelope licked her palms and fixed his messed-up hair again, pushing it back.
“It’s showtime,” Davy said.
Penelope giggled through her trembling. “I don’t think you’ll make it far as an actor, but good-luck anyway.”
Davy smiled. “I’m not worried. He’s drugged out of his mind. He’ll believe anything I tell him. Just be as quiet as you can, okay?”
And as he turned to leave: “David?”
Davy stopped and turned back to her. She teared up and wiped her eyes.
“Are you using me?”
Davy flinched. “What do you mean?”
Penelope flicked her eyes across the water. “If I get rained on with bullets, would you miss me?”
Davy’s eyes moistened as he saw her pain. “Of course I would, Penelope. Don’t say such ridiculous things.”
She wrapped her arms around her figure as she trembled.
“You love me, do you?”
“Yes, David. Of course I do.”
Davy left a kiss on her forehead—it was the most affection
he’d ever shown her. He walked back up the cliff, fading in the darkness and the rustles of the bushes, as she watched.
She froze in place. She blinked away tears. Now her heart accelerated, and her breaths shortened, as she stared at the handgun still in her hands.
She twisted her head around, kicked off her high heels, and sank her feet in the cold sand. As the waves splashed over her toes she shrieked from the shock of the icy water, and crawled back, away from the range of the crashing waves.
She ducked as though someone may have heard her. But there was pure silence, save for the splashing of the water and the brushing of the bushes, distant—was it the wind, or Davy?
She took the gun and cried at it within her palms.
“How much more must I prove my devotion to you?”
The gun trembled within her grasp. And she whipped it over the reservoir, and it struck with a plop.
CHAPTER 4
Davy looked through the ballroom window. He saw the old folks still dancing in an ever-drunken stupor like self-absorbed ghouls.
Davy saw that the party was livelier than it was when he left it. That was good—no one was trying to leave yet. It would complicate his plans if they did.
But he had to move. The end of the party was surely near.
He ducked and examined the front. The ballroom made creaking sounds to the wind; he awaited the scenario of Solas bursting out the ballroom with his binoculars.
Davy got a bit closer and peeked through the ballroom window again. Solas still sat at his table inside. To Davy’s shock, the old man didn’t seem to have heard the creaking of the wind. He appeared unalarmed and calm. He watched the old man, who slouched in his chair in a half-daze, taking a puff from, likely, his tenth cigar of the night.
Davy held his breath and turned his head to the wall of blackness, the path from which he came. He searched for Penelope down below. He could not see her through the dark.
He figured that she was swimming, at this moment, in the reservoir to the opposite end.
Okay, time to get moving, Davy—
But he imagined a raining of gunfire piercing the icy water. This could erupt any moment, he thought. And she would suffer a nasty death, changing the color of the reservoir to red with her blood, sinking to the depths. He could already see the red waves. And he could hear them—Penelope’s screams, carried by the waves—pounding the shore.
The Water Thief Page 4
