Plastic Smile (Russell's Attic Book 4)

by Huang, SL

  “I’m sorry about Malcolm,” I said to Mama Lorenzo.

  She nodded.

  Then, a moment later, she added quietly, “He was my brother.”

  Oh. Shit. “You never…he never…”

  Of course, why would they have said? But Malcolm had never addressed her as anything other than the leader of his Family…

  I remembered, then, that Mama Lorenzo had married in. And how she’d used me to enforce loyalty over her men a few years ago. Perhaps the internal politics of her family were as complicated as the external ones.

  “The people who did this will pay,” Mama Lorenzo said. She said it simply, factually. Her eyes were dry.

  I wondered if Rio had known about the personal connection. Maybe he figured Malcolm was as good a target as Mama Lorenzo, given how it would spur her to bloody vigilantism.

  “Madame Lorenzo,” I tried. “I have to warn you. Whoever you think did this—whoever, um, the evidence points to, or whoever claims responsibility—I guarantee you it’s the wrong target. It’s going to be a frame-up.”

  Her eyes pinned me, a hawk’s gaze in the dark. “How could you know this?”

  “Please,” I said. “Don’t go after someone just because…” An even more awful thought struck me. Mama Lorenzo was all about appearances—she was the type to go through with crushing someone even if she knew they were innocent, just to maintain the appearance of strength. Rio couldn’t have chosen a better criminal organization for his scheme. “Give me a day,” I said. “Give me a day before you take any action. Before you go for, um. For justice.” I would be able to reach Rio in that time, I hoped, and get him to pick apart whatever trail of evidence he’d left to provoke the Lorenzos into firing the next shot.

  “And what’s your interest in this?”

  “I’m trying to stop the, um. What’s in the water,” I said lamely, falling back on McCabe’s assumptions again. “It’s bigger than you know. That’s what I was talking to Malcolm about; we had worked out a deal. I need airtime from Reuben McCabe, today, and I need you to hold off on vengeance for—for your people. I can stop this. Please.”

  Before she could reply, a shuffle reached our ears from the top of the ridge, and one of Torvald’s guys waved us up the slope. The path up was more a climb than a hike, and a couple of the guards helped their boss keep her balance as we scaled the incline.

  I slipped in front of them as we reached the top, just in case Rio was watching through a scope from somewhere nearby. But the night was quiet.

  An SUV and a sedan hummed in the driveway, the engines already started. I had no idea if they’d been bought, extorted, or hotwired, but whatever family lived here, there was no evidence of them.

  I was pretty sure the residents of the house were physically all right. Mama Lorenzo didn’t tend to condone her people hurting bystanders. Usually.

  Mama Lorenzo and I piled into the SUV among her men, who had her stay curled low on the floor while they covered her. Torvald had taken the driver’s seat; he swung us down the sloped driveway at a good clip. “Where to, ma’am?”

  “Do you have a safe house?” I asked.

  Mama Lorenzo’s eyes flickered up to me. “I believe you requested a meeting.” She raised her voice. “Make sure we are not being followed, and then drive to the KHBP radio station. In the meantime, Miss Russell, I would like a full accounting of exactly what situation has befallen us here.”

  Right. Shit.

  Torvald acknowledged her and took a right, whisking us into late-night traffic at exactly the speed limit. I swallowed. If I didn’t tell Mama Lorenzo everything, she might refuse to help…but if she blamed me for Malcolm…

  Flat-out lying to the head of the Los Angeles Family was not an activity with a lot of longevity. Especially considering elaborate lies were not in my skill set.

  But even though Malcolm’s death may have screwed me with Mama Lorenzo if I ended up on the wrong side of this in her eyes, Rio’s attack had also bought me urgency. It could be all I needed to do was convince Mama Lorenzo I’d be helping her get justice for her brother—even though that was about the farthest thing from the truth, considering the people responsible for it were Rio and, well, me.

  And now I was going to pretend to be working to avenge Malcolm just to get what I wanted? Maybe because I’d liked him, but that thought made me feel shittier than anything else I’d done that night.

  But as I’d told Checker earlier…what else could I do?

  “I’ll give you what I can,” I said to Mama Lorenzo, hating myself. “I, um. I owe discretion to some people. But I’m trying to stop exactly the people who killed Malcolm.”

  That much, at least, was precisely true.

  Chapter 31

  I sent Arthur a text to get him to meet us at the radio station, along with a terse update, including the attack and what parts of the situation I’d divulged. And then, there in the SUV with drops of Malcolm’s blood still on my clothes and Mama Lorenzo crouched between the seats plotting vengeance, I finally got a call from Rio.

  I turned away as much as I dared and made sure the volume was turned all the way down. Fortunately, I could measure sound waves accurately enough to deduce the road noise would cover Rio’s side of the conversation. “Hello.”

  “Cas,” Rio said, his tone perfectly ordinary. “I apologize for missing your earlier calls. I was in the Hills.”

  Killing Malcolm. “I know.”

  “Ah. So you have heard.”

  In a manner of speaking.

  “Your friends just informed me of your decision to dismantle your plan here,” Rio continued. “Did they speak truthfully?”

  “Yeah.” I stared out the window of the SUV, into the dark scenery speeding by.

  “Good. I hoped you would return to the way of the Lord, Cas,” Rio said.

  I wanted to curse him out, but then Mama Lorenzo would wonder. “It’ll take a few days, logistically,” I said instead, with enforced calm. “Will you…”

  “I will discontinue the remainder of my activities tonight. I regret the situation came to this.”

  Yeah, me too. “Take apart whatever…anything…you’ve been leaving,” I said. Any evidence, any false trails that would put people at each others’ throats and make the ensuing violence worse than it was already going to be. “This ends here.”

  “If I have your promise, consider it done. Although that, too, will take some small time.”

  “How long?”

  “A day. Perhaps two. It will be done as quickly as possible.”

  He didn’t apologize. Probably because he wasn’t sorry.

  Hopefully I could hold Mama Lorenzo off until then. Her, and the militias, and everyone else Rio had incited tonight.

  “One more thing,” I said. “I need Simon, or…” I had the excuse prepared; otherwise Rio would have suspected my real intent. But the lie stuck in my throat, too close to the truth for comfort. A whisper skittered through my head—the first echoes of Valarmathi waking back up? Or my own paranoia? “I need Simon, or I won’t make it to—um, to finish the logistics,” I made myself say.

  “Understood,” Rio answered. “Where shall we meet you?”

  I glanced sideways at the other silhouettes in the car. I was sure they were all listening closely. “The same place you met me when you came to town. As soon as possible. I can be there within a couple hours.”

  “Then we will be, as well,” Rio said.

  “Good.” I hung up.

  “Developments?” Mama Lorenzo asked.

  “Yes.” I scrambled for something to tell her. “That was, um. Someone who’s been helping me end this.”

  “A name you feel you cannot divulge.” Her disapproval was severe.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, a little desperately. “You know if I’d promised not to reveal your part in something—”

  She held up a hand. “No need to explain again. I’ve decided to accept your justifications. For now.”

  God, this was going to
be a tightrope.

  Arthur was waiting in the shadows outside the radio station. He greeted Mama Lorenzo deferentially, and she responded with equal respect. It occurred to me to worry that this was the second time she’d seen him working closely with me—if this went south and she wanted to scorch the particular patch of earth home to Cas Russell…

  Or whatever your name is.

  One of Mama Lorenzo’s men had been making calls from the car, and a night janitor was already on standby to let us in. McCabe had been woken at home and was on his way.

  “Are your restroom facilities unlocked?” Mama Lorenzo asked the janitor, who fumbled with her keys and led the way to a hallway at the back of the darkened lobby. Mama Lorenzo sailed after her, the armed escort in their wake.

  “Let’s get away from the windows,” I said to Arthur, gesturing at the glass front wall of the lobby. I led the way toward a door to the back.

  Arthur cast a glance after Mama Lorenzo and her men before leaning in close to me as he hustled after. “He’s called off, right?”

  “Yeah. But…” Rio was called off, but I didn’t know all the ramifications of what he’d done. McCabe’s show wasn’t exactly on the sidelines—there was the possibility someone would target this place.

  Fuck, what a mess.

  We flicked on lights in the back and found a small conference room to wait in. I slumped in an office chair with the PS90 across my lap. “I should probably just have you talk to McCabe alone and stay out of it,” I said to Arthur. I’d fucked up enough tonight. Navigating another negotiation…and then the upcoming one with Simon, with my sanity ready to tip again at any time…“It’s not like civilized meetings have ever been in my wheelhouse. If I try to punch anyone, stop me.”

  “You might have to remind me,” Arthur said darkly.

  I snorted. “Yeah right, Mr. Diplomacy. You already got him to stomp on the anti-AI rabble after Arkacite; just do the same thing.”

  “Wasn’t me,” Arthur gritted out. “Mama Lorenzo did that; never spoke to the man myself. McCabe and I in the same room, it’s a recipe for a fight.” He had stayed standing, and his posture was tense, though I’d assumed that was just because of the entire mess—his guilt and mine, and Rio, and Katrina.

  I’d finally texted Checker to ask about Katrina. To my relief she was still in the hospital but stable.

  “Don’t tell me the one person we need here is the one person in LA you have a beef with,” I said.

  Arthur grunted. “We need him. I ain’t no child.”

  Voices in the hallway. Arthur drew his Glock and slipped to the side; I half-raised the PS90 just in case, but I already recognized the blustering ramble of the main talker.

  “In here,” I called.

  The door opened, and another one of Mama Lorenzo’s private security slid halfway in. “Identify yourself,” he called, over his own weapon.

  “We’re with Madame Lorenzo,” I said. “And, uh, her guys. Torvald and company. She’s in the washroom; she’ll be here in a minute.”

  There was a brief shuffle in the hallway as someone went to verify this. Torvald must have sent his own people to get McCabe instead of made men from the Family. Smart—if Rio had been tracking any of the other Lorenzos, this wouldn’t have been revealed to them, and in the wake of the attack on her estate, it would keep the internal whispers Mama Lorenzo would have to deal with to a minimum.

  Someone called out an “Okay,” and the guy on point nodded and pushed the door the rest of the way open, lowering his weapon. Arthur and I did the same. Another group of troops came in, McCabe in their midst. He was a large, ruddy-faced man clearly used to using his size to intimidate people—fortunately, none of us here tonight were people who intimidated easily.

  “Hey, whoa,” he said immediately, raising his hands when he saw our guns. He looked askance at one of his escorts. “You telling me they’re on our side?”

  “Thought you were all for citizen carry,” Arthur muttered, holstering his Glock.

  “As long as they’re the right type of citizens, my man,” McCabe said with a jovial grin, all teeth. “If you’re defending America, I got no complaint. Hey, ain’t this country great? The station owners tell me ‘emergency,’ and here I am. That’s the power of capitalism.”

  I preferred the power of firearms myself.

  “Now, I know Gabby Lorenzo’s coming,” he continued. The man apparently couldn’t stand not to hear himself talk for more than a few seconds. “I don’t truck with all her goings-on, obviously. But she has money, and money talks. And I’ll admit it, she’s a woman with some grit to her, and I respect that. I respect grit.”

  Jesus, this guy was an idiot. Not to mention I didn’t want to know what would happen if Gabrielle Lorenzo heard him call her “Gabby.”

  “Now you…” McCabe lumbered into Arthur’s personal space, wagging a finger in his face. “You look familiar. Have we met? Or I could be mixing you all up.” He laughed like it was a joke and clapped Arthur on the back as if he wanted to knock him over.

  “We met,” Arthur said. “Several times. Couple decades ago. I worked with Elinor Hershfeld and Diego Rosales.”

  McCabe jerked his hand back off Arthur like he’d been burned, his face contorting almost comically. Arthur held his gaze and very deliberately brushed the shoulder of his jacket where McCabe had touched him.

  Fortunately, at that moment Mama Lorenzo and her cadre arrived, and everyone shuffled around and went to sit while McCabe made a point of greeting Mama Lorenzo with a loud speech about how good it was to see her again. He kept calling her “Mrs. Lorenzo,” which I’d never heard anyone else do, either. I wondered if it was a deliberate insult or if he was just that ignorant.

  I sidled up to Arthur during the momentary chaos. “Really starting this off on the right foot, aren’t you?” I said, keeping my voice low. “What was that about?”

  “Neanderthal,” muttered Arthur. “He oughta die or get with the times.”

  Great. Arthur springing a secret vendetta on this meeting was all I needed. “You’re supposed to be the person who’s good at talking,” I said tightly. “You know what’s at stake here. Are you going to fuck this up on us?”

  He made a sound that was far too noncommittal for my liking, and we followed everyone else to sit at the table. Mama Lorenzo’s security mostly stood behind and around the table, alert set pieces in our ridiculous midnight rendezvous.

  “So,” McCabe said. “I hear this is some sort of crisis. You need the McCabe Nation on your side. I’ll need to know everything, of course, so we can fact check your data—”

  Arthur made a little sound in his throat I hoped McCabe didn’t hear.

  “—but if it’s good, you’ve come to the right place. I’ve got true patriots on my airwaves, and tens of millions of listeners across this great country. More than all the other programs in the same time slot combined, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Uh, sure.” I stumbled to find an opening in his monologue. “That’s why we came to you. And because, uh, the conspiracy crap you’ve been going on about.” I tried to moderate my wording. “Um, people acting against their own interest, that stuff. We know what’s causing it, and we can stop it.”

  McCabe leaned back in his chair. “Oh, really?” I thought for a moment he was going to let us respond, but then he started in again. “Because let me tell you, I’ve had investigators out there—”

  “Yeah,” I cut in loudly. “Really. But the minute we do stop it, your militia pals and half the organized crime bosses in Los Angeles are all going to start killing each other. We need a spot on your show to tell them not to. And we need it now. When you go on the air in the morning.”

  McCabe guffawed.

  None of the rest of us moved.

  His chuckles died out after a few seconds—he might not really know me or Arthur, but Mama Lorenzo sitting there staring icicles at you was enough to make anybody stop laughing, even someone as weirdly dismissive of her as McCabe seemed t
o be. “Oh, come on,” he said. “I’ve got a lady of questionable business ethics—no disrespect, Mrs. Lorenzo—and a bleeding-heart liberal activist—” He waved a hand at Arthur, the word “liberal” becoming a sneer. “—coming to sit down with me and telling me they can fix everything? Not likely. Where would you have gotten this kind of special knowledge? And why should I grant my airtime, which as you know is a very valuable commodity, to some sort of sentimental plea for goodwill? Real Americans are angry, folks, and they’re angry with good reason, because—”

  “Well, Madame Lorenzo owns the company that funds your radio station,” I said, my annoyance rising. “So there’s that.”

  “You think you’re going to censor me? The McCabe Nation won’t stand for it. I’ll tell everyone—”

  “Whoa, hey,” Arthur said, his soothing calm back in full force.

  I slumped in relief. Thank Christ.

  “Nobody’s censoring,” Arthur continued. “We’re giving you a scoop, is what we’re doing. As for why a fruity ol’ pinko liberal like me would want to give you the goods, well, I don’t. I don’t like you, Mr. McCabe. But we want the same things for once, and your audience is the folk we gotta reach to stop any fallout when this goes down.”

  McCabe harrumphed. “An honest lib. Now there’s an oxymoron.”

  “You ain’t got nothing to lose,” Arthur went on, before McCabe could start talking again. “Worst that happens is you get a few cooties from other folks’ freedom of speech on your air, but even then, you get to point to us as giving a fair hearing to the other side’s First Amendment rights. So you win anyway. And best case, this is a coup for you—the leader of the American people who solved it all. Trust me, if I could bring this to anyone else I would, but you’re the only one telling the truth to power here. Even I gotta admit it.”

  God bless Arthur. He really was good at this.

  I supposed it helped that all of it was actually true. McCabe was the only one. I wondered what that meant for the rest of our news media—or for our opinions of McCabe, come to think of it.

  McCabe sat back and folded his hands against his middle. “All right. I’m listening. No guarantees.”