‘Coat still warm enough for you, young lady?’ he asked.
Sofia nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘No problemo,’ Dave said.
Cindy circled around from the driver’s side, chatting with another female trucker, who also wore a furry creature hat. A rabbit of some sort, thought Sofia. Perhaps Bugs Bunny.
‘Mel, where’s Brian?’ Cindy asked the other woman.
‘Feeding the bunnies,’ this Mel said. She was about the same height as Cindy French and seemed rather too refined to be a trucker. With her unusually straight posture and precision of movement, Sofia wondered if she might be a veteran. They all moved the same way, she thought.
‘You keep the rabbits for food?’ Sofia asked. ‘I had my share of them. I could cook a pot for you if you’d like.’
Mel actually took a step back as a wash of pale horror fell across her features.
‘Pets, hon,’ Cindy said quickly, taking the teenager by the shoulder. ‘Melissa keeps bunnies as pets in her rig. They’re kinda cute . . . Hey, Mel, is Brian gonna come too, then?’
‘No,’ the woman in the bunny hat replied, recovering herself but smiling a little awkwardly at Sofia. ‘I’ll take him something. Let’s go eat.’
Inside the Flying J’s government-run canteen, it smelled of fresh paint, disinfectant and greasy food. As she joined the line of diners, Sofia kept one eye on the television suspended from the ceiling in a corner of the dining area, but it only seemed to be playing re-runs of some pre-Wave show hosted by a man called Jerry, where fat people attacked each other in a TV studio. Sometimes they wore costumes that made them look like perverts. It was incomprehensible and eventually she gave up.
Soldiers and civilians moved down the queue, each clutching a metal tray. Occasionally they’d glance over at the TV screen too, but mostly they busied themselves scooping up piles of the usual bland but plentiful government food. Stiff, dry potato bake, frankfurters, bacon like jerky, fatty ham, and the always popular shit on a shingle. In front of her in the line, thin Dave Bowman shook his head at it all, deeply unimpressed.
‘Give me an apple and a whole-wheat roll,’ he said.
‘Don’t want much, do ya?’ the man serving behind the counter replied. He tossed a sad-looking yellow apple over. ‘Bread’s over at the bench, dude.’
Dave noticed Sofia focusing again on the television and elbowed her gently. ‘Sure you want to go to Fort Hood?’ he asked. ‘They’re all like that down there, you know.’
‘My sister’s there,’ Sofia lied, yet again. ‘I have to help her. What do you know about the place, Mr Bowman? Anything you can tell me would be useful. I’ve heard it will be difficult for me, because I’m from Mexico. Although, that seems unfair. I don’t remember anything of life before the boat journey to Australia. I am from nowhere now.’
Bowman gazed off into the distance for a moment, apparently able to see through the clouded windows of the canteen as Sofia filled a bowl with beans and bacon chunks. He worked at slicing his mushy apple up into manageable components before they took a seat at the table with the others. But not Cindy yet; she was still in line, picking over the sad, grey franks.
‘Fort Hood’s not what Seattle says it is,’ Dave said. ‘On the other hand, not everything Seattle says is wrong either. It isn’t the old Unreconstructed South, for instance.’
‘I’m sorry, what?’ Sofia asked, confused.
‘I mean, it isn’t a bunch of rich white folks owning everything, including other people. A lot of army vets live down there. The other services too, but mainly army. Drawn there by money, benefits and the kind of jobs Seattle can’t or won’t provide.’
‘What about Mexicans?’ she asked. ‘My sort of people.’ She wondered if Dave wasn’t someone who agreed with Blackstone. Perhaps even supported the tyrant.
‘I’ve seen them down there as well,’ he said. ‘Normally, if they aren’t in the military, they’re stuck doing the menial jobs in town, in Killeen, or labouring on the big farms. That isn’t all that different from before the Wave, is it? Or down under, where you were, from what I’ve heard tell.’
‘No,’ Sofia admitted. ‘Although, the farm my family worked on in New South Wales was not a prison either. And the homestead killings – are they truly as people say, the work of Blackstone’s agents?’
Bowman regarded her warily now. ‘Well, there’s some that say that, of course. But I wouldn’t be so free with my opinions when I reached Fort Hood if I was you, young lady.’
‘Well, it’s a hell of a thing when a young woman can’t feel free with her opinions, don’t you think?’ interrupted Cindy, having arrived from the chow line hauling a tray loaded up with cheesy taters and franks. Almost as large a stack as she’d had of chicken when Sofia first met her.
‘No politics at the table,’ Melissa called over, adopting a warning tone.
Thin Dave Bowman’s face had been clouding over, but that seemed to pass now like a single cloud on a clear day.
Cindy hooked out a plastic chair with one foot before sitting herself down next to Sofia. ‘Old Dave here is quite the fan of Governor Blackstone,’ she smirked.
‘Now, you know that’s not true, Cindy . . .’ he protested. ‘I have issues with the man, too. Serious issues. But I don’t think he’s as bad as everyone makes out back in cloud-cuckoo-land.’
‘Where?’ Sofia chimed in, looking to her friend for a translation.
‘He means Seattle, hon.’ The trucker turned back to Bowman. ‘Now then, Dave, Sofia here is heading down to Fort Hood to rescue her sister from a brothel – as you well know, because I explained it to you, chapter and verse, back in KC. A government brothel, Dave. Of the sort that is utterly illegal back in cloud-cuckoo-land. So you can see why she might have issues with a Blackstone policy here and there.’
He had the decency to look mildly embarrassed, going so far as to take off his baseball cap and sweep it in front of him while performing a half bow. ‘You’re right, I was being an ass,’ he said by way of apology.
‘It’s all right,’ replied Sofia, even though it was not.
Dave leaned forward slightly. ‘Was there something specific you needed to know about Fort Hood? Out of all these reprobates,’ he added, indicating his fellow drivers, ‘I’ve probably hauled more loads into and out of the Hood than anyone.’
Sofia swallowed a mouthful of beans and tried to forgive the man opposite her for not thinking ill of Jackson Blackstone. If this Dave Bowman could be of help, she would take his help, just as she’d taken his jacket.
‘I will need to find this bordello where they are holding my sister,’ she said. ‘How will I do that, and how will I get there from Temple without getting into trouble myself?’
Bowman grinned. ‘Well, I’m not at all familiar with the brothels of Fort Hood,’ he said, to the scoffing laughter of some of the other truckers. ‘But if I were you, I wouldn’t be going there alone. I think you’ll be fine getting around town without someone holding your hand, but a girl of your age really doesn’t want to be heading into the red-light district on her own.’
She nodded appreciatively. She had no interest at all in the red-light districts of Fort Hood, but a great deal of interest in how much attention she might draw to herself while wandering the streets of the town on her own. Back in KC, people had made it sound as though Fort Hood was completely segregated. Sofia Pieraro resolved to put aside any resentment she felt at finding out that Dave was a Blackstone supporter. Instead, she was determined to pick him clean for every useful detail on Fort Hood that he might provide.
26
NORTH DARWIN, NORTHERN TERRITORY
Narayan Shah had done well for himself, much better than Julianne, since they’d last met. It was obvious he was pivotal to the everyday running of his private security firm, that much was clear from the second they had walked in here, with the appearance of four of his underlings, bearing news they thought he must hear or documents he must see. More impressive, from her point o
f view, was the man’s enduring grace and calm under pressure. Shah dismissed them all courteously but firmly, instead instructing that tea be served upstairs for his English guest and himself.
The old soldier had partitioned off at least half of one shipping container as his private office. This particular giant metal crate sat atop the L-shaped arrangement of identical, faded-orange containers that formed the entrance to his compound. A quiet young Nepalese woman was performing the duties he’d requested, filling two coarse-looking stone mugs with piping-hot green tea. She was dressed in western clothes, but carried herself with the demure reserve Jules thought characteristic of many Asian societies. Shah smiled at her while she poured.
‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said as the young Nepali withdrew.
‘You are welcome, Father,’ she replied, answering a question Julianne had kept to herself.
‘It is a rough environment for a young lady, I will admit,’ said Shah, once the two of them were alone. ‘I hire the best men I can find, and I insist on civility in the workplace. But this business attracts a very particular type, and I worry sometimes about exposing my daughters to that.’
Julianne leaned forward and carefully picked up the tea. The simple pottery mug had no handle, forcing her to hold it carefully around the rim, lest she burn her fingers.
‘But you would rather have your girls close by,’ she ventured. ‘It’s nice, Shah, and understandable, especially now. My father did something similar, although his motives were less admirable.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘He often dressed me up to distract the chaps from whom he was intent on milking funds.’
Shah grinned so widely at this that his head – which had always reminded her of a giant, inverted brown pot – seemed to split right open.
‘Ah, Miss Jules, I do recall with fondness the many stories you told of your father on our voyage to Australia. Hard times they were, but very simple in some ways. Sail the boat, fight the pirates, do not die. Now . . .’ He waved his hands around the room, encompassing the unseen compound, and perhaps the whole city beyond it. ‘Now complications are all I have.’
Jules took a cautious sip of her drink. She didn’t much fancy green tea, given a choice, but this blend was sweeter and less smoky than usual. She would’ve preferred a pot of Taylors Scottish Breakfast Tea, with milk and sugar, but found herself taking longer drafts of Shah’s brew as it cooled down. It settled her nerves.
The space in which they sat was fiercely utilitarian, with very few flourishes of decoration. A calendar, with photographs of interesting golf courses, on the wall behind Shah; a sheathed kukri dagger in a glass-front box hanging beside it. Nothing else. Not even a few family photos.
‘How long have you been here?’ she asked. ‘In Darwin, with your business, I mean.’
‘Nearly two years now,’ Shah replied. ‘The city was perhaps half its current size when I arrived. Even then, it had grown significantly. I remember it from the Timor mission in ’99, when it was much smaller. Many of the Americans who were caught in this region after the Disappearance found their way here. A large number remain, although more were just passing through on their way to the southern cities, and I suppose, like our friend Miguel, many have returned home now. But Darwin was growing when I arrived, Miss Jules, one of the few places that was. The granting of free-port status amplified the rush of money and people seeking haven here after the Wave. It seemed a good choice to locate my business. There was much demand for security contractors then. There still is.’
He emptied the last few drops from his cup before refilling it. The absence of a handle did not seem to bother him, Jules noted. He held the scalding-hot vessel in his thick, brown fingers with no discernible discomfort.
‘I must thank you again, Miss Julianne, for the opportunity you offered us back in Acapulco. My comrades and I did well to cross your path, and great honour accrued to you for ensuring our contract was fulfilled, even after the authorities in Sydney seized the Rules and those assets you had set aside for our payment. It allowed me to fund the beginnings of this business, and the money we make is very important to our people back home. Your name is well regarded in our villages.’
She waved off the compliment. ‘Daddy would have disowned me if I hadn’t learned at a very young age how to hide a few baubles and trinkets from the old Bill. Anyway, you and your chaps earned it, Mr Shah. We wouldn’t have made it to Sydney without you. Not all of us did, of course,’ she added with residual sadness.
‘To absent friends,’ he said, raising his cup.
Jules returned the toast and then set the empty cup aside. ‘So, this is your main place of business now?’ she asked. ‘It’s not an idle question. You said you’d had dealings with both Seattle and Fort Hood. Do you do much work in the US? Do you have a profile there? I’m just wondering how it was that Cesky drew a bead on you, all the way down here in Darwin.’
Shah was not a demonstrative man. An almost imperceptible downturn of the mouth, the faintest shrug – they were his only reactions.
‘I have a small office in Seattle, yes,’ he said. ‘We have contracts to provide security for some of the reclamation crews working the West Coast cities. We do recruit in the US, mostly ex-military people, especially if they are familiar with the territory in which we are operating. But as far as possible, I try to use men from the regiment. The income they remit home is important, as I said.’
‘And in Fort Hood?’
Shah gestured as though he was swatting away a fly. ‘A two-man operation. Or rather, one man and his wife, working as his secretary. I have no other personnel permanently stationed in Texas. The administration there controls access and movement very closely. Blackstone’s people are very businesslike, very easy to make a deal with in many ways. But the men I send there fly in, do the job, and fly out again. Fort Hood is open for business, but not always . . . welcoming. Perhaps if I hired more men from the local military population . . .’
‘Whitey, you mean?’
He nodded slowly. ‘So you noticed.’
‘The Rhino and I were down there for a few weeks after New York. It was like taking a little holiday in GI Joe World at Disneyland in, like, 1953.’
‘Mr Ross was with you, when you were attacked by Cesky’s men in Texas?’
Julianne’s eyes crinkled with delight. ‘God, I so rarely hear the Rhino referred to by his real name. I doubt his parents even used it.’
She noticed then that her hands were shaking – delayed shock, she assumed. Well, it wasn’t the first time something had blown up in her face.
‘Do you mind?’ she said, standing up and heading to the window. ‘I need to move around. Bit of nervous tension to burn off. And I’m very worried about him.’
‘Of course. His injuries were severe.’
She remembered this about Mr Shah. He didn’t sugar-coat things.
She paced the room for a few seconds before leaning up against the window that had been cut into the side of the insulated shipping container. Shah’s office looked down over the concrete slab where they had left the car, and afforded him a view into two of the large sheds in which some of his heavier vehicles were undergoing maintenance. The glass was cool to the touch thanks to the air-conditioning, but she could feel the fierce Darwin heat beating against it on the outside. She was up high enough to see over the rooftops of buildings in the surrounding streets. A heat haze shimmered over all of the corrugated-iron and aluminium sheeting. There was very little greenery in this older, industrial subdivision.
‘The guys who came after us at Galveston were even more hapless than those losers in New York,’ Jules continued, still taking in the vista. ‘We were on our guard, as you’d imagine. Even though we weren’t really expecting anything to happen down there. Seattle and Texas are different worlds, and Cesky is very much a Kipper man.
‘Anyway, these blaggers, ex-military both of them, fronted us in a bar. We were just playing pool, and they came in and laid down some coins, reserving the table. The Rhi
no got talking to them, as he does, the friendly fucking pachyderm.’ She smiled again, as if thinking well of him might speed his mending. ‘Then, after a few minutes, one of them insists on buying him a drink, on the basis that his old man had been in the Coast Guard, just like Rhino, and he makes a point of buying a round for every old salt he meets. Problem was, though, this bloke’d already had a few himself, as had his skeevy mate, and neither the Rhino nor I had ever mentioned anything about him being in the Coast Guard.’
Jules turned away from the window now, propping herself up against the sill and folding her arms to steady her hands.
‘We couldn’t get rid of them. “Farts in a telephone booth” doesn’t even begin to describe their stickiness. The bar closed, and they insisted on coming with us, their new best friends and all, for one more drink. They knew a place, naturally. We thought, fuck that for a game of tiddlywinks, and invited them back to where we were staying. It was isolated, well away from the militia’s usual patrol routes. God, Shah, it makes me sick just remembering it – we knew these cheeky fuckers were going to try it on, probably as soon as we were out of public view. But better on our ground than theirs.’
He nodded to indicate she should keep going. ‘I assume you did not give them the chance to try it on, then?’
‘Once upon a time, maybe. I can remember the days when I didn’t assume every stranger I met was trying to slot me. But no, we didn’t give them a chance. I walked into the apartment first, gave them a bit of arse wiggle to think about. The Rhino mustered them in from behind. The door wasn’t even closed before he kicked out the knee of the bloke just in front of him. Smashed him in the head with a bourbon bottle as he went down. His mate was reaching for a gun, but not quickly enough. I head-tapped him twice with the .22 I had ready in my purse. Two in the noggin.’
‘And you are certain they were contract killers?’
‘We searched them before dumping the bodies. They had heavy coats. They were both carrying duct tape, gags, and pistols with suppressors. The one I shot had a little video camera too. Fucking freak. But then Cesky probably needed some proof before paying out on the contract. We didn’t go looking for a vehicle, but if we had, I’m sure we’d have found heavy plastic bags and cutting tools in the back. They were hitters, for certain. Drunken, incompetent hitters.’
Angels of Vengeance: The Disappearance Novel 3 Page 26
