Without another word, Clark put back on his mask and headed back down the corridor. The black masks started pulling me in the opposite direction.
Up ahead, there came a strangely familiar metallic noise.
I couldn’t place the noise, not at first. Then we turned a corner and I saw him standing there in front of us, leaning on two crutches. His left leg was the leg that was in a cast, and the cast looked good, like it had been done by professional doctors and not by someone using supplies purchased from Walmart. The Red Sox cap was pulled low as always, and with his head down the only thing staring back at me was the red embossed B.
Then Ian lifted his head and smiled.
“Hey, Ben. Miss me?”
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“We don’t have much time to talk, so let me cut to the chase.”
“What did you do, Ian?”
“Don’t put this on me. Don’t you dare put this on me.”
“What did you do?”
“It’s not my fault this happened.”
I closed my eyes for a second, fighting a raging headache. “I don’t think you clearly understand what the word fault means.”
“Like I said, man, I only have a few minutes to talk to you, so I’m going to make it quick. You remember the Janitor?”
The black masks were still gripping me tightly, but that was it. Clearly they were allowing this conversation to happen. And as much as I didn’t want to talk to Ian right now, I needed to know what kind of damage he’d done. Because while I could hear him, so could the Kid.
“What about him?”
“It was only a couple of months ago, right? Jesse and Maya working lead, you and me working backup. Where were we headed—Lexington, Richmond, Frankfort? Fuck, I forget. But we ended up stopping for gas. And while you were filling the tank I went to take a piss. The gas station was a pretty shitty one, with the bathrooms off on the side of the building.”
“The point?”
“That’s where he was waiting for me. Right when I finished up and was headed out the door, this guy was standing there waiting and pushed me back in. He had a gun, and he held it to my head, and he asked where Carver was. And I—I was so fucking scared. I’ll admit it. I was still a newbie and was scared about the whole thing. I mean, fuck, this was my first time out. I was scared shitless.”
“Again, the point?”
“My first time out I was supposed to be with Carver. But he was sick with the flu or something, so it was you, and I told him that. I said Carver wasn’t there, that it was just you, and you know what he said? The guy said he doesn’t care about the Man of Wax—that’s exactly what he called you—he cares about Carver. And I ... well, I started crying like a fucking girl. I couldn’t help it. I begged him not to kill me, that I didn’t know where Carver was, because Carver wasn’t with us. The guy swore and stuck something in my mouth and told me to call when Carver came out to play again—he actually said that, when Carver came out to play again—and that if I did so Caesar would show me mercy and spare my life.”
I laughed. “You think they’re actually going to let you live?”
“They’ve been treating me really well. Got my leg here in a proper cast. You know, some real fucking medical attention.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“No I’m not. I know my worth. I know what they want, too.”
“And what’s that?”
“Well, what they initially wanted to know was the Kid’s real name, where he lives. But of course none of us knows that except for Carver, so they settled on the location of the farmhouse instead.”
My smile faded. “You didn’t.”
“I did. Not that I feel good about it, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Like betraying Carver.”
“What do you want me to say, Ben? I was fucking scared. That thing the guy put in my mouth before he walked out of the bathroom? It was a balled up piece of paper. On it was a phone number. It was actually a pretty easy number to memorize. I flushed it and cleaned myself up and came back out. You asked me what took so long. I said I’d had to shit. You asked me why my eyes were red, and you remember what I said?”
“You said it was allergies.”
Ian grinned. “Right, allergies. Only thing is, I don’t have allergies. And truthfully, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you what happened right there and then. I meant to. Honest to God. But I was still so new, and I was scared, and I wondered what you would have done if you found out. Like, what you would have done to me. First, I thought you might not believe me. Then I thought you might get suspicious of me. And then ... I don’t know what, but like I said, I was scared.”
“Yeah, you’re becoming a real broken record.”
“The point is, I meant to tell you. But then I didn’t, and after a while I realized I couldn’t tell you, that I’d gone past that point. Because if I did end up telling you then, you’d be even more suspicious.”
“So you’re saying that guy was there and he didn’t kill me?”
“Again, Ben, he didn’t want you. He wanted Carver.”
“He came to you because you were new.”
“I know.”
“Because you’re weak.”
“Shut up.”
“Because you’re pathetic.”
“Shut up!” His face red, Ian looked at the black masks holding me. “Are you just going to let him talk to me like that?”
None of the black masks responded.
“Now that they’ve got what they can from you, you’re as good as dead. You at least understand that, right?”
“You don’t know anything about these people, Ben. All you know are lies. Misinformation. They’re not nearly as bad as you make them out to be.”
“Not nearly as bad,” I repeated. “That right there is a huge boost of confidence.”
“Anyway, the whole Janitor thing went south. The guy ended up dying. We couldn’t save him, so we went back home. I kept thinking the guy who approached me in the bathroom would manage to follow us, but he didn’t. I mean, I was confused at first why we ditched the car, and went a long way, but now it makes sense. You guys were always making sure you weren’t being followed. But then I started thinking about what the guy said, how Caesar would show me mercy, and I thought about just how massive this whole thing is, and how, realistically, we’re never going to beat them.”
“I understand, Ian. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Of course it is. You lost faith in the cause, so you sold Carver out.”
“Cause? What cause, Ben? There is no cause. It’s just been about revenge for Carver from day one. Shit, it’s been about revenge for all of you.”
“Now look who’s misinformed.”
“So when the Racist’s game came up, and Carver was headed out, I called that number. I did it far away from the farmhouse so they couldn’t track it. Shit, I forget what state me and Ronny were in when I did it—it was when he was gassing up and I went to get us snacks, from the payphone there—but I called them and that was it. Then everything went to shit, and I felt ... bad. Like, really bad. That’s why I followed you back to the Beachside. I felt bad for what I’d done, and I wanted to make it right.”
“Well you’re clearly doing a stand-up job of that now.”
“Fuck you, Ben. It’s because of you my leg got broke. It’s because of you I nearly died. Fuck, man, you had no idea who that person on the bike was. Shit, I had no idea, even when they dropped me off.” Something entered his eyes, and he said, “Did you ever find out?”
“What, and do all the legwork for these assholes?”
“I feel sorry for you, Ben. I really do. I feel sorry for everyone back at the farmhouse, Graham and Beverly and Jesse especially.”
“Jesse’s dead.”
“What?”
“Your new friends killed him.”
Ian shook his head. “You can’t put that one on me.”
&
nbsp; “I think I can.”
Behind us, there was a slight squawk from someone’s radio. A black mask made one appear from beneath a robe, spoke softly into it, then nodded at Ian.
“I guess that’s my cue,” Ian said.
I murmured something so quietly I barely even heard it myself.
Ian cocked his head. “Say that again?”
I murmured again.
We were standing less than ten feet apart. He eyed me suspiciously, then glanced at the black masks, before swinging the crutches forward and cutting the gap between us by five feet.
I murmured a third time, even more quietly.
“Ben, speak up.”
Ian leaned forward some more and that was when I kicked out at his left crutch. It was the one supporting most of his weight, and he started to fall. I kicked out again, striking him right in the face. The whole thing lasted maybe three seconds, and by then the black masks were pushing me past him down the corridor.
I shouted back at him, “I said your De Niro impression sucks!”
Ian shouted something back to me but I couldn’t make it out. I think I was laughing. The black masks, however, made no comment as they pushed me around another corner. We came to a door. One of the black masks knocked twice. The door opened and I was pushed through into a small dark room. Another black mask was standing guard. A chair was in a corner. And in the other corner Carver sat in a wheelchair, shaking his head at me like I was sorriest son of a bitch he had ever seen.
67
They shoved me to the empty chair. One of them had plastic zip ties, and they restrained my legs to the chair, my wrists behind my back, interlocking another zip tie through the back portion of the chair so I could hardly move. The black masks did this without a word, and when they were done they left without a word, leaving only me and Carver and the black mask standing by the door keeping watch.
Carver was maybe ten feet away in his wheelchair. He looked thin and frail. About what you would expect from someone who had been shot in the chest less than two weeks ago.
I said, “You look like shit.”
He said nothing.
“Seriously. It looks like you were shot in the chest or something.”
He said, his voice quiet, “What are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you.”
“And how’s that working out for you so far?”
I shrugged. “I envisioned it going differently in my head.”
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
“Yeah, well, you know how I hate to miss a party.” I looked at the black mask standing by the door. “Mind giving us some privacy so my friend and I can talk shit about your boss?”
The black mask gave no response.
Carver said, “How did you find me, anyway?”
“Your boojum.”
“You actually managed to get in contact with him?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. At the time, it was the only thing I could think to say. But then after some reflection, I realized just how difficult it would be.”
“What can I tell you?” I said. “I’m good at what I do.”
“Says the guy tied to a chair.”
“I’ve been in worse spots than this.”
Carver shook his head slowly and whispered, “I don’t think it can get much worse than this.” Then, his eyes lighting up briefly: “How did my boojum know where to find me?”
I glanced again at the black mask. “Seriously, buddy, mind giving us a few minutes alone?”
Unsurprisingly, the black mask again gave no response.
Carver said, “Can you even see anything without your glasses?”
I smiled at him. “Contacts.”
“How do they feel?”
“Not very good.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Not your fault.”
“How’s everyone back home?”
“They’re okay. Jesse died.”
“Shit.”
“I know.”
“Was it bad?”
“Pretty bad, yeah.”
“Shit.”
“I know.”
“Anyone else?”
“Ian apparently decided to model his life after Judas Iscariot.”
“What do you mean?”
“He sold us out.”
“How do you know?”
“We had a nice little chat out in the hallway before they brought me in. Anyway, what happened to you?”
“I was shot.”
“No shit. But what happened afterward?”
“Difficult to say. I’d been shot before, but never this badly. My entire body, it went through phases of hot and cold all at the same time. I lost consciousness for a while. At one point I remember being in an ambulance. They must have had it right outside the hotel the entire time, or nearby, because they started working on me right away. They had to have, because somehow they managed to keep me alive. Then I drifted back out of consciousness, and the next thing I knew I woke up in a hospital bed.”
“But you weren’t in a hospital,” I said.
“Not a proper hospital, no. But I think I was there.”
“Where?”
“Their base of operations.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Just a hunch. There wasn’t a window in my room or anything, but the place was completely white and spotless. Some doctors came in. They introduced themselves as being the very best. Who knows, maybe they were. They managed to take the bullet out of me, patch me up, put me on an IV. But I’m still pretty weak. I don’t think I could even walk on my own, though I haven’t really been given much of a chance. I’ve been restrained since I first woke up. First to that hospital bed, then to this wheelchair.”
“Did you meet Caesar?”
“No. I asked to see him but was told his schedule was too full. You?”
“I heard him speaking earlier tonight. Sounded like a real douche bag.”
Carver said nothing. He barely even cracked a smile. I had seen him angry before, even depressed, but this expression now—hopelessness—was something I had never seen. I wanted to tell him about the team outside, about Bae and his team, about how right now the Kid was listening in to everything we were saying. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought he probably suspected there was another transmitter on me.
A knock came from the door, two quick taps. The black mask opened it.
“Well, well, well,” I said dryly. “Why am I not surprised?”
FBI Assistant Director Edward Stark stepped into the room. He wore suit pants and a white dress shirt. The lighting in the room wasn’t very good, but his face looked pale. His eyes were drained. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, or if they did they were so quiet and faint they could barely be heard.
He took another step forward, though it wasn’t really a step so much as a stumble. Then, quite suddenly, he tripped over his feet and fell flat on the floor, smashing his nose against the linoleum. Blood splattered the titles and began pooling around his head.
It was almost as much as the blood seeping out of his back, from where the handle of a knife protruded.
Through the doorway stepped another person. This person was dressed in a black robe and cowl and gloves and white Bauta mask.
And for the third time that day, I found myself saying, “Hello, Congresswoman.”
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She stepped carefully over Stark’s fallen body and walked right up to us. Another black mask followed her, carrying a cushioned folding chair. The black mask opened it up and set it down right in front of us, then stepped back so she could take a seat. As she did, she took off her mask and smiled at me.
“You’re not surprised to see me?” she asked.
“Not really. My father always told me it’s never wise to trust a politician.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Your point?”
“You’ve been wasting your time. Not just with y
our friend here, but your entire life. I told you how I read that thing of yours you posted online. What I didn’t tell you was I found it to be quite an amusing narrative.”
“What was so amusing about it?”
Behind the congresswoman the black mask who had deposited the chair and another black mask began cleaning up Edward Stark’s body. Opening one of those large rolls of clear plastic tarp. Hefting the body onto the plastic tarp. Rolling the body back up in the plastic tarp.
“You’re not a hero, Ben. You never were. Your friend might have put ideas in your head, made you think you’re more important than you really are, but I’m telling you the truth. You’re weak. Foolish. Naïve.”
“Are you trying to arouse me?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Seriously,” I said. “How did you know deprecation is what gets me off?”
Congresswoman Houser said to Carver, “You’re certainly quiet.”
“I don’t even know who you are.”
The congresswoman gave me a blank look. Behind her, the two black masks had picked up the body wrapped in the clear plastic tarp and were now carrying it away.
I said, “What, so now it’s my job to make the introductions? Fine. Carver, this is Congresswoman Francis Houser from North Carolina. If I ever have a chance to write another amusing narrative, I’ll be sure to note that she’s a lying bitch.”
“Now, now,” she said, wagging a finger, “no reason to be uncouth.”
I said to Carver, “Did she really just say uncouth?”
He nodded. “I believe she did.”
The congresswoman sighed again. “If you two aren’t going to take this seriously, then I’m not going to waste my time.”
“Why are you here anyway?” I said. “To rub it in our faces? To boast about how smart and powerful you and your asshole friends are?”
“You misunderstand us, Ben. That’s why I came to see you. That, and I needed to eliminate poor Edward back there.”
Behind her two more black masks—or maybe they were the same ones as before—came in with buckets and towels. They got on their knees and began cleaning up the blood, while the third black mask—the one who had been standing by the door this entire time—watched on silently.
The Inner Circle (Man of Wax Trilogy) Page 34
