OMEGA SERIES BOX SET: Books 1-4

by Banner, Blake

  She gave me a once over that had more amusement than annoyance in it. “I told you, you eat what I eat.”

  “Then I guess tonight you’re eating steak and fries. About seven will be great.” I smiled nicely. “Now I need to do some work.”

  She giggled her pretty giggle. “You are going to be fun to have around, mister.”

  “I hope you won’t even notice me.”

  She raised an eyebrow and gave me a ‘really?’ look. “You better hope Red don’t notice you. He’s the jealous type.”

  She left and I closed the door. I took my laptop from my bag and put it on the desk. I’d had plenty of time to think through what I wanted to do, and I’d come to the conclusion there were too many variables and too many uncertainties. What I needed was information; information about who Marni had become, and what she was about. So I spent the next half hour putting classified ads in the local papers and in the New York Times, a paper I knew she read every day. The ad said simply: ‘You were right about Robert the first time. I was wrong. He was misunderstood. We need to talk.’

  While I had always hated my father, she had loved him. He had cared for her since she was a small child, almost as his own daughter, tortured by the guilt of having murdered her father, his own best friend. Now that she knew that, because I had told her, our roles had reversed. I saw him as a pathetic, tortured human being, and she saw him as a monster. The ad might draw a response.

  It was a long shot. But Marni was nothing if not smart. She had known I would see her at the funeral. She knew me well enough to know I would memorize her license plate and track her to Tucson. And that meant just one thing: that was what she had wanted me to do. It followed logically, then, that I would use the classified ads to try to contact her.

  It didn’t mean I was here. It just meant I knew that she was.

  At seven, I went down. Cissy had an open-plan living room and dining room, separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. The table was set for two and she was in the kitchen. I could hear the potatoes sizzling in the deep fryer. I went and leaned on the bar. I could see a plate by the cooker with two large steaks on it.

  She glanced at me and smiled.

  I said, “I hope I didn’t put you to too much inconvenience, Cissy.”

  “Uh-uh. So happens I was having steak anyhow. You want your beer now, or later with your meal?”

  “I want one now and another with my meal.”

  “This ain’t a bar, you know!”

  “But you’ll make an exception for me.”

  “And just how do you figure that?”

  I paused long enough to smile and get her to smile back. “I’m an expert in the ancient art of freckle reading, and I can read you like a book.”

  Her eyes creased and she giggled, and pulled two beers from the fridge. As she cracked them and handed me one, I saw a flash of real concern in her eyes. It was there for just a second, but I caught it.

  “Don’t go saying things like that in front of Red, you hear?”

  I took a swig. “I don’t plan to cause any problems, Cissy. I don’t plan to stay long enough.”

  She didn’t say anything. She went over to check the fries. They were about right, so she lit the gas under the steak griddle. After a moment, I said, “You know something I learned, a long time ago?”

  She answered without looking at me. “Of course not.”

  “I learned that if there is somebody in your life who is scaring you, there is only one thing you can do.” She gave me a glance that said she didn’t like where I was going, but was curious all the same. I went on. I went on because I didn’t care whether she liked it or not. “The only thing you can do is cut off their nuts and nail their scrotum to their foreheads. After that they stop scaring you.”

  Her laughter was more like a shriek. She stamped her foot, screwed up her eyes and shook her head, but she didn’t answer until we were both sitting down at the table and she had given me a second beer. Then she wagged her fork at me and spoke through a full mouth.

  “You go through life like that, you’re gonna get into big trouble, mister.”

  I shrugged and ate in silence for a moment. The steak was good.

  “I try to stay out of trouble, Cissy.” I smiled and quoted, “‘Don’t go looking for trouble if trouble ain’t lookin’ to be looked for.’ But sometimes trouble comes knocking at your door. What do you do? Lie down and let it walk all over you?”

  Her smile faded and she concentrated on her food for a moment. “I guess that’s what I do. My mommy always taught me, you gotta placate men. It’s only worse if you stand up to them.”

  “Really? And how did that work for her?”

  She put a smile on the left side of her face, where it didn’t really look like a smile. “Not so good, I suppose.”

  “It’s like candy. The more you give a kid candy, the more they want. The more you placate a bully, the more he’ll keep bullying you. Cut off his nuts, problem solved.”

  “Let’s talk about somethin’ else. This talk makes me sad.”

  It wasn’t hard. She was a chatterbox and it was easy for me to sit back and listen. Eventually, she cleared the plates and washed them while I leaned on the bar and finished my beer. As she put the plates in the rack to dry, she asked me, “You wanna watch a movie?”

  But before I could answer, the doorbell rang. The look she gave me was more eloquent than a thousand words. It was a look of fear, and of pleading. It said, “Don’t make a scene, don’t flirt, don’t upset him. Just go.”

  She took my bottle from my hand and put it in the recycling bin, then went to open the door. She greeted him effusively. He ignored her, stepping into the room staring at me. He was six-two and powerfully built, with a platinum crew cut and pale blue eyes. His face said he wanted to know who the hell I was.

  Cissy was drawing breath to explain. I knew his type, and I knew any explanation she gave him would just make him mad. So I smiled and stepped forward, holding out my hand.

  “You must be Red. I’m Lacklan, the new lodger. I’ll be here just a couple of days.” I upgraded the smile to a grin. “Cissy has been telling me all about her man. I was just heading up to my room, so I guess I’ll leave you two in peace.”

  The hostility in his eyes shifted to a smug smile and he took my hand.

  “That’s considerate of you…” He frowned. “Lacklan? What kind of a name is that? I guess you’re from out east, huh? What’s your business here, Lacklan?”

  Some obscure motivation I did not understand at the time made me answer without thinking. “Well, I’m looking for work, as it happens. Things are not so good in New York, so I thought I’d make a new start in Arizona.”

  He studied me for a second. “What kind of work you looking for?”

  I shrugged. “I was in the army from the age of nineteen, so I’ll do pretty much anything.”

  He gave a single nod. His eyes were calculating and his mouth was hanging slightly open. A right cross would have smashed his jaw. I put the thought out of my mind, told myself not to get involved in their business and made to move toward the stairs. But he spoke before I could leave.

  “Seen action?”

  I nodded. “Some.”

  “Where?”

  “Iraq, Afghanistan…” There were other places, but they were places I wouldn’t talk about, SAS black ops that were more than secret.

  There was the trace of a sneer on his face. “You good at taking orders?”

  I averted my eyes so he wouldn’t see how close he was to spending the rest of the week in hospital. “I followed orders for over ten years. I figure that’s enough.” I made a friendly face and pointed a finger at him, like a gun. “You guys have a nice evening.”

  I headed for the stairs. I could feel his eyes on my back. He called after me. “I’ll keep my eyes open. Let you know if I hear of anything.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  I lay in bed, in the dark, staring at the eerie light of the moon setting ov
er the desert in the west. It filtered through my open window, along with a cool breeze that moved the lace curtains, whispering about predators in the night. Far off, you could hear the wild cry of the coyotes, baying into the turquoise half-light. And for a while there was an owl who seemed to be warning of trouble.

  Downstairs I could hear Cissy and Red. They started out with the Eagles, laughing, dancing, singing along to Hotel California. Then, after a few tequilas, she must have said something he chose to misunderstand, something that offended his manhood and went contrary to his rules about men and women and life. And the more she tried to explain and to placate him, the madder he got. Because there was only one thing that was going to satisfy him.

  At first I told myself not to get involved. It was none of my business. I had a job to do. I was looking for Marni, and I had to stay focused. But after the third slap, I knew I had no choice, and I got up and pulled on my jeans. By then he’d slapped her six times and I knew I was going to break his arm so he would never slap anybody again.

  By the time I’d reached the door she was sobbing and apologizing, and telling him she loved him and only him and there was no other man in the world who came close. He was her man.

  “I love you baby, you know that.”

  I stood on the landing, a hot pellet of rage in my belly. Now he was lecturing her, telling her that he loved her, but she had to learn to talk right, and think about the things she said, so as not to upset him. And then he was kissing her noisily. I turned and went back into my room. I lay in the dark, and for the next fifteen minutes tried to listen to the coyotes, while Red and Cissy made love on the couch to the sound of Lying Eyes.

  That’s what you call irony.

  Three

  I got up late, at nine o’clock, showered and dressed and went downstairs for nine-thirty. She was in the kitchen washing a cup in the sink and didn’t look round when leaned on the breakfast bar.

  “Breakfast is at eight. I should have told you. I can’t be making breakfast all day, dependin’ what time you feel like getting up.”

  She delivered the whole speech looking down into the sink.

  When she’d finished, I said, “My breakfast is at six-thirty and I make it myself. I’m up late because you and Red kept me awake till four in the morning with the racket you were making.”

  She was silent, motionless, still staring into the sink. When she finally spoke, there was a catch in her voice. “If you don’t like it, there’s plenty of other places you can go.”

  “That suits me fine, Cissy. Take what I owe you for last night and give me my thousand dollars back.” I waited. She was swaying slightly and I knew she was crying. “You can’t, can you? Because Red took it last night.”

  “That ain’t none of your business.”

  “It is if you’re kicking me out, because that money is not yours or his. It’s mine.”

  She hunched forward and made a strange, strangled noise. I went around the bar and stood behind her at the sink. She was sobbing convulsively. I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her around. She covered her face, but the bruises were clearly visible. She leaned against my chest so I couldn’t see them.

  I put my arms around her and sighed, telling myself I didn’t need this kind of complication.

  “Where is he?”

  She looked up at me in alarm and I saw the full extent of the damage he’d done. Her left eye was swollen and her right cheek was purple and turning to yellow. I’ve seen enough bruised faces in my life to know that left eyes get bruised and swollen from right jabs, and right cheeks get bruised from backhanders.

  “Why d’you wanna know?”

  “Because I am going to break his arms so that he never hits another woman as long as he lives.” I said it without feeling or inflection. It was a simple fact.

  She shook her head. “Don’t get involved. It’s not your business.” She pulled away from me and went to get the coffee pot. “He won’t be back till Saturday, and he’ll be OK now for a few weeks. He only does this like once a month…”

  She spoke in a rush, her hands shaking as she put the filter in the jug and spilled grains into it. I could feel hot anger rising inside me again.

  “What?”

  “He gets real stressed at work and it makes him crazy sometimes. He don’t want to get violent. He don’t mean it. I wind him up sometimes. I don’t think before I speak…”

  “Stop.” She turned and stared at me with wide eyes. “Listen to yourself. Why are you making excuses for him?”

  She looked away and put the coffee on to brew. “He ain’t so bad…”

  “Cissy.”

  She looked away, biting her lip.

  “Why do you let him do this to you?”

  “That ain’t none of your business. You ain’t got no right prying…”

  I frowned. “So let me get this straight. He doesn’t need permission to beat you up, but I need permission to care that he does.”

  She ignored me, went and stood looking down at the cooker. After a moment, she said, “You want pancakes? Bacon?”

  “Just a piece of toast.”

  “You mad?” She turned frightened eyes on me. “Don’t be mad. I couldn’t take another scene.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t play that game, Cissy. I’ll respect your wishes—for now. But next time he keeps me awake, I’m going to drag him upstairs and throw him out the window.”

  She gave a nervous smile. “That’d be something to watch.”

  I didn’t return the smile. “You think you haven’t got a choice, Cissy, but you have.”

  She brought my coffee and my toast to the table and sat with me. After a bit she said, “I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep. Must have been unpleasant.”

  “Where does he work?”

  “You’re not going to…”

  “No. I told you I’d respect your wishes. He said he might be able to get me a job.”

  “Oh.” She seemed a bit disappointed. “Him and his partner, Chetan, they got a club out on Camino del Oeste.”

  “Chetan?”

  “He’s Indian—sorry—Native American. They started a club together. He’s there most nights. Sometimes it gets a bit rough, so I know he was looking for somebody to keep an eye on things.” She looked uncomfortable. “But there’s plenty other work you could do.”

  “That where he’ll be tonight?” She nodded. I drained my cup. “I have to go out now. I’ll probably be out most of the day, but I figure I’ll be back by six, for dinner. Then I’ll go visit Red’s club.”

  I left her sitting at the table, staring into her coffee.

  I took Los Reales to the I-19 and then drove north for ten minutes till I came to the West Speedway Boulevard. That took me as far as the University of Arizona, where I parked outside the School of Natural Resources and the Environment.

  A little research over the previous couple of days had told me that Professor Richard Engels, of the University of Arizona, was a world authority on climate change and sustainable resources. I didn’t believe that it was a coincidence that Marni had come here. I knew she had come here for a reason, and I suspected that the reason was to see Engels. Five minutes on the university website had given me a photograph of him, but I wanted to see him in person.

  I made my way to reception and stood for a moment looking lost while people milled around me. Pretty soon I saw a woman who didn’t look like a student. She was in a hurry, but had a friendly face. I intercepted her apologetically and said, “Excuse me, I’m kind of lost. Can you tell me where Professor Engels’ lecture is?”

  She looked a little confused, but she was basically a nice person so she smiled and said, “Well sure...” She glanced at her watch. “It’ll be in the… um… lecture theater…” She pointed me in the right direction and said, “You are very late, though. He’ll be finishing. Are you a student?”

  I grimaced and said, “I hope so,” and hurried away.

  I found the lecture theater, slipped in and sat righ
t at the back where I hoped I would be invisible. It was an amphitheater design and the room was pretty full. Professor Engels was in his mid-fifties, tall and strongly built. He had a lot of black hair, turning to gray, which he had tied back in a ponytail. He had a powerful voice too, that carried.

  “… So, we really need to be changing the debate. The question is no longer, whose fault is climate change. Nor is it, what can we do to stop climate change. Both of those questions have become redundant. Whatever the government, or the IPCC for that matter, may be telling you about the changing climate of our planet, the data, the facts, tell us beyond any conceivable doubt, that we have gone past the tipping point.” He paused, took four slow steps to his left and four slow steps back. Then his voice boomed, “It is too late! There is no way back!” He paused again, then used his hands to emphasize what he was saying. “Over the next twenty years, the world is going to change beyond all recognition, and the question we need to be asking is, what do we need to do to be able to adapt and survive in the new environment?”

  He held up his right hand with his fingers splayed. “What are the five defining elements of this new environment?”

  He waited. Nobody answered so he held up his thumb. “Heat! The world will be hot. Many places that are today super-producers of food, will be too hot to produce any food at all. Which brings us to number two: barren. Ninety percent of the world will be non-productive. Very small areas of the far north will be fertile, but tropical and subtropical areas will be too hot, too windy, too dry and/or, too wet… Too much of everything. Barren. Non-productive.”

  He held up thumb, index and middle finger. “Three: hostile. The environment will be extreme, in violent, chaotic readjustment. The human being is a fragile animal and needs a stable environment in which to prosper. The environment of the twenty-first century will be unstable, unbalanced, chaotic and extreme. Extreme, spiraling heat will bring not just hurricanes and tropical storms, but also winters of extreme cold. We will see weather systems of extreme proportions moving chaotically across the globe at violent speeds well in excess of a hundred MPH.”