She set the stubs of her mangled tongue between her teeth, concentrating on pulling the skin together in a straight line. I tried to imagine what her story was as she worked. When she finished patting the wound dry, I found myself asking, “Why are you working for Papa Brisé?”
She paused for a moment, then snapped the lid on the glue and began packing up her gear.
“Virgin,” said the Marshal softly from his post by the door. “We should go.”
I stood up. The glue must have had its own anaesthetic, for the wound no longer throbbed as much. “Thank you for helping us. I’m the Ranger in the south-east sector of Birrimun Park. If you ever need somewhere to go, come to the Park offices on the Ring Road. I’ll do what I can for you.”
She blinked as though having difficulty absorbing what I’d said.
“No strings,” I added, forcing a smile. “One good deed, you know…”
She gestured that I should step off the spills sheet. By the time I’d joined Sixkiller by the door she had packed it and the stool away and was re-shouldering the pack.
We stood together in a brief, awkward silence. Then Sixkiller and I left.
“Why did you say that to her?” he asked as we headed back over the bridge toward the bus depot. “She works for a criminal.”
“Because I did,” I said, way too tired to be explaining myself.
He shook his head and let it drop. Thankfully, he didn’t speak again, even after we boarded the commuter bus heading north.
The other travellers aboard kept a wide berth of us and our bloodstained clothes, but I was too tired to care about that, either. Sixkiller’s arm against mine was warm, and the seat was comfortable, and the drowsiness beset me almost immediately.
I woke to find the bus had gone quiet and my nose was pressed into the leg seam of Sixkiller’s jeans. The smell of dried blood and stale sweat pervaded my senses.
I sat up and looked around. The bus was empty apart from the auto-cleaner and the driver backing up his credit machine. The cleaner skittered over the seats with a low-pitched hum as it gobbled up rubbish and sprayed disinfectant and odoriser.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I asked.
“Thought you needed it. And to tell you the truth, thought you might use that on me if I startled you.”
I followed his glance to my right hand. My fingers were clenched around my pistol’s grip.
Carefully, I unkinked my forefinger and slipped it off the trigger. “Jeez, I could have shot myself.”
“Or someone else,” he pointed out.
“Definition of a bad day,” I said as I tucked it back into the holster under my jacket.
Sixkiller took a long deep breath, as though he hadn’t had one for a while.
“Sorry about that,” I added.
He got up and stretched. “Been a day, alright. I need a wash.”
The thought of a hot shower was motivation to get moving, so I followed him off the bus, and we flagged a taxi to get us home.
Watching the late-afternoon world along the Ringway flash by, I felt a strong sense of dislocation. Business as usual. Orderly tourist retail in progress, and a kaleidoscope of flashing motel Vacancy signs. Moonee, Mystere and even the Park might as well have been from different dimensions.
I wondered how Sixkiller felt right now, so far from home and constantly under threat. Maybe that’s what a Marshal’s life was? Maybe he thrived on it? Maybe his calm exterior hid a need for risk? Maybe he was deeply screwed up?
I decided right then and there to ask Caro to spare some of her investigative energies for Sixkiller. I needed to know the man who was stuck at my side in this battle.
And his bison disincarnate. What a powerful and terrifying sight. Even now, my gut cramped up at the memory.
“Virgin?”Sixkiller was standing, holding the door of the taxi open.
I paid the driver, got out and headed straight for the lift, desperate for my own space. But the Marshal stayed until it pinged open on my floor, then he walked with me to my door. I think he would have planted himself on the couch if Heart hadn’t been there waiting.
“You staying the night?” he asked Heart. “She needs someone with her.”
Heart nodded. “I’ll be here until you come for her in the morning.”
I wanted to snarl at them both that what I needed was privacy. This sudden unspoken agreement to share bodyguard duties on me was a cheese grater on my skin.
When Heart shut the door on Sixkiller and deadlocked it, I didn’t wait to chat but disappeared straight into the shower, unbuckling my pistol and dropping my stained clothes in the rubbish chute, not the laundry.
Heart sensed my mood and left me alone.
When I emerged in a tank top and my most comfortable shorts, he had a tumbler of rum and some pretzels waiting on the coffee table, which he’d shifted so it sat right in the middle of John Flat.
“Inspector Chance won’t like that,” I said.
“Stupid that it’s still there. They’ve done their forensics. She’s just playing the intimidation game with you.”
“Caro says I’ll see the outline there forever, so she’s given it a name.”
He raised an eyebrow and held out the tumbler.
“John Flat,” I said, sipping and edging around the table to sit next to him. The alcohol burned for a bit and then softened my knotted gut. I sank back into the cushions and tried to relax.
“You want to tell me about the blood on your clothes and the wound glue on your shoulder?” He let his fingers trace lightly the new wound.
“In this case, knowledge is not a good thing,” I said, sipping again.
“I’m no stranger to trouble, Virgin. And truly, I want to help you.”
I took his hand and squeezed it. He looked almost as tired as me, his face a little thinner than a few weeks ago and his eyes a little swollen. “Have you been sleeping?”
“Don’t switch the attention on me,” he said. “I mean this.”
“I’m sorry, Heart. It’s just been a really crappy few days.”
He drained his rum and took a deep breath. “Look… this is not something that I really want to say out loud… but shit, Virgin, I care about you.”
I let go of his hand. “I… don’t…”
He raised his hand up to stop me. “I don’t need anything from you right now. Just trust me a little. Let me in.”
To my dismay, my eyes moistened. I didn’t cry a lot, and I wasn’t about to change that. But my face had other ideas. My eyes brimmed with tears and my lip quivered. I poked my eyes with my fingers and bit my lip to help get control of my emotions.
Heart didn’t say a word, just watched me until the wave had passed.
“I’ll tell you about it,” I said. “But in the morning. After some sleep.”
“But it’s only just gone dark.”
“Put me to bed,” I said. “And that’s an order.”
TWENTY-FIVE
My phone woke me early. Heart lay on his stomach, head turned away, sheet down around his haunches.
I dragged my blurry eyes away from the magnificent sight of his nakedness and rolled over to answer the call. A squint at the display told me it was Caro, so I climbed out of bed and staggered out to the couch.
“You sound half asleep,” she said.
“I am half asleep.”
“I’ve had a pingback on the meds. They were mixed in Baltimore, Maryland.”
“You got any kind of more specific location? I’m guessing Baltimore is a big place.”
“Heading up to a million bodies.”
“That narrows it down.”
“Patience,” she said. “I don’t have an address, if that’s what you’re asking, but the ingredient batch numbers were shipped from a warehouse in Washington to the North Baltimore area. Probably a dummy address, but I guarantee wherever they’re mixing their pharma will be close to that.”
“I guess that’s another piece of the jigsaw. Not sure if it’s the sky or th
e water, though.” I tried not to sound despondent. It must have cost her some resources to find that out. “When I see Nate, I’ll tell him. It might mean something to the Marshals Service.”
“You working with the Marshal now?”
“We had a rough visit to Moonee yesterday. I’m going to have to trust him a bit… for my own health.”
“You want me to dig around a little on him?”
“You read my mind. And Caro… thanks.”
“You’re my friend, Ginny. And ’sides, I smell story.”
I laughed quietly and both my shoulders hurt.
“You’re still on sick leave, remember. Get some rest,” she said.
“Yeah. But I may go parkside today. Need some air.”
“Last time you went out there, you came back needing a blood transfusion.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
“You don’t even know what that means.”
“Sure, I do.”
“Liar.” She hung up and left me staring at the coffee table, which still sat in the middle of John Flat. She was right. I was never going to forget someone died there.
With a sigh, I got up and put a mug of water in the microwave to boil for tea.
A faint noise outside the door had me reaching for my pistol. I checked my sec-cam and got an eyeful of Totes’ butt as he bent down to put something on the floor.
I flung the door open. “What the…?”
“VJ,” he said, popping up. His eyes widened when he saw my 9mm. “Thought you might like some brioche and coffee.” He’d been placing a small takeaway tray on the floor. Next to it sat a little doll wearing a checked shirt, jeans and riding boots. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail and her features were solemn.
“Who’s that?” I asked poking at the doll with my toe.
He picked her up and handed her over in the most reverent manner.
“Is that me?” I asked staring into a plastic-doll replica of my own face.
“You like her?” His face lit up. “I made the mould myself. Got the clothes made on Verve Street.”
Verve Street was Fifth Avenue on a small scale. “She’s wearing my favourite shirt.”
His eyes shone. “Please take her. I’ll feel better if you do.”
Creepy didn’t even begin to describe it, but even my blunt nature wavered at the sight of his ecstasy. “Sure, Totes. And thanks for the coffee and food.”
He lingered, but I wasn’t weakening that much.
“Got company,” I said. “I’d better go.”
He nodded his head a few times, turned on his heel and wandered off.
“See you at work. I’ll be in today.”
He flashed me a grin over his shoulder.
“Who was that?” asked Heart from the bedroom door as I brought the doll and the food in.
“Totes. He’s left me a good-luck charm.”
Heart came and took the Virgin doll from me, turning it over in his hands. “Pretty. Hope she’s not bugged as well.”
I snatched the doll back and shook, squeezed and prodded it until I was sure it was harmless.
“Every girl has one, you know,” said Heart, watching me.
“Has one what?”
“A creepy guy.”
“He’s OK, really. He’s just smart and screwed up. Can’t hold that against him.”
Heart gave me a funny look. “I guess not.”
I handed him a brioche. “Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee,” he said. “And conversation.”
I handed him the pastry and coffee and went to finish making my tea. Pouring hot water and mixing milk and sugar gave me time to work out what to share with Heart. When I was done, I carried my mug over to the couch, careful to walk around the blurred edge of John Flat.
“I went to Moonee with the Marshal yesterday.”
“Moonee?”
“In the Divine, near Mystere. But away from the tourist strip.”
“You mean burning-grounds Moonee?”
“You know about that place?” He surprised me sometimes. But then, I guess I didn’t know much detail about his life outside our bedroom encounters.
“I hear stuff, you know. Strippers do.”
“Even a stripper from the Western Quarter?”
“People travel a distance to see this boy dance,” he said, pointing his thumbs at his chest.
“I believe it.”
He took the coffee from me and set it on the table. “That’s how you got the wound on your other shoulder.”
“Spear. Some primitive shit goes on in Moonee.”
“And are you going to tell me why you went there?”
“Nate and I found a talisman that we think’s connected with the murder in the park and him.” I tapped the floor to indicate the body outline. “Finding out about it meant a trip to Moonee.”
“And?”
“The Marshal thinks it might have some link back to my dad, which means me.”
Heart lifted his head with interest. He seemed to choose carefully before he spoke again. “Why would your dad be involved?”
“He was an outspoken man. A hardliner on many things. When he was lobbying to get the land designated as a park, he made a few enemies. Property developers and some politicians. Other than that, I have no idea. But I’m going to go through his journals today. See if I can find anything.”
“Your dad left journals?”
“I haven’t been able to bring myself to open them. But now… well, I think it’s time.”
“You keep them here? In your apartment?”
He asked the question quite conversationally, but I couldn’t help my defensive response.
“Yes. Why?”
A shrug. “Nothing. I mean… you’ve talked about him a bit, but you never mentioned them. Hey, listen, I have to head out to work. You coming to the partner dinner tonight at the club?”
I groaned. “Still on, is it?”
“Still on.” He threw a cushion at me. “And you promised.”
“Fine. I’ll meet you there, though. What time?”
“Seven.”
“Date night, eh?”
He grinned. “Yeah, something like that.”
We finished our hot drinks, fooled around on the couch a bit, and then Heart showered.
“Call Nate; let him know I’m leaving,” he said when he emerged with wet hair and a smoking aura.
“I just did,” I lied.
“I’ll wait,” he said.
“He’s on his way. You’ll probably pass him in the corridor.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He shrugged into his shirt and kissed me. “See you tonight.”
I waited just long enough for Heart to clear the building, then I hightailed down the fire escape.
By the ground floor, I could barely breathe and my boots were like lumps of concrete on my feet. I didn’t ever take the stairs, and the transfusion had really knocked me around. To add to it, yesterday’s spear injury still stung like a nest of green-ant bites.
Not in good shape, Virgin.
But this was something I had to do alone with no one looking over my shoulder. I’d avoided answering Heart about Dad’s journals for no good reason other than I’d never tell anyone where they were. Not even Caro.
And there were a couple of reasons for that. One being that burying anything in the park was highly illegal and against Heritage rules. The other, that they’d been too painful for me to go near, so I’d put them somewhere safe for when I was ready.
I’m not sure that I was ready now, but the time had definitely come.
My police tail today was a short, heavyset detective in jeans and a baseball cap. He was eating an apple and watching the traffic as I left the building. I headed straight into Cloisters next door and led him around the food halls, finally losing him in the restroom near Dim Sum Delight.
Exactly ten minutes later, I was at the stables, standing in front of the security scanner.
“Open up. I gotta get out in some fresh air. This off-duty shit is killing me.”
He bleeped me in, and I was saddling Benny when he ambled along the corridor to find me.
“Think you’re up to riding?” he asked. “How’re your shoulders?”
“Shoulder,” I corrected. Wasn’t about to tell him about the spear wound.
“You know you’re not meant to be going out there, anyway. Sector’s closed, orders of the Po-Po,” he added.
I bestowed him with an exaggerated eye-roll. “Listen. I’ll take full responsibility with the boss and the police. Just tell Bull that I disengaged Benny’s GPS and snuck through while you were in maintenance mode or something.”
He gave a big, exaggerated eye-roll of his own. “Like he’ll believe me.”
“He can’t prove otherwise. And anyway, it won’t come to that. I just want to destress. I’ll be back soon.”
“Leave your phone’s GPS on, just for me.”
“I don’t want to be logged.”
“How about I track you in my duplicate system? No one sees that.”
I raised both my eyebrows. “You have a dummy back end?”
“It’s my personal backup. Gotta have somewhere to practise tweaks.”
“Fine,” I said, not feeling fine about it at all. “See you in a while.”
I led Benny down to the Interchange, mounted and walked her through. As soon as the gate closed on me, I took in a deep lungful of air. Without Sixkiller to worry about or any tourist buses, it felt like the first time I’d had any peace in days. Even the memory of the Mythos attack dimmed against my relief to be out here alone.
I rode out past the trough, the palms and the windmill and headed straight for the butte. My skin soaked the sun in and the morning-cool air was a tender touch.
The south-east sector of Birrimun stretched away from me in an achingly familiar canvas, red rock punctuated with translucent purples and greens of the mulla mulla, spinifex and the odd imported cacti.
Dad had fought long and hard to keep all the flora and fauna native to the area. He won the fauna fight but lost the flora battle.
A park based on a Western theme had to have cacti, they said. The park upkeep and rates relied on the tourist dollar, and visitors wanted cacti! Just like they wanted horseshoes and bull’s horns and country music when they went to bars in the Quarter.
Peacemaker Page 18
