by C. F. Waller
“What’s that?” Rahnee asks.
“Me,” Rhea smiles. “I show up, she tries to jump me, you kill her. In return, I remove the red mark from you. You can go back to whatever lives you have, short as they may be.”
“What happens to Bee and Dorian?” I demand.
“They have to go,” Rhea quickly makes clear. “The reality is that they are the last two. With them out of the picture I can retire. No more babysitting their kind and trust me after eons I need a break.”
“Fine by me,” Rahnee snorts. “But you kill the kid. I’ll do the rest of them, but you deal with her.”
“And any canines that happen by,” Rhea jests, raising an eyebrow.
“Funny.”
Rhea offers her hand to Rahnee as a sign of good faith, but she balks. A stern look from Decker gets her to relent. She puts one gun under her arm to free up a hand and the two shake. An odd look washes over Rahnee’s face and she jerks her hand back as if Rhea has a shock buzzer in her palm. She shakes her hand as she steps back.
I am awash in worry as I try and contemplate an argument for saving my friends, but between Rahnee and Rhea I don’t think I have anything to bargain with. My best move at this point might be to remain quiet. I am not even sure Rahnee will take me along yet. Better to wait it out.
“Before you arrived, there was a man here snooping around,” Rhea tells Decker. “He claimed he didn’t have the petrol to fill up your plane.”
“I’ll call about the fuel,” Rahnee barks at him. “You find out where Dunn took the bait.”
“On it,” Decker replies as he starts over to the cinderblock building that is the lone outpost here.
“You two behave,” Rahnee glares at me, before getting into the sweltering Volvo and driving away.
Now alone with Rhea, I notice her staring at me. Up close I can see her flawless olive skin and overpoweringly white teeth. Her waist is tiny, but her shoulders are wider than looks right. Her gate is graceful, leaving me utterly confused, but unable to take my eyes off her.
“Come on,” she beckons me with a wave. “I brought snacks.”
With that, she strides over to the stairs and disappears into the plane. Glancing back at the faint dust cloud left by Rahnee’s car, I decide to see what she means by snacks.
A huge woven basket full of fresh fruit sits on a table just inside the hatch. Rhea has already plucked out a good sized green apple and rubs it on her jacket as she flops in a wide leather seat facing me. The basket has everything from grapes to bananas. I also take an apple and lean on the cockpit door watching her.
“Ask me?,” she demands.
“Excuse me?”
“Just ask me for heaven’s sake,” she laughs and bites off a huge piece of apple.
She finds herself struggling to chew it and keep her mouth closed. After tilting her head back fails, she uses the back of her jacket sleeve to stop the juice before it runs down her chin.
My first thought is that this is akin to my situation with Rahnee pausing in the bathroom door last night, but I doubt it. The idea that two such women would offer themselves to me in as many days is preposterous. Still, I’m letting a fairly racy image of the two of us on the table play through my mind when she speaks again very slowly.
“Ask me.”
“Ask you what?” I beg, watching apple juice roll down her chin as she chews.
“Anything,” she says loudly. “Take a moment to think about it. Maybe something will come to you.”
“Is there is supposed to be a specific question?”
She frowns at me and spins her apple with her fingers. Arching her back, she leans to peer out one of the round windows that run along the side of the plane. I duck a bit and see Decker off in the distance walking this way. Rhea turns back and takes another oversized bite.
“Everyone has a question,” she mumbles as she chews. “Only you know what it is, but as a rule I’ll answer one, maybe two.”
“Maybe two?”
“It depends on the guy,” she replies, pointing the apple at me. “It’s more of a guideline than a rule.”
Struggling to figure out what she’s trying to tell me, I turn my back to her and pretend to ponder it. This is a stall, but looking at her and thinking is proving difficult. Am I overly distracted in a sexual way or do immortals have some glow we can’t resist? I hear Decker’s footsteps on the stairs, so I turn back. She has kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up on the seat now, arms around her knees, shaking her head.
“Too late now,” she pouts.
“Too late for what?” Decker asks as he enters the hatch.
“For him to ask me?” she shrugs.
“Ask what?” he replies, glancing in my direction.
“That’s the point,” she groans. “I said he could ask anything.”
“How about me?” he smirks, starting into the cockpit, but hanging on the doorframe.
“Shoot,” she blurts out, waving a hand to encourage him.
“How old are you?”
“No fair,” she frowns. “You can’t ask a lady that.”
“You said anything,” he baits her.
“True, but I don’t know the answer to your question, therefore you can’t ask it.”
“Then how much you weigh is out of the question,” he jokes and disappears into the cockpit.
“He’s funny,” she grins, seeming to enjoy this game. “You think of one yet?”
I shake my head, still unsure what the game is. Decker comes back through on his way to the rear where his computer stuff is set up. No doubt to do some digging for Rahnee’s partner’s cell phone location.
“What’s the most interesting person you ever ate dinner with?” he asks as he passes by.
“That’s a good start,” she nods, standing up in the aisle between the rear of the plane and myself. “The question itself is defined by my perception of what is, or is not, interesting. Thus regrettably, I must decline to answer it.”
“But that was my question,” he complains as he pecks away in the rear.
“The question itself is okay, but you framed it incorrectly,” she explains. “Try, the most interesting person I have dined with that you might know of.”
“Yes, that one,” he fires back, mostly into whatever he’s doing back there now.
“Let’s see,” she mutters, dropping back down in the seat facing me and taking another bite of her apple. “I’d say Parysatis.”
“Never heard of him,” he shouts back.
“Not a him,” she lectures. “A her.”
“Her either,” he blurts out.
“But you have heard of her father,” she replies and pauses, but Decker has fallen into his work.
“Who’s the father?” I query, seeing she’s annoyed at Decker’s lack of interest.
“Xerxes,” she whispers, like it’s a secret.
“You had dinner with Xerxes, the Emperor of Persia,” I ask, skeptical. “The guy from the Gerard Butler movie?”
“Of course not, I ate dinner with Parysatis,” she corrects me, sitting up and tossing her apple core out the hatch onto the tarmac. “Xerxes, however came by one night with a bunch of guards. He wasn’t married to Parysatis mother and was just stopping by for a nightcap,” she says theatrically before winking at me.
“You’re making this up,” I laugh. “Where did this happen?”
“In Susa,” she asserts, grabbing a handful of grapes. “A bunch of us were there for the summer and Parysatis and I became friends. I stayed at her place sometimes. Only saw dear old dad that one time. Big huge bully if you ask me. Parysatis hated him.”
“That would make you at least twenty-five hundred years old.”
“That’s strange, I feel much younger,” she jokes, tossing a grape at me.
“You don’t look a day over a thousand.”
“Finally, a complement from you,” she purrs, biting a grape and winking. “I was beginning to think you didn’t find me attractive.”
She hops up and strolls down the aisle to Decker and starts whispering something in his ear. I can’t hear it, but it gets his attention. The two fall into animated chit chat, leaving me standing there alone. It’s feels a bit like the other day when I came out of the bathroom to find Rahnee on his lap. As I step to the hatch to get some fresh air, Rhea yells from the back.
“When you figure out what you want to ask me,” she blares through the cabin. “I’ll be waiting.”
As I stroll down the stairs it occurs to me that Rhea’s fun-loving behavior, which boarders on flirty, is at odds with the fact that she came here and threatened to kill us if we didn’t help her murder some people. At the bottom of the stairs I glance back and hear a laugh that boarders on a shriek.
“She must not get out much,” I sigh.
Chapter Seventeen
Dominick Dunn
“Who told you there were only twelve of them?” Bee asks.
“The guy you turned into a pin cushion. Also the reason why the horn doesn’t work,” I complain, pushing on the center of the steering wheel in vain.
“And he worked for your boss?” Dorian grumbles from the backseat. “The guy who hired you to drag us in to be dissected?”
“That’s correct,” I grunt, punching the gas and pulling out around a slower moving car. “A man I suspect is already dead.”
“How many do you think Shelly has boxed up?” Bee queries.
“We have been witness to two. She told us she did the leader, or that’s what it sounded like,” I suggest. That’s three.”
“So, we have to do this nine more times?” Dorian whines. “A nightmare of epic proportions Beatrix. Shoot me now and put me out of my misery.”
“It’s a safe bet to double the first number,” Bee argues, ignoring Dorian. “That would leave six.”
“What do you think the odds are if we just run and cross our fingers?” I offer.
“Slim to none,” Dorian moans. “This really feels unfair. I’m so going to miss myself.”
“The fact is, we don’t have any idea how many might be out there,” Bee jumps in, scowling at Dorian. “We do know that Shelly seems to be the only one who can deal with them. I’ll take my chances setting them up for her. At least this way we get to watch a few suffer.”
“When did you become so bloodthirsty?” Dorian balks. “Where is that young girl tending her flower garden I used to know?”
“Running for her life you buffoon,” Bee fires back. “Where is the gallant knight I used to know?”
“Now you’re being preposterous,” he accuses. “I was never gallant.”
“I know,” she stares at him. “I thought the sarcasm was assumed.”
She and Dorian bicker back and forth on this topic for the next hour. Once finished, they move on to our plan of attack.
Dorian would prefer to go back to his hideout, which I am told is in Montana, and hide. Since he doesn’t have a car or a driver’s license, he’s stuck with us. I sold Beatrix on the idea of baiting the bad guys in and hoping Shelly would grab them up as a way to keep my new friends close. This way if Flynn calls, I can turn them over. If he doesn’t call, I can stay alive long enough to figure out a plan B. I’m still surprised they didn’t kill me the minute I let them out. It seems no matter how long you live, you don’t really want the party to end.
We’re heading to Los Angeles in hopes of finding cover in large crowds. I have a few ideas for places we can make ourselves look vulnerable, while giving Shelly a good place to plot an ambush. The problem with this plan is without being able to communicate with Shelly we are taking her participation for granted. She might not even be following us, which will make this the worst plan ever. My phone vibrates against my leg giving me a start. My hopes of a call from Flynn are dashed as its only Rahnee. I grumble, wishing she would let it go. Did she actually think we were a team?
“Gimmie a break,” I snarl, as my hand vibrates with her second attempt to contact me.
This time it’s a text and I try and read it while keeping one eye on the road. Dorian howls from the back, but I ignore his complaining about texting and driving. The content of the text is however interesting.
The queen of the immortals is sitting on my plane. Do you want to know what’s going on or not?
“I shouldn’t, but I do,” I mouth silently.
“Who is it?” Bee asks.
“Rahnee,” I disclose, stuffing the phone back into my pocket.
“What does she want?”
“Who knows?,” I utter under my breath, turning the car sharply onto an exit ramp.
There is a Flying-J Truck Stop and a Walmart on this exit. I drop Dorian and Bee at the Walmart and instruct Bee to get a change of clothes. The sleeve of her dress and undershirt cuff are covered in dried blood. She complains loudly, but Dorian calms her down and promises to find something that will blend in and isn’t a blood soaked mess.
Letting them out of my sight is a gamble, but they seem to understand the gravity of their situation. Running away from me would almost certainly prove fatal. For some reason, they are intent on reuniting with this Arron person and thus, I am betting they won’t try to get away.
I drive over to the Truck Stop and fill up the tank. As I stand watching the LCD readout on the pump turn, I dial Rahnee.
“Alright,” I begin. “You have me curious. Who is the queen of the immortals?”
“Hi Rahnee,” she mocks my voice. “Nice to hear from you.”
“Okay, Okay, I’m sorry I stopped taking your calls. Can we get to more pressing matters?”
“You’re lucky I am even calling you,” she grumbles. “Consider this a courtesy call.”
“Noted. You were saying something about royalty?”
“An immortal by the name of Rhea turned up at the plane and made me an offer.”
“Offer?”
“Yeah, offer, threat, who can tell,” she remarks. “It’s still a bit of a grey area.”
“And you think she’s in charge of all of them?”
“I’d bet my life on it.”
“Great, gamble away, but why call me?,” I ask, pondering her motive. “Want me to bet my life on it too?”
“That’s something you may want to consider, given your circumstances.”
“What’s she offering?” I ask after a pause. “Can’t hurt to listen.”
“She’s offering to cancel the hit on us in return for setting up Shelly so she can get her guys back. The ones we saw her put into the boxes,” she explains.
“That’s it?” I question. “There has to be a catch.”
“There usually is and this is no exception. Do you still have eyes on Beatrix and Faust?”
“Yeah, they are around here somewhere,” I reply in a vague way, unsure I trust her.
“We would have to get rid of them at the same time.”
“Sort of makes catching them a waste of time,” I groan. “Our job was to acquire, not kill.”
“The rules changed when the prey started fighting back. If we do this, we can walk away. If we don’t, she will hunt us down and kill them anyway.”
“What about our employer?” I demand, still pondering her motive.
“Anyone picking up the phone for you?”
“No, goes right to voicemail, which is full,” I admit, replacing the nozzle in the pump and twisting the cap back on. “Let me ask you this,” I sigh and pause to frame the question how I imagine it coming out of my mouth.
“I’m waiting?” she blurts out after the pause goes on for too long.
“This queen, she told you we could walk away if we acquiesced to her demands?”
“Yeah, that was the gist.” Rahnee assures me.
“Who’s still breathing on your end?” I toss out, trying to not have it feel like an interrogation. “How many warm bodies do we have left?” I request, starting up the car and heading to the Walmart.
“Decker, Arron and me, that’s it, that’s the list.”
“She’s going to let all of you walk?” I press her. “Plus me?”
“If we get the job done,” she replies quickly. “Anyone with a pulse gets a pass.”
I have serious doubts about her entire story, but it does play into my original plan which was to use Bee and Dorian as bait so Shelly could do her thing. Honestly, there are too many sides and agendas to make any one path a sure thing. While I suspect that this Rhea will free her men and then kill the rest of us, I can’t imagine how blowing Rahnee off puts me in a better position.
“Fine, where?” I sigh, deciding this is the safest path.
“Where are you?”
“On Fifteen, just outside of Victorville,” I tell her, scanning the parking lot in case she’s already watching me. “Bee is on a potty break.”
“Okay, where are you headed?”
“Long Beach,” I disclose after another pause, still mulling over my decision. “There’s a lot full of containers at the port. It’s next to the Queen Mary dock.”
“So, good ambush area, plus tourists and people a stone’s throw away,” she mutters, the wheels obviously spinning in her head.
“That’s the idea. Any chance you can make that work?”
“Will you make it there by tonight?” she asks.
“Yeah, I got us a stateroom at the hotel. How long until you show up?”
“I’ll buzz you when I’m on the ground,” she answers quickly, then seems to cover her phone and talk to someone else before coming back. “Still driving my car?”
“Yeah, still no radio,” I complain. “Listening to Ricky and Lucy quibble in the backseat is going to put me over the edge.
“Ricky and who?”
Apparently the Lucille Ball show wasn’t a big hit over in Tel Aviv when she was growing up. Suddenly the image of Lucy standing in a vat of grapes floats across my mind. I imagine a tiny version of Rahnee sitting in a concrete walled apartment watching a small black and white TV. In my mind, the picture flickers, a coat hanger sticking up as an antenna, a small sheet of tinfoil wrapped around it to boost the reception. This image turns somber when I realize this is my childhood being depicted and not hers, the location is a small town in Texas, not Israel.
