“Where you headed?” asked the man checking IDs as we pulled up to the checkpoint.
I looked over to George. In all of our journey to get here, he’d never actually said where we were going.
“Sandy Key Condominiums,” George said.
The ID checker jerked back a little—obviously in surprise—and I saw the man on overwatch go on alert. His hand flashed inside his jacket to whatever weapon he had there. I kept both my hands on the wheel in plain sight, all thoughts of provoking them gone in an instant. The man’s reflexes were as good as, if not better than, my own. One wrong move, and we were dead.
“And what, exactly, do you think you’re going to do there?”
“I’m Luc Boudreaux’s nephew. I’m coming to tell him about his brother’s death.”
“Oh,” ID Checker said. His shoulders relaxed fractionally, and the overwatch man’s hand relaxed on the pistol I was sure he was holding. “Well, that sucks.”
“Happens these days,” George said with a shrug.
“It does,” ID checker said, nodding. “What happened to his killer?”
“Fred here took care of him,” George said, pointing to me.
I became the center of attention again as both men evaluated me. I tried to look as unthreatening as possible.
“That so?” ID Checker asked, after a moment’s contemplation.
“Yeah,” I replied, trying to sound nervous. “I got lucky.”
“Lucky?” George said. “Hell, you should have seen him. He was a one man army. I don’t know how many men he’s killed in the trip from Louisiana to here, but I’m guessing it’s in the dozens.”
The man’s eyebrow went up as I became a bigger threat to him, and Overwatch’s hand snuggled back up to his pistol.
“So you’re a tough guy huh?” ID Checker asked. He looked over to his partner. “Hey, Smitty, this guy look familiar to you?”
“A little. I can’t place him, though. He kind of looks like that movie star—you know the one?”
ID Checker nodded as his eyes came back to me. “You look familiar to me, too. You ever been on TV or the movies?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” I replied. All of a sudden, I didn’t want to share my history—or lack, thereof—with them. I just wanted to get out of their sight. “I get that a lot, though. I just have a familiar-looking face, I guess.”
“Hmm,” ID Checker said, obviously not satisfied. “Are you going to cause any problems on my island?”
“Not me,” I said. “All I did was finish things; I didn’t start any of those fights.” I kept my question of, “So you own the island, now?” to myself, which I was pretty proud of. I’m not sure when the last time I’d exercised that much restraint had been, but I’m pretty sure it was before I woke up in Louisiana.
“Uh, huh,” ID Checker replied. “That true?” he asked, looking to George for confirmation.
“I can’t vouch for all of them,” George replied, “as I wasn’t around him the entire time, but the ones I was there for were all started by other people. And he did end them all…permanently.”
I saw a new look cross ID Checker’s face—it was the same look a shark, or a killer—gives another one. Professional courtesy. I could also see that he was now interested in testing my skills, although he was too much of a professional to do it while he was supposed to be performing his duties. If I ever met him off duty, though, the nod he gave me left me with an unspoken challenge to find out which of us was better.
The nod I gave him back let him know I understood, and he smiled and waved us through. “These guys are okay, Brown,” he said. “In fact, I hope to meet Fred again.”
A small shiver went down my back as I drove away. I hoped that meeting never happened.
* * *
“Did I miss something?” George asked as we drove east along the key and into what used to be Florida.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“That whole conversation on the bridge.” He shrugged. “It was like I was there and talking with all of you, yet somehow you were having your own conversation with them that I wasn’t a part of.”
“You have no idea,” I replied. I spared a glance at him. “I told you while we were waiting that I thought those guys were killers. Well they are, and I suspect they are very good at it. Maybe even better than me.” I could see him shiver as that implication went through his mind. “When you told them that I’d killed dozens of people since you’ve known me, you made me a pro in their eyes. Then they had to measure themselves against me.”
George shivered again.
“Yeah,” I replied to his unspoken response. “Happily, they were too professional to challenge me while on duty, but if we ever meet up when they’re not…”
“Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah,” I said. After a couple of moments I added, “Maybe, next time, you don’t want to mention anything about that, okay?”
“You got it,” he said in a small voice. “Sorry.”
“You didn’t know,” I replied. “All things considered, though, I’d still like to find out who I am before someone kills me.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence. Enormous high-rise hotels and condominiums lined the gulf shore on the right as we drove. I suspected most of them were empty, as trying to feed that many people would have been problematic. As the road continued on toward the north, we turned off onto the access road to the Sandy Key Condominiums—more large buildings, next to some truly enormous ones—and were immediately stopped at another checkpoint. We stated our business with Luc Boudreaux—and nothing else this time—and were waved through.
“I have a question,” I said as we drove down to the last building. “What exactly did your uncle do for Obsidian? Based on the body language of everyone here when you mention his name, he’s someone pretty damned important.”
George shrugged. “I don’t know. He was always just, ‘Uncle Luc,’ you know? I knew he was in upper management, but I never really cared growing up. Then he and dad had a fight, and dad moved to Louisiana. Dad never wanted to talk about him anymore.”
We parked the car, leaving the kids to watch it, went through another security checkpoint, and were directed up to a suite on the top floor. Admittedly, I hadn’t seen many nice places—that I could remember, anyway—but this building was nice. It had the opulence of the mega rich—those people who didn’t have to overstate their wealth because anyone they cared about impressing would recognize the Da Vinci and Cézanne paintings…and if they didn’t recognize them, they were below notice.
Don’t ask me how I knew they were Da Vinci and Cézanne; I just did.
A large, hairy man answered the door when I knocked. “What?” he asked.
“Hi,” I replied, trying not to reel backward from his pungent breath. I didn’t know what he’d eaten to achieve that level of rankness, but I was really curious so I could avoid it in the future. “We’re here to see Luc Boudreaux.”
The man’s bloodshot eyes stared at me a moment, looking for recognition. “Get fucked,” he said, finding none. “He ain’t here.”
“Hi Frank,” George said from over my shoulder. “It’s me, George Boudreaux. I’d like to see Uncle Luc.”
“Well, look who’s here,” Frank said with a sneer. “The prodigal brother returns. Except it’s not the brother, it’s his asshole son. The boss wondered if we’d be seeing you.”
“Good to see you, too, Frank.” George’s voice matched and—if anything—exceeded the level of sarcasm he received. “Is Luc here? I have something to tell him.”
“Nope.”
“Where is he?”
“None of your damn business. You and your dad left. Damn near broke his heart.”
“As if something could break that son of a bitch’s heart.”
Frank cocked his head and frowned. “Whaddya want?”
“A couple beds for the night and to talk to my uncle would be nice.”
“Not happening. Get lost.” He s
lammed the door.
I turned to George. “And you say I have no people skills.”
“Something’s wrong,” George replied. “Frank’s an asshole, but he never would have kicked me out. Not without asking my uncle, anyway. He doesn’t have that kind of license to act.”
“Sounds like you didn’t leave on the best of terms. Maybe your uncle left instructions to turn you away.”
“Not a chance. He may not have liked some of my dad’s choices, but he wouldn’t have turned us away without speaking to us. If nothing else, he would have wanted to gloat about our return.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, my family isn’t perfect, either, Mr. Smart Guy, but I’m serious. My uncle would never have given Frank the latitude to talk to me like that.” When I continued to look at him, he added, “I’m serious.”
I nodded once, then turned back to the door. I’d come too far and gone through too much to be turned away at the door by this asshole. While I may not have been able to take the guys on the bridge—not that I’m saying I couldn’t—I could definitely kick Frank’s ass. Whether he was drunk, stoned, or—most likely—both, his ass was mine.
I knocked on the door again, harder this time.
The door opened again, but now the security chain was on. It didn’t prevent Frank’s halitosis from escaping. “What?” he asked.
I braced on my right foot and kicked out with the sole of my left. The door crashed inward, throwing him back as the frame around the chain’s attachment splintered.
Frank stumbled to a stop, but surprisingly didn’t fall, and he reached for the pistol in his belt. I was faster, though, and stepped forward to chop down on his wrist. His trigger discipline wasn’t very good—he’d already wrapped his finger around the trigger as he tried to draw it, and the gun went off before it cleared his waistband.
“Fuck!” he yelled as he dropped the pistol and bent over to grab his groin. “You shot me in the dick!”
I put a hand on his head and pushed hard, knocking him to the floor, where he lay, still clutching himself. I stepped forward and picked up the pistol as footsteps could be heard from the hallway.
Two men raced into the room with rifles in their hands. “What the hell?” the first one through the door asked.
“Frank shot himself in the groin,” I said. “I took his pistol for safekeeping so he didn’t shoot anything important.”
Both men focused on me and frowned. I reached to my side and gave George a small push away from me so I had enough room to move.
“Is he going to die?” the first one asked.
“Is it a problem if he does?”
“Nope,” the second man said. “In fact, now that he’s seen us here, it’s probably more of an issue if he lives.”
“Hey! Luc will have your asses when he gets back!” Frank exclaimed. “Kill them! Kill them now! Then get me a fucking medic!”
“We used to work for Mr. Boudreaux,” the first man said. “He was a good man. This guy—” he indicated Frank with his pistol, “—is a piece of shit. Don’t know why Mr. Boudreaux left him in charge.” He shrugged. “It’d be better if you didn’t shoot him again. I’ll give the all clear, but if you shoot him again, you’re liable to have a full security response. Some of those assholes are his friends and might not take what you’re doing so…dispassionately.” The men turned to leave.
“Hey!” George called. “What did you mean when you said you used to work for Mr. Boudreaux?”
The first man turned around. “Mr. Boudreaux, along with a number of his men, went north about a month ago to try and make contact with some of the other member of the company’s management. He hasn’t been seen or heard from since.” He pointed to Frank again. “It’s been long enough that some people have started trying to usurp his power.” He shrugged. “I hope he comes back soon or this place is going to go to shit.”
“What’re your names?” I asked.
“I’m Johnson; he’s Jones,” the first man said.
“I understand your concern,” I replied, “as does Mr. Boudreaux.” I nodded to George. “That’s why Mr. Boudreaux sent his nephew, George, to manage things until his return.”
“Is that right?”
I gave him my best smile. “That George is Mr. Boudreaux’s nephew? Absolutely.”
“No,” Johnson said. “I know that’s Mr. Boudreaux’s nephew. I’ve seen him before, although it’s been some time, and I recognize him. I’m asking whether Mr. Boudreaux sent him.”
“Let me put it to you this way,” I said, allowing the smile to fade, “I say that he did, and I’m willing to fight anyone who calls me a liar. I personally know the new Mr. Boudreaux, and I’ll vouch for him. You wanted a new, good, interim boss? Here you go.”
Johnson gave George an appraising look. “I’ve worked for worse, and I wouldn’t have any issues working for the new Mr. Boudreaux. Nor would Jones. Some people will, though, and you’ll have to deal with them.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Where might I find these people?”
“They like to use Room 702 as their party room.”
My smile returned. “Party? I love a good party. I think I’ll stop by.”
Johnson looked at Jones. “I think I’m going to like working for him.”
“Me, too,” Jones replied. “Assuming he survives.”
“True.” He looked at me, then stared hard at me for a few moments. “You know, you look familiar.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been getting that a lot. I look like that movie star from TV, back when we had them.”
“No, although now that you say it, I see a certain resemblance. What I was talking about, though, was you look like a guy that I saw in one of the corporate wars I fought in. We reached a point where both forces couldn’t go any further. After about a week of stalemate, this guy came around. I don’t know what his name was—I may not have ever even heard it. Anyway, he said, ‘I want you to attack in two hours.’”
Jones shrugged. “I thought it was stupid—both sides had tried several times by this point, and neither could move the other—but my colonel said, ‘That guy’s a company man—an Agent. If he says to attack in two hours, we attack in two hours…and we’ll be successful.’ We watched that guy meet up with two other guys, then the three drifted off toward the enemy lines.”
His eyes lost focus, as if he were watching something from long ago.
“So, what happened?” I asked when he didn’t continue.
Jones twitched; he’d been so lost in his thoughts, he seemed surprised to see me there. “What?” he asked.
“What happened with the attack?”
“We attacked in two hours and barely lost a man. When we got to the other side, we found whole sections of the enemy line where no one was still alive. Except for the fact that there wasn’t a crater, it looked like a bomb had exploded in their midst—they were scattered about in pieces.”
“And those men had done it?”
“I don’t rightly know—we never saw them again. If they didn’t do it, though, I don’t know who did. And if they did do it…” he shook his head.
“And I look like that Agent guy?”
“No, but you look like one of the two men he met with. As they split up, one of them—a man that was the spitting image of you, minus a few years now—walked by and smiled at me, just the way you did now. He never said anything, so I can’t tell if the voice is the same; he just gave me a sarcastic half-salute and walked off.” Jones paused a second then added, “We have to go—we’ve got sniper duty on the roof now—but I just want to say one thing. If you’re him, I’m awfully glad you’re on our side. Me and Johnson will be very happy to work for you.”
The men turned and left, and I turned back to Frank.
“I can be of use,” he said. All his earlier combativeness had disappeared as his will to live kicked in. “You don’t have to kill me.”
I walked over to where he lay. He’d wet himself, and the blood and u
rine made a nasty puddle on the floor. Someone was going to have to clean it up, but that someone wasn’t me.
“You are going to be of use,” I replied as I bent over and twisted his head suddenly. The crack as his neck broke echoed throughout the room. “You’re going to serve as my example.”
Examples are important in this Fallen World.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Um, are you sure you know what you’re doing?” George asked.
“As to putting you in charge?” I asked. He nodded. “Yeah, I do. I kill the troublemakers and set you up as the legitimate heir to fill the power vacuum.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You asked if I knew what I was doing. I have a plan and am implementing it.”
“What I really meant was more along the lines of, ‘Do you think this is the right thing to do?’”
“Obviously, we couldn’t wait for your uncle to return with Frank still alive; he would have had you killed as soon as he could. And me too, unfortunately. I didn’t intend for him to shoot himself, but once that happened, there really was no going back. Either he was going to die, or we were.”
“I’m glad you chose him, then.”
“Me too. Like I already told you, I don’t know who I am, and I don’t have any intention of dying in that state.”
“So what do we do?”
“It’s too late to do anything now, but the first order of business tomorrow, assuming we’re still alive, is for you to start learning the ropes.”
“Um, still alive?”
“You heard Jones; there will be people who object to the change in management.”
“I did.”
“They will probably make an attempt on your life tonight. My intention is to stop that attempt and give any people who have issues with your installation a number of reasons to believe they should accept it as the path of least resistance…and the one most conducive to them living a long and somewhat happy life. As much as we can in this shitty world, anyway.”
Don't Call Me Ishmael Page 11
