Inside, the place was like she’d left it, sparsely decorated in avocado and orange Old Lady Chic. An uncomfortable green chair sat ramrod-straight in the corner, and a matching couch stretched along the left-hand wall. A person could lie on it, but the dining room table might actually be more comfortable. The TV opposite the couch was a wood-framed seventeen-inch tube that dated from the eighties. Karyn hoped it had died and gone to TV heaven by now. The Virgin Mary, robed in blue, looked down from a picture frame above it. The air in the room was dry and stale.
“So, uh, I guess you’re older than you look,” Drew said.
“Ha-ha. This is my great-aunt’s place.”
“‘Is’?”
“Yeah,” Karyn said. Her aunt Florence, the woman who had basically raised her, was in a home now, but she saw no reason to share that with Drew. The house stayed empty most of the time these days, except on those rare occasions when the crew used it as a safe house. It would have been a great place for Karyn to spend the last couple of days, except that it was surely one of the first places Anna had gone looking for her. Even now, Karyn felt uneasy about staying here, but if it came right down to it, she had bigger problems than Anna and nowhere else to go.
“I don’t suppose that means the air-conditioning works?”
“Doubt it. Probably no electricity or phone, either.” She moved to the window, unlatched it, and shoved. It opened with a squeal. The air outside was still and stagnant, offering little in the way of cooling, but maybe the heat would make its way out by osmosis or something.
Drew sat on the chair, launching a puff of dust and a trillion or so mold spores into the air. He coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. When the cloud dissipated some, he tried a few experimental bounces on the seat of the chair. “Christ. It’s like somebody draped a sheet over a pile of bricks.”
“Yep.”
The phone—a salmon-colored rotary dial—rang with a hideous clanging of bells. Karyn jumped, but Drew only looked at her curiously. OK. So it’s not actually ringing. Good to know.
“What now?” Drew asked.
A loud knocking came from the door, and Karyn spun. The noise ratcheted up in speed and intensity to a frenetic banging in seconds, and the door rattled in its frame.
“Please don’t freak out on me,” Drew said. “Everything’s cool, right?”
Karyn scanned the room. The phone’s shrill bell still rang, the door jumped and banged, and—what the hell?—a complete three-course dinner had materialized on the coffee table. At least there were no black clouds or shrouded tentacle creatures lurking in the corners.
“Yeah,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Everything’s cool, for now.”
“You wanna lie down?”
“On that?” she asked, glancing at the couch. “No, thanks.”
He shrugged. “So. What’s next?”
She tried to concentrate through the racket. Nothing threatening, just some noise and some mystery food. So somebody was most likely looking for her again—or still—but maybe they weren’t dangerous. And, if the banging at the door meant that they were coming here, well, it was most likely Anna.
She exhaled. Don’t know if I’m ready for that. But I’m running low on options—and, hey, maybe she’ll bring food. Her belly rumbled at the thought.
Drew was watching her, anxiety written all over his face. “Are you OK?” he asked.
“Don’t ever ask me that again.”
“Sorry.”
“But, yeah. I’m OK. As for what’s next, well . . . we wait.”
That didn’t seem to lessen his anxiety any. “For?”
“We just wait.”
Chapter 17
“Any luck?” Genevieve asked.
Anna sank down in the soft brown chair in the corner, trying to fight off a sudden, intense feeling of needing to be elsewhere. She usually liked Genevieve’s homey little place, but today the contrast between here and the stripped-down apartment she was used to only made her feel Karyn’s disappearance that much more. She shook her head.
“You?”
“No.” Genevieve sat on the arm of the chair and put a hand on Anna’s shoulder.
She shifted, resting her head on Genevieve’s thigh. Searching for Karyn had been a total dead end, like she’d known it would be. How do you find somebody who knows everything about what you’re going to do? “I’m tired,” she said. “I don’t know how long I can keep this up.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t sleep for forty-eight hours,” Genevieve said, but there was no mockery in it. She rubbed her hand along Anna’s neck, working at the stiff spots.
Anna groaned. “There. Right there. Ow, Jesus!”
“He’s not here.”
“Very funny.” Anna lifted an arm that seemed weighted down with bricks and scrap lumber. She would have liked to stay here, pressed close against Genevieve, and relax. Talk about inconsequential shit and either drift off to sleep or get naked. She’d been staying here, sure, but there had been so little time while preparing for the job, and they’d been so exhausted at the end of each day that there hadn’t been nearly enough time to just be together. To do couple stuff. Not that she really knew what that was all about, but it would have been nice to start figuring it out. But there hadn’t been time then, and there wasn’t now, either. “We gotta go.”
“Five minutes. You’ll feel better, I promise.”
“I’ll fall asleep, is what—ow!” She slapped at Genevieve’s hand and sat up. “That’s about enough of that.”
Genevieve smiled. “Not even close.”
“No, probably not. But we really gotta go.”
“Yeah, yeah. All right.” Genevieve got up, and Anna followed her to the table where the box lay.
“One last check, to make sure it didn’t run off.” Genevieve opened the box. “What the hell?” She reached for the jawbone, then pulled her hand back and wrinkled her nose. “That’s gross.” Her fingers had something that looked like brownish snot on them. She wiped the goo on her pants. Anna leaned across her body and inspected the bone.
“That is gross,” she said. The thing was covered in a thin layer of slime, shot through with red veins of blood. But it hadn’t been like that before, had it? No way. She remembered thinking it looked like something you’d find in the desert, yellowed and bone-dry.
She and Genevieve shared a nervous glance.
“Let’s get rid of this fucking thing,” Anna said.
“Amen.”
* * *
“We ready?” Anna looked at her companions. Genevieve’s eyes were bright and she bounced on the balls of her feet, sure signs that she was ready to roll. She cradled the box in her arms. She nodded.
Nail’s face remained impassive. “Let’s just get this done,” he said.
Tommy would have nodded, anxious as a dog waiting for its master to come home—but he wasn’t there, of course. Normally, Karyn would say the word now, something short and to the point—but she wasn’t there either.
Anna batted the thoughts away. “OK. Places, everyone.”
“Hey,” Nail said. “You carrying?”
Anna shook her head. It had totally slipped her mind.
“Here.” He held out a nickel-plated nine-millimeter, butt first. “In case.”
It was as close to a touching gesture as she’d ever seen Nail make. “Thanks.”
He turned to his rifle and checked it for the thousandth time.
“OK,” she said. “Don’t shoot me, all right?”
Nail snorted.
Anna left the room with Genevieve by her side. Down the stairs, out of the decrepit building. Across the way to the parking garage. As long as Anna kept moving, nothing could pile up on her, weigh her down. Two days. No Karyn. Like that.
She walked faster.
“I swear this thing’s getting heavier,” Genevieve said, puzzlement in her voice. “Is that possible?”
“You tell me. I don’t even know what it is, really.”
“That makes two of us.”
Up two flights of stairs, bringing them roughly level with the window Nail was hiding behind across the street. Any bullshit over here, and he’d perforate the motherfuckers from afar. That was the theory, anyway, though she hoped and prayed this wouldn’t go down like that. If it did, she didn’t know what good the pistol would do her. Still, she appreciated the gesture.
The two of them came out on the landing. Buzzing white fluorescents lit the interior of the garage, beating the shadows down to little stubs. This level of the garage was nearly empty at this time of night. Only a black SUV with dark, tinted windows sat parked near the wall.
“Here we go,” Anna said.
They stopped twenty feet or so from the SUV, making sure to leave Nail with a clean shot.
The car doors opened, two on each side of the vehicle. The guys that got out looked ridiculous, like pro linebackers crammed into FBI suits, but Anna bet nobody ever laughed at them. Not more than once, anyway.
Once all four had assembled in a rough, forbidding line, Greaser got out of the car. He carried two aluminum attaché cases, one in each hand.
“Ms. Ruiz,” he said. He put one of the cases on the concrete and gave it a hard shove with his foot. It slid a dozen feet and scraped to a stop.
Anna gave Genevieve the nod. She went over to the case and knelt, fiddling with the catch. Anna kept her eyes on Greaser. The big guy looked relaxed, almost amused. That seemed like a good sign.
Genevieve opened the case. To Anna’s well-calibrated eyes, there was exactly one metric shitload of cash inside.
“Million bucks,” Greaser said. “Want to count it?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I do.” She nodded at Genevieve, who tightened her lips and turned to the task. Thick stacks of hundred-dollar bills piled up next to her. Greaser grinned, and the other four goons stood motionless and without expression.
“Your crew’s looking a little light these days,” Greaser said. “Everybody on vacation?”
Anna kept her face still, refusing to give him any satisfaction. “Yeah.”
“Rough season.”
“Yeah.”
The conversation died, leaving everybody to stare at each other until Genevieve finally finished.
“It’s all here,” she said.
Greaser pointed at her. “The box.”
Anna gave Genevieve another nod. Rather than set the box down and kick it, Genevieve walked over and set it down in front of the linebackers. They made no move, and she backed quickly away.
Greaser came forward, knelt, and flicked open the hasps. He lifted the lid. A deep sense of revulsion swept through Anna, and she turned her head away.
It was a long time before Greaser closed the box and stood. When he did, Anna could see a light sheen of sweat across his forehead, and his mouth hung open slightly, like he was panting for air.
He said nothing, but he shoved the other attaché case over. Genevieve cracked it open. “Cash,” she said. “Want me to count it?”
Anna shook her head. “Give it back to him, and let’s get out of here.” Impotent rage boiled up in her as Genevieve kicked the box back. It sucked, but there had never been any question of turning down his shitty deal. Sobell, from what she’d heard, kept Greaser on a pretty slack leash, and if he decided to use that slack and Sobell’s resources to hunt them down, he would surely find them. Whatever happened after that—well, Anna was sure that she, personally, would be happy to pay a quarter of a million dollars to escape that fate, only the option wouldn’t be open anymore.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” Greaser said without any feeling. He still seemed distracted. That was fine with Anna.
“Remember the deal,” she said. “You sit tight right here for thirty minutes. After that, you go wherever you please.”
He nodded and waved her off.
The two women left.
* * *
“What’s he doing?” Anna asked.
Nail bent to the scope of his rifle again. “Just took the box and got in the car. Lights on. Started the car. Aaand . . . nothing.” He peered over the scope, then back through it. “Don’t look like they’re going anywhere.”
“Good. Fucking great.” Anna settled into the nearest chair. Now maybe the knots in her shoulders would come out at last. Half this shit cleaned up, and a pile of cash in hand besides. If she could only be sure that Karyn was OK, she’d have liked nothing better than to pack a bag, hop in the car with Genevieve, and get out of town for a while. Find some time to do a couple of things.
She gave Genevieve a thin smile and went back to waiting.
* * *
Gresser sat in the rearmost seat by himself. He held the box in his lap, thumbs at the sides of the lid. More than anything, he wanted to open it again. The first time, he’d looked inside expecting one of Sobell’s ridiculous relics, dry as dust and about as exciting. A museum piece, in other words, a useless item for a mostly useless collection.
He’d been mistaken, though. The jawbone inside was wet, covered with a spongy brown coating. Little tendrils reached from the bottom side and pressed against the walls of the box. He’d been mildly disgusted, ready to close the box—
And it had whispered to him.
The words were alien, unintelligible, but the sound had been right in his ears, closer than any lover he’d ever had. He’d closed the box, more out of shocked reflex than anything else.
Nobody else had noticed a thing.
Now, his boys—meatheads, the lot of them, but useful meatheads—sat awaiting his orders. They knew better than to make suggestions or ask questions, but he sensed a low anxiety in them anyway. Ruben and Marcus, in the two front seats, exchanged an uneasy glance and probably thought he didn’t notice.
He caught a glimpse of the clock. Had they really been sitting here for forty-five minutes? How was that possible?
“Go,” he said. No wonder the guys are nervous. We shoulda been outta here fifteen minutes ago. Weird.
The SUV bounced some as they made their way over the speed bumps and down out of the garage. Ruben turned the car onto the main thoroughfare, empty at this time of night.
Gresser turned back to the box. The thing inside had whispered to him, and the words clanged and crashed around his head still, as though they were getting louder with every echo and would soon burst out through his forehead.
Leave it, he told himself.
Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything. I just want to have a look.
You didn’t get where you are by messing with Mr. Sobell’s property.
A small, faint voice, long suppressed: Look around, Joseph Alan Gresser, and tell me where you’re going now.
He opened the box. In the seat ahead of him, Marty twitched, started to turn around, then shuddered and stopped himself.
The bone was every bit as ugly as it had been before—but, wait. Were those tendril things moving?
The bone whispered to him again. The words were different, still wholly foreign and yet tantalizingly close to something he could understand. If he could only hear it a little better . . .
“Slow down,” he said.
“I’m going the spee—” Ruben began, but he cut himself off when he checked the mirror and got a good look at Gresser’s expression. He slowed the car down. The wind noise dropped considerably.
The whispers reaching Gresser’s ears were plain English, clear as if they’d been amplified to rock concert levels.
You’re better than this, Joseph, the bone said. It sounded a lot like his old man. Kicking around Sobell’s whipped dogs, hoping you’ll get the best table scraps yourself. You’re
better than this.
He looked up. None of the others had heard, he was sure.
No, he told it. I’m nothing without Mr. Sobell.
That’s wrong. What does he do? Sit around and give orders. You do all the work, and you know it. He’s nothing without you.
Gresser considered. The bone was right, if he really thought about it. What had Enoch Sobell done in the last fifteen years that Gresser himself hadn’t handled? Anything? The guy ran his companies and let Gresser do all the real work, all the dangerous and illegal shit that might get a guy thrown in prison. How was that fair?
What do you want me to do about it?
I can help you, but not if you turn me over to His Lordship. I need time.
How?
Kill these men, and let’s get out of here.
Gresser frowned in concentration. Sure, these meatheads were about as useless as tits on a bull, but . . . ah. What a perfect idea.
“Turn around,” he said. “Turn the car around.”
* * *
“What was that all about?” Genevieve asked. She had been pacing and bouncing and generally being nervous for over an hour now, and the atmosphere of anxiety in the room wasn’t doing Anna’s head or her back any favors.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe they were making sure.”
“No. Unh-uh. You tell Gresser to sit tight for thirty minutes, he’ll be gone in twenty-nine, just to piss you off. They sat there for almost an hour, Anna.”
“They behaved. Maybe they took us seriously.” That sounded pretty flimsy, even to her, but it was a stupid issue. “Who cares? We have the money. Sobell’s got the bone. We’re done with this thing, and we’re each a quarter million dollars richer.” That was the bottom line, right?
“True that,” Nail said. He finished unscrewing the last bits of his gun and put them in the case. “Can we get out of here?”
Premonitions Page 17
