“Crap,” Lalo cringed. “What happened?”
“I don’t know how this happened.” Caspian was talking a mile a minute. “Somehow Amadou got accused of stealing that tracking device, the thing the bounty hunter’s looking for. Some radical guys have gotten together a posse and they’ve got Amadou. You know what their punishment for stealing is. You should be seeing the ambulance tear out of there pretty soon.”
“Damn it,” Lalo said.
They’d called the ambulance for an amputation.
“It’s all the ambulance ever gets used for these days,” Caspian said sourly. “Maria says they’ve got Amadou out there in the square, and they seem pretty convinced he’s their guy. Of course Amadou can’t produce the tracking device. They’re saying that the only way to prove Amadou isn’t guilty is if the real thief comes forward. Listen, what do you think about Alejo and I going over there to see if there’s something we can do?”
Lalo’s skin was clammy. A plague of goose bumps covered him as he heard a motor rumble and the tired siren of Timbuktu’s only ambulance whoop to life from the hospital garage.
“Go,” Lalo said. “Cail and I will be here. Keep your radio on to channel four. What about the Texts guards?”
“They’ve been notified. Two of them will meet us at the mosque. The manuscripts are their interests, and they don’t want something happening to Amadou any more than we do.” Caspian made a little choking noise. “This isn’t gonna be pretty,” he muttered. There was a long pause. Then, “We’re heading over now. Nadir out.”
Caspian and Alejo would have headed out the hospital’s back gate, the faster way to Sankore Mosque. Lalo squared his jaw and whipped his eyes to Cail, who was glaring into the night, knuckles white against the edge of the chair.
“This is ridiculous,” Cail sputtered. She’d heard everything. “They can’t just cut off Amadou’s…hand.” She swiped at sweat dripping down her pale forehead in the moonlight. Cail’s eyes were wild. She shifted them over to Lalo, and he saw black fear. Lalo could see she’d already figured out where his own mind was wallowing.
“They’re trying to draw me out,” he said. “The bounty hunter knows it’s not Amadou. But he’s gotten the radicals riled up to help him draw me in.” Lalo leaned back against the adobe wall, into the shadows. “He knows I’m connected to Amadou,” Lalo whispered. “That’s why they have Amadou out there in the square.”
The hunter was far closer than Lalo had imagined.
“Or there are just a bunch of ignorant radicals who have picked up on the tracking device rumor and love chopping off hands.” Cail grabbed Lalo by the shoulder and forced him to look into her eyes. “One rumor is all it takes to get people all worked up around here. You know that.” Lalo found himself drawn into the cool green of her eyes.
He would have given anything to believe her, that this had nothing to do with him and was just the twisted fantasy of some ignorant fanatics.
But Lalo couldn’t be comforted.
He was poison.
Around the white stucco bend of the hospital, the ambulance appeared, dented and rusted. The hospital employee behind the wheel seemed to be taking his good old time. No one from the hospital wanted anything to do with this kind of “justice.” But if they didn’t send the ambulance over with some medical personnel, the radicals would just chop off the hand anyway and no one would be there to stop the bleeding. It was a grisly story that had happened before here in Timbuktu.
Lalo imagined the poison inside his soul sizzling through his skin like acid, ravenous to be released into this power-hungry world.
Amadou was about to lose a hand for stealing the tracking device.
Lalo couldn’t let this happen.
The Boogieman
IT WAS TEN O CLOCK AT NIGHT, and silence hung over the desert like a dense velvet curtain.
Wara curled up into a ball and tucked the sheet even tighter over the top of her head. A regular circus of mosquitos did flips and dare-devil dives over the canopy of her mosquito net. The thing helped keep the blood-suckers at bay, but there were always some who ended up inside. Tonight there were more than just a few, and Wara was much too exhausted to do anything about it.
She’d spent the entire day next to Alejo, keeping watch for suspicious activity at the hospital. It had been more than a little weird. Being in Alejo’s arms yesterday had left her happy beyond belief, but seeing those poor kids at the hospital today made kissing Alejo Martir seem like a faraway memory.
Now Alejo was at the hospital with Caspian, and it was her turn to rest. Each and every one of Wara’s limbs felt like Jell-O.
The buzzing began to fade into oblivion and Wara felt herself becoming one with the smooth sheets, toasty warm from her own body heat. It was going to be heavenly to finally drop into sleep.
Somewhere in the fabled city, the siren of an ambulance ripped open the quiet night.
It was far enough away that Wara barely blinked. Then her heart started sprinting as it occurred to her that something bad could have happened to someone she knew. On the battered little table next to her bed, her cell started rattling the wood so loudly she had to bite back a scream.
Adrenaline rose to Wara’s head so fast she actually saw stars. Did something happen at the hospital? She tossed the mosquito net up and slapped at the phone, grabbing it just before it vibrated off the corner onto the tiles. “Hello?”
“There’s trouble,” Alejo announced flatly. “With Amadou. He’s being held by vigilantes and they’re accusing him of stealing that tracking device the bounty hunter’s supposed to be looking for. That means losing a hand.”
Wara flopped forward dizzily towards the tiles, catching herself by digging her elbows into her knees. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Did they already…?”
“No. They called the ambulance so they can force the doctor to ‘help.’ Caspian and I are headed over to see what we can do. We still don’t know why they’re blaming Amadou for this. Lalo and Cail are still at the hospital. Yancey and Rick are meeting me and Caspian here.”
“You don’t want me to come?”
“Lalo said you should stay,” Alejo said tightly. “It’s safer there for you than on the streets. Hannibal and Johnny will be staying there. Hannibal insists that they can’t leave the guys they’re employed to keep safe behind, and he’s got a point.”
Wara really hoped the four manuscript guys were all sleeping right now and wouldn’t even realize what was going on. If they realized the man they worked with closely at the Institute was out in the square right now about to lose a hand, they would probably have some kind of meltdown.
“Please be careful,” Wara told Alejo lowly. She knew he had to go. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“We’ll do whatever we can,” he said. Wara could tell he was moving quickly. She heard him say something to Caspian. “I’ve gotta go.”
Wara clunked the cell phone onto the table and rolled herself back under the mosquito net. White chocolate moonlight bathed the tiles from the tiny window over her bed. Clouds of dark mosquitos misted through the light like fairy wraiths.
It was suddenly not feeling very relaxing in here.
Jonah and the other guys might all be sleeping and meltdown-free, but Wara knew that Amadou was out there right now being held by violent vigilantes for a crime he had nothing to do with. It was ridiculous. She could still hear the warbling scream of the ambulance moving through the city.
They were sending the thing over to help with the amputation.
Alejo was over there.
All of a sudden, Wara really needed to get out of here. Of course she couldn’t leave the compound and head out into the night, but maybe the kitchen and a glass of something to drink would get rid of the claustrophobia. And the ball of cotton at the back of her throat.
She ripped the gauzy net aside and flapped her hand at the haze of bugs floating in the light in front of her face. Wara shoved her feet into the turquoise Teva sandals on t
he floor, blinking at the deep red henna Alejo had painted on her feet last night. She pocketed her phone and shuffled towards the door of her room, shivering despite the dry heat.
In the hallway, someone had kindly left a lamp on, shedding globes of orange light over the tiles. Wara made her way towards the kitchen, creeped out by the utter lack of noise in the mission house.
She kind of wished she had one of the pistols here with her, just in case. But they only had enough weapons for the people on duty. And there were two armed guards here on the mission compound.
The doors to each of the manuscript guys’ bedrooms were closed. Goosebumps ran from her ankles all the way to her scalp. She and the Ancient Text guys weren’t alone here, were they? Because somewhere out there in Timbuktu, Lázaro could be taking advantage of the chaos to sneak into the mission compound.
No, Alejo said that Hannibal had insisted he and the British guy, Johnny, stay here.
Good old Hannibal. Wara was suddenly very grateful to him.
The house was silent and creepy as hell, but the two security guards must be just outside the front door, keeping watch at the front gate. Armed.
Wara exhaled loudly and her breath seemed to echo down the empty hall. She reached the kitchen and flipped on the light, tiptoed over to the fridge and found a bit of lemonade, thick sugary sludge pooling at the bottom of the ugly Tupperware pitcher. She huddled in a chilly Formica chair at the table, sipping lemonade pulp, fighting against a million bloody scenes that kept changing channels in her brain.
Outside the kitchen, a branch scratched against the window. Something small clunked against the bottom of the door that led to the patio.
Wara was beginning to not like this kitchen. She left her glass on the table and tiptoed back down the hallway, deciding she would really feel better if she checked in on Hannibal and Johnny. Made sure they were really sitting out there with their weapons, not snoring under the stars.
Or drugged by Lázaro.
The entryway was as cluttered as ever, a regular graveyard of storage boxes and other crap. Wara banged her shin on the sharp edge of a Rubbermaid container. The heavy front door was open and the screen door was latched, letting in wafts of cool night air. The ambulance siren had stopped wailing a long time ago. Wara heard a cough just outside the front door and held her breath til she peeked through the screen and saw it was Johnny. He was sitting under a bare bulb of light on the cement front porch, huddled inside a hoodie and long pants to protect himself from the mosquitos.
“Hey,” Wara whispered at him. She’d thought maybe she’d make him jump, but Johnny must have heard her coming.
“Hello.” Johnny craned his neck to fix lazy blue eyes on her. He offered an exhausted smile. “Can’t sleep?”
“Uh, no. Alejo called me. Have you heard anything about what’s going on?”
Johnny scraped his chair around so he could see her better there inside the house. “Yes, I just spoke with Yancey, actually, and he says the community leaders have shown up and are trying to reason with the vigilantes.”
“Amadou’s still ok?”
“Yes, nothing’s happened yet. But things aren’t looking good.”
Something howled just outside the gate, probably a street dog. Wara cringed. “Hannibal’s here, too?”
Johnny rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. “He’s keeping an eye out in the back. To make sure no one breaches the wall.”
“Oh.” Wara stood there crossing and uncrossing her arms. She suddenly felt kind of silly, standing there in a tank top and black pajama pants, peering outside just in case the boogieman was lurking and the professionals hadn’t noticed him.
She felt bad that she was about to head back to bed while Johnny and Hannibal kept their eyes peeled all night. “Can I bring you something to drink?” she offered. For some reason, Wara felt her smile must look more like a grimace. “Sorry to say there’s no more lemonade, but I could get you some water with ice?”
“Oh, that’s very kind, thank you,” Johnny blinked at her. “I actually did get some lemonade, though. Hannibal was just in the kitchen and brought me some before he went out back. Why don’t you get some rest? You have the shift tomorrow morning, then?”
Wara nodded faintly. “At the hospital.”
“You’re doing a good thing.” Johnny pressed his lips together and swatted at a particularly annoying mosquito riding his cheek. His pale hand came away marked with blood. “I hope they catch the bastard who’s putting you in danger very soon.”
“Thanks, Johnny.” Wara felt her smile warm. Then the mutt outside the gate let loose another howl and she jerked back from the door. “I’m gonna try to get some sleep.”
She left Johnny and stumbled back through the hallway. It was worse now because she was half-blinded from the light bulb over Johnny’s head outside. A couple of her toes felt the wrath of musty cardboard boxes and black plastic sacks of something that felt like tin cans. By the time Wara felt her way back to her room she was in a fairly rotten mood.
She wanted to call Alejo, but knew that would just be a distraction. He was in the middle of a very gruesome situation. He’d call when there was any news.
Or maybe he’d call just to see if she was ok, still alive over here in the dark at the mission compound.
Wara’s hand had just brushed the smooth wood of the doorframe of her room when the lamp in the hall made a sparking noise and totally died. The hall disappeared into darkness. Wara heard herself make a choking noise.
This was so not cool.
She stumbled back into her room where, thank God, moonlight was still streaming like a searchlight into the air above the bed. The room was basically a tiny little monk cell, with dirt-encrusted ancient walls painted a color that Wara could only kindly describe as puke green. The room was about the size of her mother’s walk-in closet, the one where Lara kept her horse riding gear and collection of ugly cowboy boots. There was no closet in this bedroom, just a little coat rack in the corner where Wara slung all her clothes. Besides the coat rack, there was the sagging bed, and the little wooden table.
That was pretty much it.
After staring around the room and realizing there was nowhere a bad guy could hide, Wara glanced behind her at the hallway and felt her heart sink. She wished there was a lock on her door, but when she moved in someone had explained that most of the doors didn’t have locks because the missionary kids who lived here before were always locking themselves in the rooms and most of the keys had long ago disappeared. The door to Wara’s room boasted a gaping hole in the wood where the large metal lock had been pulled out. She closed the door tightly anyway, walked over to the table and clunked her phone on it and kicked off her sandals.
Time to try to sleep. Wara ducked under the mosquito net and pinched her eyes shut. Instead of fluffy sheep she saw Amadou, forced to kneel there in the night, arm stretched out in front of him and tied to some old rock.
Would they really use a knife?
Wara plastered her cheek into the pillow, trying not to think about it. But Alejo was out there tonight, with all those violent men. She couldn’t fathom the idea of something happening to him, having him gone from this earth.
Pretty soon Lázaro was gonna be gone, though. When Wara looked into Alejo’s eye, she didn’t doubt that the second Alejo found Lázaro he would kill him.
Good thing she had never cared about Lázaro that much, really.
Because the way things worked out, he was gonna have to die. Some bad things had happened to the guy, and then he’d made some really rotten choices.
The fact that Wara was part of some bad things that happened to him really wasn’t relevant here.
So why did her heart feel like an open wound being rubbed with salt and lemon?
Underneath Wara’s bed, something slid across the tiles. She gripped the edge of the sheet, trying not to think what could make a noise like that.
Cockroaches skittered.
Bigger things had claws that c
lacked across the porcelain tiles.
There was another silky whoosh from under the bed, then the faintest warmth rustled against the thin sheet. The hand that clamped over her mouth was rough and cold.
"You must not have been one of those kids who checked under the bed for the boogieman," he said in proper English. Lázaro was on the edge of the bed, pinning her to the mattress with his upper body while one hand smothered her mouth. "Don't scream. I wouldn’t want to have to hurt all those nice scientists down the hall. All they want is for the world to be a better place."
Still pinning her to the bed with his weight, Lázaro grunted and reached into a pouch around his waist.
Lázaro was just one guy, and a guy who limped at that. Just outside her window, Johnny was sitting, and Hannibal was close by. She could just scream, and they’d be in here in a second.
So why wasn't she biting a chunk out of Lázaro’s hand and screaming?
Lázaro released her mouth and stuck her in the neck with something that hurt like the dickens. His elbow was digging into her ribs and he started to cover her mouth again when the door to the room flew open and someone slammed into Lázaro with a sharp crack.
Her muscles felt like melted butter. Wara just lay there as Alejo hauled Lázaro off of her and threw him into the wall, slammed a fist into him that made bones crack. Lázaro fought back and the two of them tripped around each other, splintering the bedside table with a dry crunch.
Lázaro stumbled to his knees over the bed, sprawled on top of Wara. Alejo grabbed him, dug the Glock 17 into the hollow at the back of his neck. The weapon clicked loudly in the tiny room.
The weight of the two men pinned Wara to the bed, their faces inches from hers. Lázaro's breath came in wheezing gasps.
She could see Alejo's eyes, wild and dark, trained on the back of Lázaro's head.
"Get up," Alejo growled. "Outside."
Alejo didn't want to take the kill shot with Wara inches away. He would not risk shooting her.
Lázaro Marquez had stuck her again with one of his stupid poisons, and the thing was knocking her out. Everything was starting to sway and fade. Wara's arm was folded in a V, her palm hanging open next to her ear. She could feel the tickle of the feathers from Lázaro's homemade dart, sitting there on the sheets where he'd dropped it.
Burn (Story of CI #3) Page 18
