by R. A. McGee
“Sometimes it was fun. But those weird guys? They mostly just bothered me, you know? Like there was something missing in their eyes, really empty. Regardless, I was there to work, so I did.
“I got pulled out of Afghanistan, and the Agency had us following an opium distribution network. We hopped from dealer to distributor to regional suppliers. Our trail took us to Frankfurt, to find some in-between banker type. That’s the first time I met Keever.”
“Why did they send you guys? Why not GSG 9 or Interpol?” Miri said.
“Got me. I guess they liked the success rate my guys had. For whatever reason, we were sitting in a safe house and in walks Keever. Just greasy and smiley, a glowing asshole billboard. He was connected to the Agency somehow. I never got an official hierarchy or anything, but he was vetted, and he was supposed to tag along with us.
“He was always weird. He talked about how he liked to kill people and the crazy stuff he liked to do to girls. I mean, when a bunch of guys get together, we don’t always say the classiest shit, but Keever didn’t get it. He wasn’t boasting about his conquests to feel good, or making up stories so everyone would laugh, he was telling us real shit that no one thought was funny. I never trusted him, never let down my guard toward him.
“One night, after we’d hit a major distribution hub, we all went out. Found the best strip club we could afford on our shitty Army salaries, and we all went drinking. We tried to ditch Keever, but he followed us, and popped up while we started drinking.”
“You at a strip club? I don’t believe it,” Miri said with sarcasm. “I’ll bet you were helping those girls through college, weren't you?”
“Just doing my civic duty,” Clark said with a smile. “We’re all having fun, and Keever takes a girl to the back to get a dance. He had more money than us and he was going to spend it all in that place.
“A while later, I’m so full of beer I’m going to burst. So before I head back to my room, I stumble off to the head. I hear this commotion from behind the curtain of a private room, so I poke my head in there and take a look.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“You have to understand something about Keever—he was very self-conscious of his complexion. He hates it. I’ve never understood why. It’s like the strangest self-loathing thing. I’ve been the lightest guy in the group and the darkest. I’m me, I could give a damn what someone thinks, you know?”
Miri smiled, but winced as she did.
“You okay?” Clark said.
“Fine, fine. Just a split lip. So Keever is self-conscious?”
“And of course, once a group of type-A guys found that out, they wouldn't let him live it down. You can’t show any weakness, trying to survive with all those apex predators. Even the other black guys would needle him just to piss him off. He hated it.”
“So what was behind the curtain?”
“Apparently, he has this stripper in the back, she’s giving him a dance and he offers her a wad of cash to have sex with him. She turns him down. Says she doesn’t have sex with guys, it’s not her thing. She’s a dancer, not a hooker, right?”
“I’m sure that went over well,” Miri said.
“Exactly. When I poked my head in, the stripper’s face was damn near a bloody crater and he was choking her lifeless. So I pulled him off her, but at that point, he was so fired up that he came after me. He was ranting about racist strippers, drunk off his ass saying crazy things. He thought the girl wouldn’t sleep with him because he was black. That had nothing to do with it—she wouldn’t sleep with him because he was Keever, you know?”
“After meeting him, I can see that.”
“I did my best to keep him off me, but he kept coming. So I let him have it. I beat him bad, Miri. I was wasted and I couldn’t even feel the line where I should stop.
“He gets up and comes at me with a knife. Maybe I couldn’t believe the nerve of the asshole, or maybe I was sick of his shit, but when I dropped him again, I got on top of him, and I could see the stripper convulsing on the floor, and I just did it.”
“Did what, Clark?”
“I stuck my thumb in his eye and squeezed it until I gouged it out.”
Forty-Nine
McHenry’s cab let him out on the sidewalk. He dropped enough for the fare and a tip over the seat and into the man’s lap.
He pulled open the door to the diner, a small twenty-four-hour establishment. It appeared to be untouched since the sixties, with its chrome counters and grill tops, its vinyl seats badly in need of repair. The cook manning the grill turned long enough to tell McHenry to sit anywhere. As the place was mostly empty, McHenry had his choice of tables. He slid into a booth in the back of the diner, his back to a large brick wall, facing the door.
It wasn’t long before Lester Keever came through the door. He had a slight limp and as he drew closer, McHenry saw that his face was puffy and swollen.
“McHenry,” Keever said with a smile, revealing a missing front tooth. “I guess you didn’t want your own car parked out front, huh? Wouldn’t want anyone to see you in here, would you?”
“What the hell happened to you?” McHenry said, his blood running cold.
Keever sighed, his brilliant smile waning, the missing tooth lending him a predatory look. “I did what you wanted me to.”
“I asked you to take out the hacker kid. Darren what’s-his-name. I have a hard time believing that he did this to you.”
“Would you believe this was from a bitch? That tall one, with the sexy lips. What’s her name?”
“Miriam Banks did this?”
“Is that her name? Probably six feet, maybe small C-cups, if she doesn’t pad her bra. You know, the really sexy one.”
McHenry slammed his fist against the table. The only other patrons in the place turned around.
“What’s the matter, Tourette’s acting up?” Keever said with a laugh.
McHenry leaned in and lowered his voice. “I did not ask you to get into an altercation with Miriam Banks. I asked you to take the young man out. I believe my instructions were pretty clear.”
“Sometimes, situations evolve themselves. I saw an opportunity and I took it. I couldn’t help that your damn Amazon was in there. She smacked me around good. It’s okay, though; I think I edged her out.”
McHenry’s eyes narrowed to a slit. “Keever, what did you do to Banks?”
“I brought the whole damn trailer down on her ass. Shame, ’cause it was a nice ass.”
“What about Lucy?”
“Who?”
“The original target. The one you were only supposed to follow?” McHenry said.
“Oh, you mean Lilac? I brought her with me.”
McHenry looked around. “You brought her here?”
“No, I brought her back from Hershey. I’m hanging on to her for a bit.”
“You kidnapped her? Why the hell did you do that? You were just supposed to follow her.”
“Then you wanted me to kill that kid. And I saw Clark, so I called an audible.”
“What does Clark have to do with this?”
“Well,” Keever said, “I assumed at some point you’d want me to kill him.”
“I never said that, you idiot.”
“No, but I know it’s coming. I’ve done this job for a while. So I kept the girl, Lilac. It appeared that she and Clark had a good rapport when I saw them at the airport. If I know that big dumb white knight the way I think I do, when you ask me to kill him, you’ll be glad I kept the girl.”
McHenry rubbed his face. Things had gotten so far off track, he couldn’t even find the train anymore. “Keever, what do you know about Clark?”
“We go way back.”
“Then you know what he’s capable of?”
“I’ve seen him work a little. Honestly? I never understood what the hype was.”
“The hype? There is no hype, Keever. Do you know what we call Clark?”
“I’m assuming ‘asshole’ is out of the running?”
“We call him Dust, Keever. Because once he gets going, all he leaves behind is dust.”
“I’m too old for ghost stories, Mr. McHenry.”
McHenry leaned in. “If you think I’m embellishing, then you’ve never seen this side of Clark. The side he only lets out when he’s enraged.”
Keever picked up a fork from the table and tapped it against his glass eye. “Oh, I’ve seen it.”
“What, because he tore your eye out? He could have done that because you annoyed him. Now you’ve kidnapped a girl he considers a little sister, and you killed his best friend in the world. This isn’t a ghost story, you moron, it’s a nightmare.”
“Wait, who did I kill?”
“You said you killed Banks.”
“No I didn’t. I said I dropped a trailer on sugar-tits. As a matter of routine, I took the liberty of checking with the local hospitals for anyone matching the description. Turns out, she’s in Hershey at the ER. Would you believe a pizza guy showed up and found her in the wreckage? Apparently she made it out herself before she collapsed. Tough broad.”
“She’s still alive? Then we have a chance to salvage this. Let Lucy Gordon go, and I’ll go see about Banks. There’s still a way I can spin this so we come out okay.”
“Just wait a minute,” Keever said, fidgeting in his chair. “You disavowed Clark, right? So that means he’s done something that made him a traitor. Either that, or he knows something you don’t want him to. One reason or another, you need him eliminated. I’m the guy to do it. I have the perfect bait. Give me a few hours and let me do my damn job, and he won't be a problem anymore.
“You’re going to have to handle it eventually. And then what’s the play going to be? Lilac’s the best chance to get him charging into a trap,” Keever said. “Clark’s always been a sucker for bitches.”
McHenry rubbed his face. “I can’t believe you’re the best Brockman could loan me.”
“I’m better than Clark. Let me take him out.”
“No. If it comes to that, I’ll send a team to bring him in. He’s disavowed, his word is no good. Hell, there's a black-site ship floating in the Pacific, I put him in there and no one will ever hear from him again.”
“Take him alive? Good luck,” Keever laughed. “Think about what you’re saying. You just went on the ‘We call him Dust’ rant not two minutes ago. Now you think you can bring him in?”
McHenry lowered his head. His mind was racing, trying to figure every possible scenario. Even if he got Banks and Gordon out, Clark was still coming for him. He figured he could reason with Lucy and Miri. He was no longer sure he could with Dust. If it was at all possible that the sadist in front of him could get it done, then it would be worth it. At this point, Lucy Gordon was beginning to seem like a small price to pay for his own survival.
“Fine, Keever. But remember what I said about Clark. You can’t mess this up. If you do, the fallout will be tremendous. You do what you have to do. If you use Lucy as bait, I’d ask that you just make it quick. She doesn’t deserve to suffer.”
Keever nodded and McHenry felt it looked noncommittal.
“Listen to me: don’t mess this up again. Thanks to your ineptitude, I have to try to salvage something from this abortion of an operation. I’ll go to the hospital and talk to Banks, see if I can spin this.”
Keever sucked in slowly, his missing tooth making a slight whistling sound. “Yeah, about that. You might want to save your gas.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I told you I was bringing in some help, remember? You said charge it to the Agency.”
“So?”
“One of my guys was going from New York to the District. When I found out the woman was still alive, I asked him to swing by the hospital in Hershey and take care of her for me.”
“Speak plainly, Keever. What are you saying?”
“Figured you want me to tie up all the loose ends from the trailer. The woman, Banks? I didn’t kill her, but she’s gotta be dead by now.”
Fifty
“I never saw him again,” Clark said, “at least, not until the other day in the bathroom. I knew he was there for something bad. I should have just killed him then and been done with it. Truth be told, that’s why I was needling him. I wanted to set him off, and give me an excuse to strangle him to death.”
Miri didn’t say anything, instead closing her eyes for a few moments.
“I’m sorry,” Clark said.
She opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow at Clark.
“Keever’s my fault. I should have never left you guys alone when he was around. I thought he’d be after me. I never guessed…”
“Shut up. The last thing I need is you thinking you’re my bodyguard. I can take care of myself.”
“Obviously,” Clark said, waving his hand at the bed.
“This? This is nothing. I’ll be on my feet in a couple days. Besides, you needed to talk to Butterfield. God knows I couldn’t.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I choked him out,” Clark said.
“Really?” When she smiled, the cut in her lip opened again.
Clark frowned. “Yeah, really. When he woke up, I explained what was happening. He has the thumb drive now. He’s supposed to be getting it to his uncle. If he does that, McHenry is finished. Senator Hundley has been after the old man for a while.”
Miri winced again.
“Let me go ask about your morphine.” Clark stood and patted her knee, then opened the curtain, and was met by a thin, blond man in a lab coat.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Exeter.” The man had two IV bags in his hand, slicked-back hair, and a healthy beard.
“I was just looking for you,” Clark said. “She’s been having some pain.”
“I’d imagine so. A pizza guy found you, is that right? In the rubble of a trailer? I’ll bet that’s a hell of a story.”
“I don’t remember anything. I was hanging out at my friend's place and the next thing I know, bang, hospital.”
“I see. Well, no problem. Sometimes people with head injuries can develop short-term memory loss. I’m sure you’ll be okay.”
Clark sat back in his chair, next to the side of the hospital bed. He looked the doctor up and down, noticing his shoes. “Nice Salomons, Doc.” Clark had an affinity for the shoes and had used them many times overseas. Essentially overpriced hiking boots, they were much more comfortable than Army-issued.
“I love the mountains,” Dr. Exeter said. “I’m a bit of an outdoorsman.”
“Not me,” Clark said. “I’d rather be under a roof.”
Clark watched Exeter do what appeared to be a cursory check of Miri’s chart and look at the IV machine. When he stretched to turn an alarm off, his sleeve rose up, exposing a tattoo.
“You a sailor, doc?” Clark shifted in his chair.
“What makes you think that?”
“That tattoo, the snakes wrapped around the winged staff? It’s a caduceus. When I was in the service, lots of corpsmen had it.”
“I just liked it. Picked it out of a magazine.”
Clark felt Miri looking at him, but his gaze didn’t waver from Exeter. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a doctor show up. Would you mind giving us the rundown on our girl's injuries?”
“You know, I’m only here to handle the IV. I’ll have to get her attending physician to take a look and check in with you guys.”
Clark stood at the side of Miri’s bed. “Before you give her anything, would you mind going to find him? I want to make sure everyone is on the same page.”
“I’ll go get him in just a minute. Let me handle this first.”
“No. Get him now,” Clark said.
The doctor looked flustered. “Fine, but there’s no need for—”
Exeter’s hand darted from behind his back. Clark’s was also moving, in front of Miri, catching Exeter’s wrist and stopping a syringe from plunging into her chest.
Miri grabbed Exeter’s wrist
as well. The three of them stood, frozen in the moment. Clark felt the throbbing in his gunshot wound intensify from the exertion.
“This was supposed to be much easier. A little medicine in your IV and you sleep forever,” Exeter said, his face turning red from the strain of pushing down.
“She’s not the one who’s going to sleep today,” Clark said. “You just signed your death warrant, coming in here after her.”
“You weren’t supposed to be here, but I figured, what the hell? Why not go for it?”
Miri grunted. Clark stole a glance and saw her eyes rolling.
“She’s hurt. You can’t keep this up. I’m walking out of here,” Exeter said.
“No chance.”
Exeter shifted his weight, leaning into the syringe. Clark held it as long as he could with one hand, but his wounded shoulder was failing him. He darted his left hand out, covering Miri’s for added support.
At the same time, Exeter swung the two IV bags still in his other hand at Clark. With both of his hands occupied, the bags smacked into his face, bursting in his eyes. Exeter dropped the syringe harmlessly on Miri’s chest, then yanked his arm free, darting around the hospital bed and out of the room while Clark was blinded.
“Shit,” he said, wiping fluid from his eyes.
“Go,” Miri said.
“But—”
“Go, go, go.”
Clark slung the curtain open, careful of his footing on the slick hospital floor. Eyes still stinging, he caught a glimpse of a figure sprinting around the corner of the hallway.
Fifty-One
Clark turned the corner carefully, expecting Exeter to jump out, but there was no one. He moved carefully down the empty hallway and stopped, ears primed. He heard the metallic click of a door latching shut. Clark jogged around the next corner, which dead-ended into the emergency stairwell.
He opened the door, but didn’t step into the stairwell. He listened, the faint scuff of the sole of a shoe echoing from above him.
The emergency room was on the bottom floor of the hospital building. Clark took the stairs three at a time, up two flights, and stopped to listen again. There was nothing.
