Castle Danger--Woman on Ice

by Anthony Neil Smith

  “Where would we be going?”

  The toadie cleared his throat some more. “Senator Marquette would like to speak with you.”

  Oh fuck. “Um. Okay. Why?”

  Engebretsen stuck his head through the door. “Like we said, he’s looking for his brother. You probably found him, or her, or whatever.”

  “But … our deal?”

  “I guess the Senator and our Chief are pretty cozy. Nothing we can do.”

  Thorn reached under my arm, lifted me, chair and all, until I was about to fall out. I planted my feet and let go of the chair. “Fine, fine, fine. I’m up, alright?”

  I didn’t have a choice. But as he handed me the wig back, I took my revenge. “How’s your partner? Visited him in the hospital yet?”

  Thorn tightened his grip on my arm for that one. I wasn’t a prisoner, after all, but I anticipated little crescent moon cuts in my arm from his fingernails.

  Out in the cop shop, there were phones ringing. Not one was being answered. The place was mostly empty this time of night, or morning, or, whoa. I had no idea what time it was anymore. The guy in the suit led the way, with Haupt and Engebretsen following close behind. What was this? Thorn working for Marquette? That changed everything. Was he really, or was this some shady ploy to get rid of me? Or was Andrew Marquette more involved in his brother’s death than it seemed? Holy shit. And I’d told my fine detectives about Joel, and that we had a witness, and, holy shit.

  I turned my head, got yanked along by Thorn. Only just managed to mutter a question at the two cops bringing up the rear: “You guys sure they’re from the Senator? Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure. Thorn’s known him for years,” Engebretsen said, “Don’t worry. I’m going to follow along. I’ll give them an hour.”

  Thorn picked up the pace. “No one authorized you to do that. When he’s done, we’ll let you know.” Another yank on my arm.

  Haupt grabbed Thorn’s shoulder, stopped him in his tracks, and got face-to-face. “She’s your guest. Treat her as such, understand?”

  Thorn dropped his hand. I still felt the grip. He smirked, for fuck’s sake, and said very quietly. “Didn’t realize you had a soft spot for the fairer sex. My apologies.”

  It was only when we’d pushed through the door into the parking lot that Thorn grabbed my arm again and pushed me ahead, this time into the back of a waiting black Chevy Suburban, dark windows, dark interior. He climbed in after and the driver hit the gas, taking me to see the next governor of the great state of Minnesota …

  … or maybe to my own watery grave.

  Oh, the suspense, am I right?

  2

  Meanwhile …

  Joel had run out of war stories, so he’d had to listen to Titus and Paula fruit it up with “Sweetie” this and “Ain’t that a bitch” that. Jesus.

  He noticed the cars, the sneaky cars, while he was pumping gas into the van at a SuperAmerica shop in the suburbs, jittery and in a hurry. While Titus went for drinks — flavored water and something called kombucha, for fuck’s sake — and Paula stood off by the side of the store, smoking and arguing with someone on her phone, Joel was repressing like a motherfucker (as he’d probably say) because, goddamn, this wasn’t a good time for a ‘hydration run’, not when the woman he loved had been electrocuted right in front of him, and he’d done what he’d done before — freeze up.

  Technically speaking, he’d merely followed my lead and got himself out of danger, but that wasn’t what a man was supposed to do. Dude was supposed to charge in and rescue his fair maiden.

  It was just a Taser. Hurts like a bitch, but she’ll be fine. The cops aren’t going to kill her.

  He winced. The whole point of this case was that a cop had killed someone. What’s a few more?

  Let’s say we all survive, unscathed for the most part. Would Robin forgive him? Would he want her to?

  The wind wouldn’t let up. Colder than it should be this time of year. Felt like the sky was ready to let loose with another snowstorm. And something about the gas station lights made it even colder. He hunched his shoulders and faced the wind. Let it blow, baby. Just like hunting. Let the wind fuck with him. He deserved it.

  Movement, a couple lots over. A strip mall, hardly any cars left, and yet he was sure there was a car hiding behind a Lexus SUV. Someone was standing outside, peering over the top in his direction. Thought they were hidden. Coincidence? Sure, could be. Could be anything. Could be the driver of the SUV. But a long, long minute later, as the gas pump kicked off, the person was still standing there, staring. Joel lifted his hand, a bro wave. Whoever or whatever it was didn’t wave back. So maybe it was just a shadow, and Joel was being paranoid. Could be, could be.

  Joel took a deep breath. He pulled the spout, replaced it on the pump. Cold, the heavy gasoline fumes making him drowsy. He yawned big and wide and long. When he was done, he lifted his eyes to find another car, the exact Ford model cops always use for stakeouts even though they stick out like school buses to cops and criminals alike. This one rolled past a little too slowly.

  Once he saw yet another fully-occupied sedan parked on the curb a couple of blocks down, he knew for sure this wasn’t a coincidence.

  Joel stalked over to Paula, shrouded in smoke, seeming to belch it like a dragon. When he tried to get her attention, she turned away from him. Then tried to step away too. He reached over her shoulder and took the phone.

  “Hey!”

  “Got to go.”

  She held up her cigarette, still a good couple inches left to burn through. “We go when this is done.”

  “For fuck’s sake, there are eyes all over us.” He told her where to look, then waved at the shadow by the SUV again. “You want to fight over a cigarette?”

  “You picked that fight.” She sucked down another third.

  Joel shoved his palm straight into the cig, crushed it. Barely felt the sting. “Three cars watching us. How could that have happened?”

  “Why would I know?”

  Joel wagged the phone in her face. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Don’t even. Don’t you dare.”

  “Then how do you explain this surveillance bullshit?”

  Paula threw the remains of the cigarette on the asphalt and grabbed her phone back, walked towards the van. “We’re sure as shit not going to figure it out in a parking lot. Get in.”

  They both climbed into the van, Joel kneeling between the two front seats, Paula in the passenger chair, staring ahead at the store, Titus at the counter.

  Joel pointed. “Would he do it?”

  Paula slapped his hand down. “Bitch, you have no idea.”

  “He called his dad, right? Maybe his dad—”

  “If he did, they’d be waiting at our destination. How would they pick us up en route?”

  “I still want to know who you were talking to.”

  She gave Joel a cutting side eye. “You have no idea how many people I know, how many need to hear from me, how many have absolutely nothing to do with any of this. I can’t just shut it all down. That won’t bring Hannah back.”

  Titus walked out of the store with an armful of bottles, headed back to the van, and climbed in. Looked down at Joel, then Paula. “What?”

  Joel was going to ask, but Paula beat him to it. “Did you rat us out?”

  “What?” To Paula. “What?” To Joel. “What?” He hugged the bottles to his chest.

  “We’ve got company. Let’s go. One of them is going to follow us. Maybe all three.”

  The keys clutched in his left hand were shaking. Paula reached over and plucked a couple of bottles from him, handed one of the waters to Joel. “Sweetie, calm down.”

  “How could you think—”

  “Soldier boy’s idea. I tried to tell him.”

  “Marine,” Joel said. “For fuck’s sake—”

  “You say that a lot.”

  “Would your dad—”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know! He’s never
… I don’t remember … we … Jesus.” Titus squeezed the one remaining bottle in his arms even tighter, tucked it under his chin. “We’ve never had a fight like this. I’ve known all about him since I was fifteen. My mom told me first, but she wanted me to, like, turn against him or something. But I kind of already knew. I knew I was gay. I knew that I was, but dad wasn’t, but still, I just can’t … no, he wouldn’t. He would never do that.”

  Joel believed him. Fear was hard to imitate. Real fear. The kind that froze up Marines in the middle of the desert. Titus was the real deal.

  “Then we got lazy. We fucked up. Someone was on us right away, from the moment we drove off in the ambulance.” Joel moved back into his chair, looked out the side window. “And they’re wondering why we haven’t moved yet, I bet.”

  Titus was still shaking. “What do I do, then?”

  Paula reached over to pat his arm. More like mom and son than lovers. Joel had assumed they were an item, but that felt all wrong now.

  “Let’s stick with the plan for now. See if they try anything before we get there.”

  Titus cranked up the engine, and Joel slumped in the chair, his own cell phone tight in his hand now, willing it to ring, goddamnit, Manny, ring.

  The sedan full of mercenaries in tactical gear (as Joel pictured them) took up pursuit, followed by the car that had cruised by them at the gas station. The only one missing was the spotter from the parking lot. Joel moved to the back of the van, hoping to keep an eye on the tail without getting spotted himself. If the cars were to come too close, their headlights might give him away, but so far both were content to hang back far enough that Joel could tell them apart, yet not see inside.

  The two 35s — West and East — converged north of the Cities, where the trees took over from the urban sprawl. Not a lot of lights. The road grew rougher, pot-holed after another corrosive winter and left to crumble until spring’s construction season started. Titus barreled along, too fast to avoid these canyons in the pavement, jostling their nerves even more.

  Joel was thinking the whole time. It didn’t come as easy or as fast for him as it did for me, let’s just admit it, but give him some credit. He was trying to think one move ahead of their pursuers. Did they already know where the van was heading? In that case, would they have prepared a trap of some sort at the destination? Was this a one-way journey into yet another icy grave — which would be fully justified, of course. All they had to do was wait until Joel, Paula, and Titus were inside the house … or drag them inside if necessary.

  Another option: the pursuers had no clue, and would only take action once they figured it out. Or, if they didn’t figure it out, well, what was the point? What was the endgame?

  That word, endgame. He’d heard it a lot in the Marine Corp. It was a joke. There was no endgame in Iraq. There was no endgame in politics, either. This Democrat tried to fix healthcare? Whatever. The Republicans will re-fix it next time, only to have it re-refixed eight years after that.

  Then there was the third act; this was still part of the charade. Something to do with Paula and her troupe of transvestite thespians. Something to keep Joel distracted from the real problems?

  He’d gotten involved because Manny (let’s third person this for a minute) had been right. They were partners, and just like in the Marines, you fought for your brothers-in-arms. You gave them the benefit of the doubt. Manny came to Joel with some pretty solid reasoning. Last time he’d tried to get anywhere on the Hannah deal, look what happened to him. So this time, Joel was insurance.

  He’d never expected to fire anything more than a warning shot. But those assholes chasing Manny and Paula on the beach … how was he supposed to know they were BCA? In his scope, that motherfucker was going way too far.

  That shot wasn’t a kill shot. Motherfucker moved, could’ve made it a kill shot, but that just showed how cool Joel could really be when he needed it. Rabbits? Miss. BCA agent? Put him down, but he was still alive, wasn’t he? Going to make a full recovery, right? He had brooded about that in Robin’s apartment. How different would events have gone if the bullet hadn’t connected where it did? What if it had punctured the heart? Or skull?

  For days, Robin had taken him apart, one chink of his brittle macho armor at a time. It wasn’t pretty. It was like a reflex for her. Like popping a zit, only the zit happened to be Joel’s psyche. Maybe he had needed it. No one from the Marines had probed so far when he’d been sent home. She picked mental scabs. She wanted to know exactly what he’d been feeling, staring through his scope, overlooking the snowy beach, watching Manny and Paula run from two unidentified goons with guns.

  Every. Second. Accounted. For.

  He had decided to trust Manny — because he didn’t know the woman running alongside Manny when this happened. All he had was Manny’s word that she was important — and his request to keep out of it, watch things unfold through the scope.

  He chose to trust Manny.

  And in between mindless guitar strumming, grudge fucking, dry heaving, make-up sex, and inconvenient truths that slid into his self-esteem like stiletto blades; Robin helped his need to redeem himself. That’s why he fired the rifle. He’d lost the groom at the wedding. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to lose Manny and his witness.

  The only weird thing was, Robin tried to plant the idea that it hadn’t been the right move. That Manny was as bad as a tumor, an ugly outgrowth of Joel’s inferiority complex, causing him to make stupid choices, self-destructive choices. Manny needed to be cut off, she’d told him.

  And then I showed up at her door (whiplash back to first person, sorry), dressed as a woman, and all of a sudden Robin was gung-ho for the three of them to go adventuring. Adventuring! A nerd word, Joel didn’t know why he’d just thought of it. Something his younger brother and friends would say in a mock-middle-aged tone while playing video games. Fuckin’ adventuring, duderinos!

  So, the thing about Robin was (I told you Joel takes a while to get his head around stuff like this), only trouble was interesting. She had been dying to see Joel and me at each other’s throats, until she saw that I might be more fun to play with, and that hanging with me invited much more trouble than goading Joel into another one of his horny rage attacks.

  He thought about it some more in the back of the van. She really only wanted to fuck him when he was mad, and she was the one who’d made him that way. Goddamn it.

  He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed the sedan full of mysterious chaperons speed up and pass them.

  Almost.

  “Shit.”

  “Problem?” Paula’s voice was so close it startled him. He hadn’t noticed her move.

  Joel tried to follow the car’s progress, tried to get a better bead on the men’s faces. But the car was too fast, the night too dark. “They know where we’re going. How long until we get there?”

  Paula checked the GPS on her phone. “Not even ten miles to the exit. Another twenty after that.”

  Joel pushed past Paula into the passenger’s seat and watched the taillights of the sedan disappear. “One ahead, one behind. We’re fucked.”

  Titus started to slow down.

  “No, no, no, keep it up. We don’t want them to know that we know.”

  Titus pressed the gas. “Why are we fucked? Can’t we just turn around and go back?”

  “If we do that, the car behind us will react, change the plan. If we keep going, it’s got to be some sort of ambush at the guy’s house. Face it, this is done. If we do anything differently than what’s expected … goddamn it, why hasn’t Manny called yet?”

  Joel swallowed hard, felt a heavy clot of fear and rage sink into the pit of his stomach. His pistol, pretty useless against more than one or two guys. Running for it put Robin and my family in danger. It put me in danger. He knew that full well. The guy putting us all in danger was the same one who only days ago had yelled at Joel and belittled Abe over a computer screen, all to save his murdering, tranny-fucking fat ass.


  Titus hit another pothole and swerved badly. Like airplane turbulence. “What-what-what do I do?”

  “Relax,” Paula said. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “When?”

  Paula looked down at her phone. “In less than six miles.”

  3

  The suit — his name was Dylan — sat on one side of me, and Thorn on the other. We weren’t heading toward the State Capitol, I knew that much for sure. Not an ‘official’ meeting in the Senator’s office, of course. No, whatever this was, it would be off the books. No camera in the corner this time … or at least not one I’d ever know about, unless Sen. Marquette wanted me to. I couldn’t begrudge him that. Man had to protect himself.

  I soon got the feel for our location, heading over the big river to St. Paul, where I hadn’t spent much time. Minneapolis had always drawn me more than its twin city. Minneapolis was the one where young and fresh was a good thing. Everything new all the time — restaurants, clubs, fads, scandals — and plenty of young people willing to fail big so they could start over with a clean slate because they loved the city, loved the vibe, and would keep trying and failing and trying again until they got it right. Or maybe they never would. So what? It didn’t matter. Even Prince had said, no matter how rich and famous he became, he would always keep a place in Minneapolis.

  Well, technically, we were driving through a suburb of Minneapolis, but it still wasn’t St. Paul.

  St. Paul was, well, old. Not old in the grand tradition of European capitals, but old as in it feels like old people. How can a town feel like old people? Visit St. Paul and you’ll get it. It looked old, smelled old. Old money. Old values. Victorians full of Miss Havishams with dead vines on the walls. And everything was claustrophobic. In Minneapolis, you felt as if there was always a new neighborhood to explore, always something being retrofitted from a warehouse to a shop to a brewery to a restaurant to another shop. In St. Paul, everything has been there since the beginning and would be there until the end.