“The ark of the covenant or whatever, is in the trunk. I don’t want it near us. I’ll take it maybe a few miles into the desert. Take less than half an hour. Make sure you’re here when I get back.”
She didn’t lie down. She remained sitting, hands folded in her lap. “Will do.”
There are sins of commission and sins of omission. I hated the first when it came to Misty, but it wouldn’t be the first time I didn’t tell her everything. There were two things I wanted to take care of, the case and the raggedy.
The case put everyone in danger, so I handled that first. I drove a mile or so past the motel then headed off-road into the desert. The Chevy’s rear-wheel drive got me a few yards into the filthy sand before the back started wobbling. Worried I’d get stuck, I got out and walked, my feet doing near as badly as the tires.
I thought about opening it. Some squeaky pain in the ass part of me wanted to pull out the foam and see if there was anything under it, but I shut it up quick enough. The less I knew the better. And I had to get back to the raggedy in less than fifteen minutes.
I found a sad-ass clump of trees that didn’t seem to realize they shouldn’t have tried growing in a desert, and wedged the case behind two branches so it wouldn’t be visible unless you came right up on it.
Back at the motel, I grabbed a tire iron from the trunk. Then I stood there like an idiot, trying to remember the room number. I’d almost given up, when I happened to glance at my hand. Room 154. A short walk.
I didn’t pause long enough to listen at the door. You’d think the manager would want to keep the locks working in a place like this, but it swung open with a nudge. Seeing me, the pederast at least had the decency to be embarrassed. Had something to lose, I figure, wife, job, whatever. The raggedy, who didn’t, was pissed. She gave me a catlike hiss like the one she made at the accident scene.
I used the crowbar to pry them apart. Figuratively, meaning I threatened to do some damage if the liveblood didn’t get out. Flushed red and panting like he was going to have a heart attack, he grabbed his pants, didn’t bother putting them on, and made for the door.
The kid glowered at me with sunken eyes. “I was getting paid!”
I got it. Chakz don’t care what livebloods do with their orifices. I could well be robbing her of enough cash for a decent place to stay a night or two. I reached into my pocket, planning to give her some bills. Her face lit up until we both realized I was out of money.
She rolled her eyes, favoring the missing side of her face. The exposed tendons had a weird sheen, like plastic. Reminded me of that travelling corpse exhibit that shows you how the body works.
“Great. You can’t even remember what the fuck is in your pocket.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
My turn to roll my eyes. “Not so great with the math, huh? Ripping’s about eight years old. You can’t have been more than twelve when you died.”
She wrapped herself in a blanket and stood. One shoulder slumped, like part of the bone was gone. “That you remember. Fine. Sixteen. Five years since I died from multiple myeloma, four since my parents stopped looking at me.”
“Then you’re still illegal.”
She grabbed her clothes from the floor and headed for the bathroom. Other than the face, I didn’t see any rot or damage. “Give me a break! I’m trying to save for a cheat sheet so I can pass the next test.”
Now I actually felt guilty. There was an active black market in exam answers, but they were pricey. From what I hear, sometimes they worked.
“Not doing so good?”
She stepped out and grabbed her coat. The anger had faded from her face just a bit. “Last time I made it by one question.”
“Look, I don’t have any money right now, but I can help you study. Well, not me, but Misty can. She’s good at that. Got me through the last few times.”
“Who the hell is Misty? Who are you? What do you care? Why are you here? What are you, my guardian angel?”
“Remember me from the accident?”
She paused, like maybe my question meant she was in trouble. “Yeah.”
“Someone pay you to be there, too? Wait for a car?”
Her forehead was like a smooth piece of marble until her brow knitted, “Do you realize how stupid that sounds? Here, chak, here’s a dollar, stand on the corner until you scare someone into flipping his car? That’s what you ruined my gig for?”
“When you put it that way, it does sound like a long shot,” I said. “But that’s not my only question.”
She looked at the clock. “I’ve got the room for another three minutes. Go on.”
“A friend was driving.”
The lines in her brow grew deeper. “That was a cop car. A chak friends with a cop? No wonder you believe in long shots.”
“Fine, friend of a friend. Point is, he didn’t have to brake. He could’ve driven right into you, left you with just an arm to hold your teddy and drag your torso around. But he didn’t, and now he’s dead. Not dead tired, not dead like us, really dead. You were standing there a while when the second car pulled up. Did you get a good look at the guys who came out?”
“Tick-tick. Couldn’t you have just asked?”
“I like to set the scene. See how you react.”
“Am I reacting okay so far?”
“So far. Did you get a look at them?”
She shrugged her good shoulder. “Happened quick. I think they wore black, kind of like in a movie. You know Reservoir Dogs? Like that. One balding, I think. There was something shiny up on top. The other had light hair, maybe. That’s all.”
I’d seen how they were dressed, so she wasn’t lying. The balding part and the light hair sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“See that? Your memory’s not so bad. What’s your name? Where can I find you?”
“Why?”
“To help you study.”
She smiled, looking girlish for a second, until the skin around the exposed bone crinkled, ruining the effect. “The guy who can’t even remember what’s in his pocket? No thanks. My ride’s gone, though. Can you get me back to the city?”
I walked her out to the car. She eyed it up and down.
“Looking for something?” I asked.
“Is that thing safe to drive?”
“All of a sudden, it’s about safety?”
She hissed and climbed in.
Wishing I had a few bucks, or a toy to give her, I dropped her at one of the smaller shantytowns, going as far as I dared with the needle tapping E.
The ride back gave me time to think. With Chester dead and the police after us, the smart move would be to leave. Not like we’d be leaving a lot behind. It wouldn’t be easy, though. Legally, wherever we went, I’d have to check in to keep up with the testing. Even if they lacked the equipment to track my cell, the police could find me through my chak registration. Fake IDs were tough to come by. Then again, I might be able to avoid the test for a month or two, and by then the whole briefcase thing could blow over.
Or I could try to solve the case, literally, figure out what the blue stuff was, why the arm gave it to me—maybe get Misty killed and myself immolated, or worse, in the process. Fuck that. She’d already lost too much. A slim to nothing chance at justice wasn’t worth her losing more.
I was patting myself on the back for deciding to take it on the lam when a picture popped into my head: Tom Booth’s face, with that sickened look like someone had forced him to swallow a live kitten. I tried so hard to wave it away, I wobbled into the wrong lane. But the face stayed until I admitted what it meant. Booth was doing something he didn’t want to do. It wasn’t his idea to go after us. The order must’ve come from above, far enough to cow him.
How high was that?
Fucking moments of clarity. Now I was terrified that if I put enough together about this mess, even by accident, I’d have to do something other than run. And that wouldn’t be fair to Misty.
The lot had been nearly full. Now there was only one car, one with a siren on top. It sat crooked in front of the entrance, empty, its rear end facing me. Thanks to the budget cuts, patrolmen mostly travelled one to a car, but if they’d already found Misty, they’d have called for backup. I sure as hell didn’t want to go up against any Fort Hammer cop, but I wasn’t about to let anyone stuff her into a holding cell.
As it turned out, official backup wasn’t going to be the problem. One headlight was cracked, the grill lopsided, looking like a winking face with drunken smile. It wasn’t the true boys in blue. It was Happy Jack’s car. He was dead, so it was either friends of his, or it’d been stolen again. By the ninja?
On my way to the room, I looked through the lobby window. The bespectacled clerk was missing. Not a good sign. Too worried about Misty to check on him, I bounded up the steps. The door to our room was half open. Not even thinking to peek first, I pushed it open and stood there like an idiot.
The room was small, even for a cut-rate motel. I could take everything in at a glance, but it still took a beat or so for me to make sense out of what I was seeing. Misty lay on the couch cushions I’d put on the mattress, but she wasn’t resting. Her eyes were wide open. Duct tape covered her mouth. Plastic strips tied her hands and ankles.
8
Unlike Jack, our two visitors hadn’t stolen uniforms to match the car. They still wore black. The raggedy’s description was accurate enough. The taller one was mostly bald. A mix of chestnut and white made a low-hung crown around the back of his head. With the rounded cheeks and spherical nose, add a few dabs of greasepaint, and he’d make a great clown.
The other was fair-haired, narrow eyes set closely in the center of a flat face. They weren’t vacant like chak-eyes, more sunken, like a pig’s. His arms were too thin to be healthy, and his hands trembled. Not his features, but what you might call his mien reminded me of Misty, not now, but when we met. He was an addict.
Both had guns. Not crazy big-ass guns like Happy Jack, normal .38s. I wondered why they hadn’t brought the sedan, then realized why: police radio. They were keeping track of the hunt.
“Guess what we want,” Chuckles the clown said.
I took a step in. I was still ignorant enough to try to turn my back on whatever was going down. If they let Misty go, maybe I could keep it that way.
“You can have it. Been trying to get rid of that thing all night. Trust me, I don’t even want to know what it is.”
Flat-face waved his gun. “Great. So where is it?”
“If I hand it over, you’ll let us go? You won’t kill her?”
Chuckles shrugged. “We won’t.”
“I’ll take it. Three miles up the road, in a tree branch a hundred yards due east. You can’t miss it. So, if you found us through the radio, I take it the cops are on their way?”
Flat-face looked like the question pissed him off. “Nah. They won’t help you. They’re still in the Bones. Our boss sent us here, figured you might show. You’re all ours.”
“Fine, fine. Just don’t tell me who he or she is, okay?”
Chuckles twisted his round head and made a face like I was joking. “You don’t recognize us?”
That surprised me. I didn’t. Part of me tried, by reflex, but I drew a familiar blank.
“No.”
“He’s lying,” Flat-face said.
“Look, boys, I swear I have no idea who you are. Much as I might’ve enjoyed playing Maltese Falcon in another life, so to speak, right now I just want to hand the case over to whoever, so me and my friend can disappear.”
“Maltese what?” Flat-face asked.
“An old movie,” Chuckles explained.
Flat-face seemed irritated that there was something I knew that he didn’t. “So, you think you’re one of the smart ones?”
“I’m trying,” I told him. “How do you want to do this? Both of you come with me to get the case, we leave my friend tied up until we get back?”
Chuckles had other ideas. “I go with you and my associate stays with your friend. Anything happens to me, something happens to her.”
I’d stepped close enough to get a good look at Flat-face’s clammy skin. Definitely an addict. “How about you stay and your friend goes with me?”
That pissed off Flat-face all the more. “Think you can take me, chak?”
I hadn’t even thought of that. “I couldn’t take either of you. I’d just rather have the cooler head stay with my friend. She’s had a rough day.”
Chuckles was thinking about it, but Flat-face got a weird smile. “I can be sensitive! No deal.”
I didn’t like it, but I didn’t have a choice.
“So let’s go,” Chuckles said.
“Just a second,” I said. I knelt by Misty and tried to smile confidently. I have no idea what it looked like, probably a scene from Night of the Living Dead. “I know I’ve been making a habit of leaving you lately, but I’ll be back soon and this’ll be over.”
Her expression didn’t change. I rose and turned to Flat-face. “That was her boyfriend you blew up tonight. Let her rest, okay? Read a book or something.”
He patted my cheek. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine,” he said.
I followed Chuckles to the squad car.
“You don’t trust your friend with the case, do you? Why should I trust him with Misty?”
“Because I have the gun.”
I headed for the passenger side before he stopped me. “You drive.”
“Suit yourself.”
This time, the keys were in the ignition. The engine chugged and sputtered, misfiring like it had a bad plug or worse. I tried not to think about that. I tried not to think about lots of things, but Chuckles had already put a nasty thought into my head. I knew these guys from somewhere. Who were they? Who was ordering Tom Booth around? What was in that damn case and why had that piece of work brought it to me?
The cop car managed the sand a little better than the Chevy, so I took us to within ten yards of the tree. The single headlight caught the edge of the briefcase, telling me it was still there.
“You want me to get it for you?” I asked.
Chuckles eyed me. “You’re really handing it over, just like that. You don’t want to leave your girlfriend with my associate any longer than you have to.”
I nodded. “So, would you mind hurrying it up?”
“Nope, I wouldn’t.”
He got out. His back a black slate, he trotted over to the case, the cuffs of his shirt showing bits of white where the fabric folded. A few feet from the tree, he stopped and looked around. He stared into the dark ahead of him, then back at me in the car. I don’t think he’d seen anything. It looked like he’d just had one of those feelings.
He gave the case a hard tug, then seemed to remember it was somehow fragile. Using both hands, he gently tugged it free. One foot against the tree trunk, he balanced it on his bent leg and clicked the latches. The headlight caught the vials, giving his smiling face a blue glow that proved me right about the whole clown thing.
Satisfied, he closed it, then he took his sweet time walking back to the car. Maybe it was to annoy me, or maybe he was daring whatever he’d imagined might be in the dark to do something.
I opened the window. “Come on already.”
“Shut up and pop the trunk.”
Stupid. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I could practically hear his feet drag as he went around to the back of the car. I bent down and pulled the latch. A few minutes and we’d be back in the motel. Hang in there, Misty.
After what seemed forever, I heard him put the case in the trunk, then saw the lid slam through the rearview mirror.
Instead of getting back in, like he had all the time in the world, the bast
ard flipped open his cell and hit a number. There’s always a bit of sadist in a hired goon, but the real pros were better at hiding it than this idiot. As he waited for an answer, he leaned a hand against the car and stretched his back, putting his neck forward to the dark.
“Got it. No troubles. He’s playing it smart. Boss said he wouldn’t be a problem, didn’t he? The girl? Just cut her…”
Shit. I twisted around for a better look. Cut her what? Cut her free? Cut her throat? I’d never find out.
The next sound he made was a wet gurgle. Head down, he dropped the cell phone and grabbed at his neck. His clowny hands tried to cover a long gash in his throat. Without my even seeing, someone had cut him a second smile. Blood spurt from the wound into the darkness.
Now I saw the figure, and thought I recognized it from the webcam. It moved as fast as it did in the office, all but flying toward me in the car. I threw the transmission into reverse and floored it. The tires spun helplessly in the sand as the figure grabbed the door handle. When the tires found purchase, the car lurched, but the ninja didn’t let go. Instead, it flipped itself onto the hood.
I could see through the windshield, it was cloaked, hooded, but not in black. The cloth was a deep red, just bright enough to make me wonder how the hell it’d hidden in the dark. As I turned the wheel trying to shake it off, it rolled with the changes in momentum, moving too fast for me to get a good look at the face. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a mask.
It was still holding on as I spun onto the street. Still in reverse I gunned the engine, fighting to keep the car on the road as it went backward. At about forty, I slammed on the brakes. The car squealed, twisting right. The figure hurtled over the roof. Through the mirror, I saw it hit the ground and spin along the yellow double line.
I didn’t wait to see more. I put the car in drive and raced for the motel. Chuckles had been killed in mid–phone conversation, leaving Flat-face to improvise. Even money he’d figure I’d betrayed them. The question was, would he kill Misty outright, or do the smart thing and keep her alive to use as leverage? He didn’t strike me as smart.
I nearly crashed the car into the building, but there was no one around to see. I bolted into the lobby, thinking I’d tell the manager to call the cops, but he’d been stuffed behind the front counter, looking like he’d fallen asleep in a funny position, two bullet holes in the center of his shirt.
Dead Mann Running (9781101596494) Page 6
