Death Prefers Blondes

by Caleb Roehrig

  His tone was smug, but not triumphant, and Margo shifted her jaw. “But?”

  “That location is one of Manning’s servers.” He swallowed the last of his sherry and set the glass aside. “I saved the recordings there, as well, and protected it with my own private firewall. Without my access key, it would be easier for Addison to bicycle to Mars than hack into it.” Then his tone became humble for the first time. “All this happened very quickly, Margo—finding his files, transferring data, setting up my relays—but before I could do anything more than glance at it, he detected the intrusion and shut me out.

  “He can’t prove it was me, but he suspects, and under the guise of new security protocols, he’s had my clearance at Manning revoked. Now I need permission and an escort to enter the building, even for board meetings.” Castor looked disgusted. “He won’t let me out of his sight when I’m on the premises. He knows about the hack, but I don’t think he knows his emails are being doubled. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Are you in danger?” It seemed like the polite thing to ask.

  “Three attempts have been made on my life so far,” the man answered proudly. “I’d forgotten what it feels like to have someone out there wanting me dead. They’ve been subtle, nothing overt—so far—but Addison is definitely in the mood for blood.”

  “Too bad for him.” Margo tried to sip her sherry, but it was just too fucking good. Sucking it down, she relegated the glass to the tray again. “I’m keeping mine.”

  “It won’t be easy,” Castor said, amused. “You’re no more welcome there than I am, and Manning has one of the best security systems in the world. To gain access to what I’ve hidden in the servers, you won’t be able to do it remotely; even with my codes, you’ll still need direct access to the mainframe—which means access to the building, which means top-flight gear and a skilled and unquestionably loyal team at your disposal.”

  Margo settled back into the cushions of her wing chair, reaching for the bottle of sherry to pour one last glass, trying not to sound too smug. “Piece of cake.”

  37

  Three days later, at seven in the morning, Margo’s calves burned as she rounded a trail on the north side of Mount Lee. The city of Burbank cut a neat diagonal across the valley below, with the emerald swath of Forest Lawn Cemetery hugging the base of the slope. It was a clear day, and she paused to drink from her water bottle. She’d trained hard to get her strength and stamina back after returning from Venice, and she’d hiked up from Beachwood Canyon at a grueling pace.

  Pushing on, she reached the last switchback, curving around the summit, and emerged on the south side—where a chain-link fence was all that stood between her and one of LA’s most iconic landmarks. Impressive even from behind, the letters of the Hollywood sign staggered in an uneven row just beneath the ridgeline. The trail continued on, climbing to a radio tower on one side and a small overlook on the other, where Margo dropped onto a narrow bench and felt her heart thud in her chest.

  From this vantage point, she could see all nine of the bone-white letters; she could see the glittering reservoir of Lake Hollywood, the dark dome of Griffith Observatory, the dense greenery clinging to the hillsides—tumbling all the way down to where the city flattened out in a sea of concrete, asphalt, and steel.

  Far off, gleaming in the morning light, she could just make out the thunderbolt M on the side of the Manning Tower, rising up from Bunker Hill.

  Within ten minutes, she heard feet scuffing the path below, and then Dr. Nadiya Khan ascended to the overlook. Dressed in leggings and a track jacket, the woman was barely winded, and she flashed Margo a genuine smile. “The prodigal daughter returns.”

  “I got tired of people trying to kill me and figured I might as well come home.”

  Taking a seat beside Margo, the woman stretched out her legs. “I’m glad for it. I hated to see you give up, and I hate to see a villain prevail.”

  “He might still prevail,” the girl pointed out unhappily. “I already tried to fight him once, and it didn’t go so well. And this time the battle is a little more … uphill.”

  Dr. Khan gave a slow nod. “I did manage to piece together a working model of that poison. Explaining the genetic targeting still requires conjecture I can’t fully wrap my head around, but I can convincingly show how the compound could have caused your father’s symptoms and general decline.”

  Margo toyed with her water bottle. “Dr. Khan—”

  “Please call me Nadiya,” the woman interrupted. “I believe we’re past formalities at this point.”

  “Nadiya,” Margo corrected herself, enjoying the feeling of it. She’d looked up to Dr. Khan ever since the woman came to work for Manning—had been impressed by her focus, confidence, and intellect; being on a first-name basis felt like leveling up somehow. “It turns out that complete samples of the poison still exist. I even know where they are.”

  “You do?” The woman straightened up, eyes flickering; but her excitement evaporated instantly when Margo told her they were in Brand’s private safe, and she huffed a defeated sigh. “They might as well be in a stateroom on the lower decks of the Titanic, then. Unless you’re planning to somehow con Addison into handing them over.”

  “No, my plan is nowhere near that good.” Margo watched a hawk float and then dive. “Grifting isn’t my strong suit. I’m better at the direct approach.”

  Dr. Khan frowned sharply. “You’re not considering a break-in at Manning.” When the girl didn’t respond, Nadiya exclaimed, “Margo, it would be certain death!”

  “I have a plan,” Margo insisted, but she squirmed a little as she said it.

  “That’s why you called me, isn’t it? You’re planning a suicide mission and you need tech for it.” The woman pinched the bridge of her nose. “Margo, you have no idea how much things have changed since you left. Addison hasn’t been dragging his heels—he’s purged the company of anyone who won’t swear fealty to him, he’s clamped down on the flow of information between departments, and he has half of R&D working on secret projects even the new lab director doesn’t know about!” Struggling for a more level tone, she continued, “He’s become paranoid, convinced he’s surrounded by spies and traitors. The entire executive floor was cleared out, save for his own office, and he has a private firm guarding it around the clock!”

  Margo took a moment to absorb all this, and then attempted a smile. “That definitely sucks, but … I don’t really have a choice.” She turned her gaze to the distant skyscrapers of downtown, shining like knives in the morning sun. “The poison isn’t the only thing I need that won’t come to me. I have to go in. And if I don’t … well, there’s already a price on my head, and I’m not going to be able to dodge the men looking to collect it forever.”

  “Margo…” Dr. Khan looked at her imploringly. If there was some additional argument she wanted to make, she failed to find the words. After a moment of silence, she sighed. “The kind of op tech you’d need … I don’t have many resources these days. There’s a little I can do on my own, and favors I can call in, but I don’t have unfettered access to a lab anymore. If you need more experimental gear—”

  “These friends who owe you favors,” Margo cut in. “Do any of them still work at Manning?”

  Dr. Khan narrowed her eyes. “A few. But they’d be reluctant to do anything that could cost them their jobs. And they don’t have the authority to commission prototypes.”

  “That’s fine. Almost everything on my list is already in the lab vault.” And there, at the top of Mount Lee, with a hawk making lazy figure eights above the Hollywood sign, Margo detailed her plan. When she was finished, Nadiya was silent, and the girl pressed, “At most, I’d need you—or someone—to make a couple of minor tweaks to the existing hardware, but otherwise it’s all stuff we’ve used before.”

  The scientist shifted. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “I know it won’t be.”

  “It could work, though. If the stars align.”

 
; “There are still some crucial kinks to iron out before this is even a possibility,” Margo acknowledged.

  Nadiya laughed, a bright tinkling sound. “If anyone can pull it off, Margo, it’s you.”

  “You think?” The girl glanced up.

  “Look at everything you’ve pulled off so far.” Dr. Khan gestured around, her hands taking in all of LA County. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself, you know. Your father had a habit of making everyone feel like a failure so they’d forever struggle to do better; but you deserve to be proud of yourself—to believe in yourself. Don’t let men or tabloids or even your father’s ghost make you question your greatness.” Tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket, Nadiya Khan inclined her head. “I believe in you. And I’ll do what I can to get what you’ve asked for. If I accomplish nothing else in my life, bringing Addison Brand to his knees will be a worthy epitaph.”

  “I’m so glad,” Margo said, letting out a sound that was somewhere between laughter and relief. “If you couldn’t help me, plan B was to put on a fake mustache and pass myself off as the new janitor.” As they stood to part ways, Margo slipped her sunglasses off and handed them over. “I almost forgot. These shorted out when I, uh … took an emergency dip in the pool on our last job. I meant to get them to you right away, but then Dad was hospitalized, and life went a little haywire. Do you think you can fix them?”

  “Probably,” the woman said with a smile. She tucked them into her pocket. “I’m glad you’re back, Margo.”

  Feeling lighthearted for the first time in a while, the girl grinned. “Me too.”

  * * *

  It had been almost two years since the last time coming home after school was something Joaquin actually looked forward to. With so many people staying at the villa—filling its empty rooms with music and conversation, chasing away the ugly pall of loss and anger that had smothered their family—it was finally a happy place again. Even if Margo and Axel bickered all the time like an old married couple. And Axel and Davon. And Davon and Georgia.

  There were like twenty rooms in the house, and the six of them couldn’t stay out of one another’s way. It was kind of great.

  And then there was Leif. Kissing him that very first time had been like finding out that Hogwarts was real, and Joaquin could go there any time he wanted. Whenever their lips touched, he fell into this dream world where time didn’t exist, where no amount of contact was close enough, long enough, or deep enough. For the first few weeks, they’d made out for hours—until they were breathless, their mouths pink and swollen.

  Now that they were official, they didn’t have to hide from Axel anymore; but Leif didn’t have a car and Joaquin couldn’t drive, so their time alone was still unjustly rare, and their kisses were hungrier and more aggressive as a result. Ugh, just thinking about their tongues pressing together made him hard.

  “Why are you sitting like that?” Axel’s sour, suspicious question was like a bucket of ice water down Joaquin’s pants, and the boy scowled, trying to make it less obvious that he was concealing an erection.

  “Why do you care?” Not the most elegant comeback, but he was sick of Axel’s sharp-eyed stares and intrusive questions whenever his thoughts wandered to Leif Time.

  “Girls, you’re harshing my buzz,” Davon murmured from the other side of the table, eyes fixed on the pages of a salacious romance novel. Jacinta had a whole library of them, and Davon was determined to read every single one. Mama, I am sweating to these oldies, he’d exclaimed once when Axel caught him fanning himself over some steamy bodice-ripper about a horny duchess.

  “Axel, leave your brother alone.” Perched on a stool by the counter, her dark hair tied back, Jacinta fixed him with an imperious glare. For a moment it was just like old times.

  They were all in the kitchen—Joaquin and Axel, Davon and Georgia, Margo, and even Mami—cooking, reading, and/or fantasizing about sex things while they waited for Leif to arrive. The brothers’ double share of the LAMFA money had meant more than just keeping the lights on; they’d been able to enroll Jacinta in an experimental treatment program at Cedars-Sinai that was having an incredible effect.

  She wasn’t cured. They knew that. They’d been warned repeatedly that a complete reversal of her health problems was probably impossible … but her good days had gone from once a fortnight to two or three a week, which was more than any of them had dared to hope for.

  Tonight, feeling up to it for the first time in years, Jacinta was making her green chile tamales. The air was fragrant with cumin, sharpened by the tang of the peppers, and Bobby Capó played softly on the speakers. Margo, who had recently parachuted out of a three-hundred-foot church tower, was struggling to frost a tres leches cake; Georgia, resplendent in a salmon kimono, grated a block of cheese the size of a toaster while chattering about shows she did in Mexico City in her twenties; and even though Axel was being an asshole, everything finally felt a little bit right with the world.

  Then the doorbell rang, and Joaquin’s stomach did a flip as he jumped from his chair. “I’ll get it!”

  Leif stood on the doorstep, blond hair in its usual, adorable disarray, fitted jeans hugging his obscenely muscled thighs—those thighs, for fuck’s sake—and when their eyes met, they both grinned stupidly. Shyly, Joaquin managed, “Hi.”

  “Screw the tamales, you look good enough to eat.” Leif grabbed a fistful of the boy’s shirt, dragging him in for a kiss. Their tongues slipped together exactly the way they had in Joaquin’s imagination, and suddenly his briefs were a noose around his dick.

  “IS THAT LEIF?” Axel shouted theatrically from the other room, ruining the moment.

  “To be continued,” Leif whispered in Joaquin’s ear, and goose bumps tightened the skin between his shoulder blades while they walked together for the kitchen.

  Dinner was boisterous, but by the end, Jacinta was flagging and excused herself for an early night; Georgia graciously announced that she would take care of the dishes and shooed the teenagers outside. A scrim of clouds obscured the night sky above the covered pool, and the air was thick with an ocean scent as they settled around a dusty patio table.

  Without ceremony, Margo uncapped a cardboard tube and withdrew a series of diagrams. They were blueprints for Manning Tower, specs for the alarm and camera systems, and information about the servers and computer mainframe. She spread them out and added everything she’d learned regarding the changes made under Brand’s direction.

  Finally, she revealed her plan, step by meticulous step. It was bold and risky, and depended upon certain factors that weren’t guaranteed just yet; but they were used to danger by now, and Joaquin felt a swell of excitement in his chest as he thought about the important role that was slotted for him. It could work.

  Davon, unsurprisingly, zeroed in on only one specific detail. “So, when you say ‘real drag,’ do you mean we get to wear heels? Like, actual heels, and not those Spice Girl boots you always make us stomp around in?”

  “Yes, Davon,” Margo said patiently. “I mean heels, dresses, good wigs—the works. Just, you know, remember to keep the dial at, like, six instead of eleven. No fetish gear, no sequins, no feathers.”

  “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen my sexy mermaid-angel look.”

  “And hopefully she never will,” Axel interjected dryly. “I’ve got kind of an important question. Margo, babe, what you’ve got in mind is daring as fuck, and if we hit every mark dead-on, we’re golden, but…”

  “I know.” Margo rolled up the schematics with a glum expression.

  Axel said it anyway. “We don’t have enough people.”

  “I know,” Margo repeated. “I’ve thought about it a dozen different ways, tossed around the variables, but this is the only way it can work.” Looking around at each of them, she stated, “We’ll need a sixth team member to pull this off.”

  After a moment, Davon began haltingly, “Georgia is sober now—”

  “No.” Margo cut him off flat. “She kicke
d ass in that Boyle Heights throw-down, but she’s fifty-whatever and just out of rehab. She’s not ready.”

  “What about Castor?” Axel chewed his lip. “He’s a former spy, right? And he wants Brand taken down, too. Maybe he’s got somebody. That Frankenstein butler.”

  “James?” Margo shuddered at the thought of a long evening with Castor’s pallid, affectless manservant. “We can’t trust Castor, not fully. He’s still running his own game, and he wants to come out on top whether we pass or fail. Anyone he gave us would be working for him alone.”

  “So who, then?” Davon asked, a little impatiently. “Who’s left?”

  Margo took her time resealing the cardboard tube, eyes anywhere but on those of the boys, until she finally stated, “I have someone in mind.”

  38

  The Santa Monica Pier was a twenty-four-hour nightmare, clogged with tourists drawn by its carousel, roller coaster, and arcades, with amateur photographers capturing every sunny angle of the arching coastline. Two days after the summit at the villa, Margo pushed through the crowd to the pier’s end, leaning against a railing that overlooked the ceaseless waves of the Pacific.

  Gulls shrieked and music blared, but she was only there a few minutes before the person she was waiting for sidled up to her, muttering under his breath, “It’s the strangest thing. A while back, this girl I know told me she was moving to Italy, maybe forever.”

  “What a sad story,” Margo commented.

  “It was,” he agreed. “And then today I get this message: Meet me at the end of the Santa Monica Pier at three p.m. I’ll be wearing gold.” Dallas Yang turned a shrewd eye on her. “I don’t know why, but I figured that meant, like, a gold evening gown or something.”