by Martha Carr
Shay rose and nodded toward the bathroom. “I already have the fake blood all set up in the bathtub. Go in there and just rest your head in the open spot so I can get photographic proof of blowing your brains out with a nice low-caliber pistol. Glad I didn’t decide to kill you with a fake shotgun. That shit would have been a lot more annoying.”
“You’re dodging the question.” Peyton stepped toward the bathroom. “You always were good at that, Shay.”
She shrugged a single shoulder. “I can only tell you what it smells like to me and what information I found. It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. The end result is the same. There’s a serious hit out on you, and you have to leave, or you’ll end up dead for real. Even if you try to go back for your inheritance after your father finally dies, you’ll just end up buried right next to him.”
“Not saying you’re wrong, but I’m also not saying you’re right, either.”
Shay gave him a cold stare. “Whatever. Don’t really give a shit as long as you do what I say. I’m risking my life coming back here to help you out. Not exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday night.”
Peyton entered the bathroom. “And it’s not like I ran off screaming now, is it?”
Shay followed him into the bathroom and waited for Peyton to lie down. “Stay still while I get a few pics.” She lifted her phone and took pictures from a few different angles. “Okay, I’m done.”
“You’re seriously going to get money off fake-killing me? Won’t that lead to you getting caught alive?” Peyton sat up in the red-splattered bathtub. He looked like a country club zombie. “That is the part I find more confusing than anything.”
“Not at all. Not my first rodeo with aliases and fake identities. This will be easy, you see, because you’ve already disappeared. No corpse works out better for these kinds of people sometimes. Less disposal worries on their part. And it will keep most of the assholes off your back for a while.”
“For a while?” Something approaching fear entered Peyton’s eyes. “I’m not fake dying to stay above ground?”
“Stand up. I’ll keep you safe if you do what I tell you.”
Peyton groaned and stood.
“Bend your head over the tub so I can wash that crap out. Once we get to L.A., you’re gonna have to live life even more low-profile than you do now until we make you a new life and figure out the rest.” Shay carefully hosed off the sides of the tub, watching the red globs dissolve in the water. “That might take a while.”
“And what I am supposed to do all day? Just sit around on my hands?”
“For now, you can put that research and IT brain of yours to use helping me out.”
“Doing what? I thought you were out of the business.”
Shay nodded, standing back and looking around for anything that would get a maid to call the cops. Not a good idea. “Out of the killing business. Now I have a new job. Field archaeologist.”
Peyton blinked. “Huh? You’re an academic now? Do they let you near students?”
The woman heaved a pained sigh and rubbed her temples. “We don’t need to go into this right now. I’ll explain later.”
Peyton stepped out of the tub, holding up his hands. “Okay, I’m still processing everything else, whatever. I still don’t know if I should be grateful or scared.”
Shay grinned. “Both. For now, let’s finish cleaning you up and take a ride.”
2
“Where we going?” Peyton slipped into the passenger seat of the Porsche.
“I know after I died, I was really hungry.” Shay started up the car as it let out a soft growl. “I figured we would get some food.” She pulled out of the hotel parking lot. “There’s a place about a half hour away in Union City. Great pizza, some of the best I’ve ever had, and that includes in NYC. Hell, we’re practically already to the Lincoln Tunnel as it is. It’ll be a straight shot.”
Peyton’s stomach rumbled at the mention of the food. “Sounds good. I was going to go get some dinner before some crazed woman kidnapped me.”
Shay smirked. “Pizza’s okay, though, not too low-brow for you there, Mr. Coolidge?” She spoke the name in a faux English accent.
“Hey, I’m a blue-collar worker, how can I not like pizza? I’m all about pizza and Mountain Dew. Come on. Have you seen what I’m wearing?”
“Yes, unfortunately.” Shay eyed his black T-shirt and pants decorated with red whales. “That’s about the least blue-collar outfit I’ve seen. It’s more like a wanted poster to get bitch slapped by someone.” Shay narrowly missed a delivery man on a bike as he swerved in front of her. He turned and gave her the finger, smiling broadly at her. Shay gave him a friendly wave as she pulled closer to his back wheel, nudging him along. He jerked his head around and startled, banging into another car.
There, that’s better than flipping them off.
“Just because you like pizza and Mountain Dew doesn’t make you blue collar, Peyton.”
He frowned. “What do you think I am then, if I’m not blue-collar? I work for a living, just like you.”
“You don’t have your name sewed on your shirt and you don’t smell like grease of any kind. You’re a white-collar worker, Peyton.” Shay shrugged. “You’re a zeros and ones guy when you slice it down to the essence. That’s classic white collar. I don’t know where you got the idea that you’re some sort of blue-collar guy.”
“Easy. Where I come from, if you don’t own the company, then you’re blue collar.” He frowned and looked away.
Shay motioned to his clothes. “Your look is more like latent preppie on the lam with more than a heavy seasoning of hipster. Little unique for someone with your IT skills, and again, not blue collar.”
“What? Hipster? Where’s my man bun then? And I like the red whales on the pants. It’s all retro and cool.”
“This your idea of running from your family and your background? Just like playing at being an information broker?”
Peyton’s face darkened. “I just like the look, okay? Whales are endangered.”
“Not little red embroidered ones. Okay, fair enough. I can’t help it if you want to blind people with those abominations. Just be careful who you’re pointing them at.”
His expression didn’t brighten at her joke.
Shay didn’t try and fill the tense silence. Whether or not Peyton was running from his family before, he had a damned good reason to stay away from them now.
One major lesson kept Shay alive throughout the years, and that was an understanding that a person should never underestimate the greed and ruthlessness of anyone.
Yeah, Peyton, that includes me.
The field archaeologist pulled the Porsche into the parking lot of Gino’s By the Slice, her mouth already watering at the idea of downing some pepperoni pizza.
“Okay, let’s go grab some pizza,” Shay said.
“We’re stopping to eat?” Peyton sighed and turned in his seat to look at her. “I thought we were just going to grab something at a drive-through.”
Shay shook her head. “Gino’s doesn’t have a drive-through.”
“Let me get this straight. You kidnap me—"
The woman cut him off with a snort. “Let’s get one thing straight. This was a rescue, not a kidnapping.”
“Felt more like a kidnapping.”
“Well, it’s a rescue now. It was executed as a kidnapping. Whatever, the words aren’t important.”
A defiant look settled over Peyton’s face.
Don’t do this now.
Shay sighed. “You’re free to stroll back to your apartment if you want. I mean, I wouldn’t advise it because there will probably be six fucking guys there ready to fill your body with bullets. But sure, you know, if you really have a hard-on for dying, knock yourself out.”
“Angry White Bitch is coming back, I see.”
“And Clueless never left.”
“What I was trying to get at is that you killed me, and now we’re going to have pizza in New Jer
sey? I thought you wanted to make a clean getaway. What if some drone flies by and gets my picture or something?”
Shay reached into her pocket and pulled out a small layered silver disc.
Peyton leaned over, his eyes narrowing. “Is that a broad-spectrum frequency jammer?”
“Yeah. Low power. We have 20 minutes to get in there, get the best pizza this side of the Mississippi, and get the fuck out of town.”
The man-boy continued staring at her, utter incredulity on his face.
Shay threw open her door and stepped out. Peyton sighed and followed.
The woman walked toward the front door of the restaurant. “Look, did you really think I came all the way to the east coast just to save your scrawny ass?”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
They headed inside as Shay nodded, taking a quick survey of her surroundings. Professional habit. They were hitting the place about an hour before closing, so the line was non-existent, only one old man eyeing the menu like it was written in Linear B.
“Do they have any stuffed crust here?” Peyton asked. “It’s been a while.”
Shay snorted. “Thin-crust NYC-style. That’s the only type of real pizza. You fold a slice in half and eat it. None of this abomination Chicago nonsense.”
“Okay. Whatever.” Peyton gestured toward the napkins and plastic utensils. “I’ll go grab some knifes and forks.”
Shay burst out laughing. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
The old man eyed her with a frown on his face. She ignored him.
Peyton’s cheeks reddened. “What?”
“I’m so blue collar,” the woman replied in a mocking voice. “Here’s a tip, Peyton. Blue-collar people don’t eat their pizza with a knife and fork, and that’s not how we roll, not if you’re with me.”
Shay didn’t bother with a supersonic flight back to LAX. Both of them needed a little rest. Taking a redeye and resting on the plane struck her as great time management. Peyton was still adjusting to his sudden death anyway, and a little sleep would help with that as well. Once again, Clueless hadn’t considered he would need a fake ID once he was dead until Shay gave it to him.
Their morning arrival in L.A. soon had her back behind the wheel of her beloved red Fiat Spider, Peyton in tow as they headed toward one of her warehouses.
She controlled multiple storage buildings spread throughout L.A. to store her equipment for the job and anything else she needed. A series of false names and shell companies helped keep any nosy parties from ever linking it to her directly.
Peyton yawned as they pulled up to the medium-sized brown building. A large dark blue metal loading bay door prevented further access.
Shay pulled out her phone to bring up an app and disable the primary security on the building. A grinding noise filled the air as the door slowly slid to the side.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said.
“Just… it’s a lot to take in. I’m dead now, and I have to live in Los Angeles.” He counted them off on his fingers.
Shay chuckled. “You get used to being dead after a while.”
The door finished sliding to the side, and she pulled the car in before pressing a command on her app to start the door closing sequence.
Metal and wooden crates and boxes filled the high-ceiling room, and two doors led to a bathroom with a shower and a small office. The building mostly provided overflow storage to a toy company before Shay purchased it.
She exited the car and waited for Peyton to get out before speaking.
“Welcome to Warehouse Two.”
“Warehouse Two?”
“I’ve got five of them, all for different purposes, some more important than others. It’s simple, the lower the level, the less important the shit, or the easier to replace, depends on how you want to look at it.”
Peyton laughed. “I only warrant a two? Ouch.”
Shay ignored him to walk over to a wooden crate and pull the top off. She pointed. Boxes of 9mm bullets filled the crate. She pulled open another crate to reveal climbing ropes. A third crate contained SCUBA equipment.
“Look, you’re safe here,” she said, “but if someone comes here and blows up the place, then I’ll have fallback places, and won’t be totally fucked.”
“Except for me being blown up.”
“You’ll die twice.”
“Not funny.”
“No one knows about this place. I monitor the warehouses seven different ways. I wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble and then sat you down with a target on your back. You’re safe.”
Peyton didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t bitch, so that worked for the moment.
“This is your place?” He walked closer to peer into the crates. “You live here? Or do you live in another warehouse?”
Shay rolled her eyes. “I live in a condo like a normal person.”
“You’re an ex-hitman who faked her own death. What’s normal about any of that?”
“I didn’t say I was a normal person just that I live in a condo like a normal person.”
“Got it.”
“I just don’t store anything important there. This is my storage, and I’m storing you here for now.” Shay pointed to one of the doors along the wall. “You can set up in there. I’ve got a computer all ready.”
“And internet?”
She shrugged. “Create a cutout. Steal it from some of the local businesses for now so it can’t be traced back to this place. I don’t want anyone coming to this place to wire it up or sticking up a satellite dish. You’re the computer expert. You’re going to take what I did and raise it to a whole new level. It’s why I saved your ass. The start of bigger things.”
Peyton nodded. “That’s doable. It’s pretty easy for me to use a VPN and a lot of proxy servers. If anyone comes poking, I’ll have them looking in Nigeria. Hell, I’ll have them looking in Oriceran.”
Shay chuckled. “Sounds good. There’s folding cots and blankets in one of these crates.” Shay looked back and forth and shrugged. “I don’t remember which one.”
“I have to live in a warehouse while you live in a condo?”
“For now, if you’re going to stay safe and that means mostly out of sight.” Shay looked away and sighed. “Peyton, I’m gonna be honest with you. It’s gonna take a while for suspicion to die down, and so, yeah, it’s gonna suck for you. I know because I’m dead like you. But if you stick your head up anytime soon, you will die. Do you understand?”
Peyton gave a shallow nod. “We didn’t talk much about what you even need me to do. You mentioned something about being a field archaeologist now?”
Shay stared at the man, wondering how honest she should be. Feigning complete confidence might help him feel better, but they both needed to trust each other if their working relationship had any chance of succeeding.
And Shay had plans for him.
“Bottom line is I’m still breaking into the tomb raider business. I don’t have much of a rep, and I need to take care of that or it’s gonna be nothing but shit jobs for me.” She shrugged. “Right now, part of improving my rep is locating at least seven high-profile items.” She pulled a phone out of her pocket and tossed it to Peyton. “The list is on there. And keep the phone.”
Peyton tapped at the phone and furrowed his brow. “These are like finding marks when you were a hitman.”
“Exactly, but instead of people I plan to kill, these are items I plan to acquire.”
“You mean steal?”
Shay laughed. “It’s not stealing.” She put up her hands and made air quotes. “It’s field archaeology.”
“Semantics.”
“Stealing or whatever you want to call it, it’s my new gig, and I plan to be good at it. That may take some of your skills. You’re a gifted little bastard when it comes to finding that one piece of information that someone wanted hidden or everyone else forgot about but changes the game. It’ll help me get a better angle
on jobs and potential dangers.”
Peyton took several deep breaths and nodded, working on how to tell her. “Okay, this is doable. I’m just… well, if we’re going to do this, and you want it to really be secure, I’m going need a better computer than whatever piece of bargain crap you bought. We should probably get some sort of localized low-frequency jammers, some security drones, maybe some—”
“Just give me a list,” Shay interrupted. “And stop wasting my time.”
Peyton held up his hands. “Okay, okay. You know one thing that might help with all of this is if you explained more about what your job actually involves. Field archaeologist? Doesn’t that mean you just go dig up a lot of pots and bones? What does it have to do with the list you sent me?”
Shay shook her head. “No. That’s… different. A lot of people call what I do being a tomb raider. Common nickname in my new business.”
Peyton shot her a confused look. “So… you raid tombs? You went from putting them into the ground, to digging them back up again. Your own kind of recycling project.”
Shay rubbed her hand with her face. Is he just screwing with me? “Let’s not start with you being that annoying.” She sucked in a breath and slowly let it out. “The 1.0 version is, I wasn’t lying when I was talking about not stealing. I’m not a thief. I find old artifacts, particularly old magical items and recover them from places where people have forgotten about them… or buried them and then died. Since they’re dead, they don’t have any use for them.”
“That makes sense then, I guess.”
“My business model is to research history and figure out how history’s been manipulated to hide Oriceran influence. Because where there’s Oriceran influence, there’s magic, and that means a lot of potential profit to be made. Once I figure out what might be a real artifact, I track down where it’s hidden, and then recover it.”
Peyton crossed his arms. “From tombs?”
Shay flexed her hands, fighting the urge to punch him in the neck. “From wherever. Sure, some of it is your stereotypical ancient tomb in the jungle or whatever, but a lot of it isn’t like that. A lot of times it can be things like some old artifact buried under a Walmart parking lot or in a cave under a split-level three-bedroom.”
