“Can’t. I… er... dropped my phone in the park somewhere.”
“Couldn’t Totes track it?”
“Must have been damaged. No GPS signal.”
He stared at me suspiciously and fished a black scroll from inside his jacket and unrolled it to squint at the flexible screen.
“You been holding out on me, Marshal? Didn’t think you carried a phone.”
“It ain’t a phone.”
Our taxi turn came up and I climbed in the back, sliding across so he could fit.
He handed me his tablet, and on the drive back to Cloisters, I flipped through the local news headlines. There’d been a mass shooting last night in Mystere – fourteen tourists dead and three locals. No one had claimed responsibility and even the press didn’t know who to pin it on. Some were saying it was a random attack.
“You think it’s them, the crow and circle?” I asked Sixkiller.
“Fits with what the fat man said to us.”
“What’s the point, though? I don’t get it. No political statement made. No ownership. Just a bunch of dead people no one wants to be responsible for.”
He glanced at the taxi driver, then back at me, indicating he didn’t wish to answer yet, so neither of us spoke again until we were in my apartment.
My fortnightly grocery delivery had been, and I was able to pour us both some fruit juice and magic up a plate of mixed nuts, some rye bread and cheese.
Sixkiller declined everything but the nuts and juice.
I skirted John Flat, who was still straddled by the coffee table, and sat down to take off my boots.
Then it hit me. Something was wrong in here.
“What is it?” he asked.
I had my boot in my hand, sock half off. “Nothing… I just…”
I got up and wandered around. It felt like someone had been in here, carefully; things were in their place but… I went to the bedroom. Everything looked undisturbed except the bedcover. It was smooth, no crinkle or hump or crease. Had I really left it like that?
I shook my head, unsure of myself, and returned to Sixkiller. “It’s nothing. Just jumpy. So, what’s your theory on the murders in Mystere?”
He relaxed. “Could be just a local power play. Or a low-scale terror attack. Either way, it might also be someone’s way of deflecting attention.”
“From what?”
“Thet’s the problem. We don’t know. Back in the hive, there’s a bunch of analysts that do thet sort of thing all day long. They look for spikes in violent events. Then they try to work out what those events might be hiding.” He waved his tablet at me. “It could be any damn thing mentioned on here. Or it might be somethin’s that’s barely bin reported.”
“Sounds like a whole world of paranoia you got going on, Marshal.”
“Welcome to international intelligence.”He took some more almonds from the bowl and removed his hat, setting it on my narrow sideboard next to the Virgin doll.
Free from it, his hair fell dead straight around his face. In some people, it would have been a severe look, but on him, it softened the hard lines of his face.
“The Mythos have been finding ways to influence our world for a long time. But we believe there’s a change in intensity of their desires. Their timeline, whatever it is, has accelerated,” he said. “Could be this damage in Mystere is them distracting from other things that they are changing. We tend to see more activity in certain lunar cycles.”
I took some time to think this over. “We believe? Or you believe, Marshal?”
He pressed his knuckle to his forehead. “Thought we’d gotten past this, Virgin. Thought you understood that we were dealing with something not from here.”
“Didn’t my personality profile say stubborn, Marshal?”
“Stubborn. Not stupid.”
We glared at each other.
Then Aquila appeared in the air above him.
He saw the direction of my gaze and looked up. “Thank you,” he said to her.
She swooped to the sideboard and perched on his hat.
I laughed outright and suddenly, all perversity drained out of me. I don’t know what had happened in the park this morning, why I couldn’t see the guys tracking me. But this was real. Aquila. Sixkiller. Me.
“I found some clean-skin meds in Teng’s room. Caro traced them to a warehouse in Baltimore, Maryland. Does that mean anything to you?” I asked.
He stiffened. “You found traceable evidence. You should have told me.”
“What, and have you send it back home to Virginia, never to be seen again? Finders keepers, Marshal. It’s not like either of us was going to go to the police with it. And this way, we got the trace done quickly.”
I liked to think his expression was begrudging acceptance, but it could have been closer to reignited fury.
“So, does Baltimore mean anything to you?” I asked again.
“We may have people there on our watch list.”
“Then maybe you better get watching them a bit closer.”
“I’ll need some physical evidence as proof.”
“I’ll talk to Caro. As long as it doesn’t implicate her or her contacts, I guess it’ll be fine to share.”
He made an effort to relax his mouth. “When’re you going to trust me, Virgin?”
“Why should I trust you, Nate? I barely know you. You’ve been sent out here by a foreign government to spy on me because they think my father has something to do with some… supernatural conspiracy.”
“Does savin’ your skin count for nix?” he said in his most humble cowboy voice.
I hugged my knees to my chest and contemplated my toes. “Just give me some time. I don’t take to people easily or quickly.”
“That’s the thing,” he said. “We don’t got time.”
“Then we’ll have to make do with what we have got.”
“Which is?”
“An agreement.”
“I’m listenin’…”
“Simple. We watch each other’s back.”
He nodded slowly. “Well, I guess that’s a start. Though I thought I was doin’ thet already.”
“I’m going to catch some downtime in my room. You’re welcome to stay out here and chill. Oh, and I have a date tonight.”
“I’ll escort you to it and pick you up when you’re done.”
“Sweet.” Not.
I retrieved my tablet from the coffee table, went into my bedroom and locked the door. Drawing the blinds, I fished out Dad’s journal dot from the lining of my bra, peeled off my jeans and jumped into bed.
Heart’s scent on my pillows lifted my mood. He was the one good thing happening to me right now, and I didn’t have time to make the most of it.
I detached the ear clip from the side of the tablet and slotted the journal dot into the tablet’s port. After a copyright preamble provided by the manufacturer, Dad started to speak. His voice struck like a fist to the softest part of my stomach. I wanted to throw up.
Breathing through my nose, I settled back on my pillows.
Slow and steady. Slow and steady.
He began with the key, explaining that the journal was divided into essays and recounts and reflections.
I started with the weekly recounts that covered park business but from a personal perspective: land erosion, battles with the executive, frustration with Bull’s fence-sitting on certain preservation issues. I could hear the strength of their friendship in Dad’s tone, and the depth of his disappointment that his friend would not support him.
Occasionally, there was a note devoted entirely to me.
Hearing his worries about me was both humbling and distressing. At first, it focused on my lack of friends and propensity to solitude. But in the twelve months before his last entry, it switched to concerns about my safety. He seemed to be charting where I went and who I saw, flagging Caro as questionable.
I bookmarked the entries about me, then went back and listened to each journal recount immediately before
them.
Sometimes he used unfamiliar, confusing acronyms, but clearly, he suspected the park was being used outside of tourist hours. He found evidence of illegals having been at Paloma station, Los Tribos and Waco Spring.
Los Tribos seemed to bother him the most.
The disturbance at Los Tribos is stronger than at Paloma and Waco. Seems whoever is using the Park has a particular interest there. The site was sacred to the Indigenous peoples in years past, but those claims were revoked when Birrimun was created. More political bastardy. I don’t know if it’s possible to hate these people more than I do, but for Virgin’s sake, I need to rein it in. She’s had no mother to soften the hard edges of my attitudes and my beliefs... As her guide, I should do better. Be more charitable…
To date, the scans show nothing. No illegals. Our young technician is good at what he does. I have no reason to doubt him. Which means they have found a way to avoid detection…
Then a few weeks before he died, the tone of the recounts changed again. His voice sounded strained. Urgent.
I think the park is being used for human trafficking. It sounds ludicrous when I say it out loud, but it’s the only explanation I have. Whoever is responsible has found a way to avoid the Park security and is bringing people into the country. I’m going to take leave and do around-the-clock surveillance on Los Tribos. Maybe put a camera on the place, too.
I stopped. Dad! He’d put the recorder at Los Tribos.
I listened to every entry from then until the day he died, but he didn’t mention Los Tribos or the camera again, nor did he take leave, because Bull denied it.
His monologues became more cryptic, as though he worried he was being overheard.
Still there. Every time the crow flies.
And then day before he died.
I’ve run a trace on my essay. It’s been viewed from an address in Baltimore. Who are they? I need to make arrangements for Virgin in case.
I stopped there, sick at heart. Should have listened to these seven years ago. Here was proof that Dad felt threatened. But what would that have given me with no names, just unfounded suspicions and vague references?
I needed time to go through these journals and listen to everything. And his essays. Which one had he referred to? And the mention of Baltimore... it had to be connected in some way to Teng.
Shit! Why hadn’t he shared any of this? Seven years ago, I was young but hardly a child.
Something made me glance at the bedroom door. The handle was turning.
I pulled off the ear clips. “Yes?”
“Virgin?”
“What?”
“It’s after seven. When’s your date?”
I checked the time. “Gimme a few minutes to change.”
“You want food?”
“No.”
“Right.” The door handle released.
I got up, peeled the journal dot off, put it back into its slipcase and stuck it in a rusted vent in the air conditioner. Then I took a quick dunk under the shower until my mind was sufficiently in the present.
Washed and in a black dress, I emerged to find Sixkiller pacing. The inactivity must have been a drag for him, because he’d packed the plates and glasses into the dishwasher and wiped down the benches. He’d also plaited his long, straight hair so that it lay on his shoulders in neat swathes.
I raised my eyebrows. “Thanks for cleaning up.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “But why don’t you look more rested?”
“Are you making a personal comment about my appearance, Marshal?”
“No…I just mean...” He shrugged, grunted and stalked out into the corridor to wait for me.
“Where are we going?” he asked when I came out after him.
“The Outfit. A club in the Quarter. I’m meeting Heart there.”
I followed him down to the front of the Cloisters, and we caught the bus because the taxi rank was jammed. At least on the bus, I didn’t feel compelled to make small talk, and clearly, neither did he.
The mutually agreed silence saw us right into the Quarter and to a bus stop a half a block’s walk from the Outfit.
We walked the rest of the way and stopped between the Outfit and Dang and Darn – an upholstery booth where you could get your boots and belts embroidered while you waited. “Can you wait outside, please?” I asked.
“S’long as you promise not to hightail it out the back door,” he said.
I held up my right hand. “I’d swear in a dozen different languages, if I knew them.”
“So, you and Williams: is it serious?”
I gave him an incredulous look. “You honestly expect me to answer that?”
“Just looking out for you, Virgin.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I have family, you know, a sister and brothers. It’s not outside the realm of possibility for me to feel concern for another human being.”
His reply confused me. “You have a family?”
He actually smiled, and it peeled years off his face. I wondered what he was like as a younger man, before all this.
“A whole bunch of them. Youngest brother rides rodeo, oldest is a teacher. My sister’s a biomedical engineer.”
“Rodeo? Really?”
“Same as me until I joined the service.”
“You rode rodeo professionally?” Well, that explained a lot.
“He’s better than me. They’re figuring him to win the NFR this year. Plan to be there to see it, too.”
We’ve got our own National Rodeo Championships out here but nothing as grand as the NFR. The pride in his voice made Sixkiller seem far less zealous lawman and far more regular guy.
“You’re avoiding my question, though, about you and the dancer,” he said.
I shook my head at him in disbelief and walked right off into the Outfit without saying goodbye.
The club was half full and decked out with hay bales and pitchforks and gangsta motifs. Just one of the many mash-up theme places in the Quarter affected.
Heart stood over by the bar, talking to an attractive girl in a red shirt tied high to show her midriff. They were laughing together as she hung glasses on racks above her head. Their comfortable, carefree manner made my chest tighten. I was getting too used to having Heart around, and seeing him flirting stung.
I nearly turned right around and got out of there but he spotted me.
“Virgin!” His face lit up, salving my bruised emotions a little.
He beckoned me over and watched in an openly lewd manner as I made my way through the tables and chairs.
“Hey, you made it,” he said.
I pulled a face. “Left my chaperon at the door, though. He’ll be collecting me later on. Unless, of course, I have an escort home.”
“In that dress, anything could happen.” He leaned forward and kissed me in front of his female friend, then pulled me down onto the stool next to him. “Freya, this is Virgin… my partner.”
“Welcome to the Outfit, Virgin. I’ll spare you the yeehaw. You look like you’ve been around the traps.”
I managed a stiff smile at her double-edged greeting. “I’m not new to the Quarter, no. Though this place is a little… young for me these days.”
“We’ve all been dying to see who’s been keeping Heart from us. You gotta know your boyfriend breaks hearts up and down the city coast.”
I opened my mouth to say he wasn’t my boyfriend, then shut it again. Let her think that if she wished.
Heart read my mind and seemed amused.
And that made me want to kick him.
“What’ll you have to drink, honey? On the house,” said Freya.
“Rum,” I said, feeling it all of a sudden. “A double with a shot of ginger ale.”
“Lady likes it sweet,” said Freya, lifting an eyebrow.
“Virgin?”Heart frowned.
I took the glass and knocked it down, not in the mood for another lecture on looking after myself. Reading Dad�
��s journal today had been a jolt in many ways, especially the fact that he worried about my ability to socialize. Was I really such a misfit?
“I’ll have another with a lager chaser, please,” I said.
Freya lifted an eyebrow and obliged. Then she moved off down the bar, leaving Heart and me alone.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“I’ve been reading my dad’s journals. Seems amongst other things that he thought his daughter was socially challenged. Hard to hear something like that from the grave,” I blurted out.
He took my beer and had a few sips. “That’s tough. Course, I’ve always found you pretty darn cool.”
I polished off the second rum and took the beer back from him. “Sorry. Moment of self-indulgence has passed. But I’m really not much in the mood for this place. Maybe we can try and have a regular date some other time.”
I expected him to wave me off but he surprised me with “Let’s get out of here.”
“Really?” I said. “You sure?”
In answer, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.
I stepped onto the street while he stopped at the coat checker to leave a message or apology or whatever to the others.
It was busy out here. Lots of hats and boots and shouts of laughter. Most of the people walking by looked like they didn’t have a care in the world.
I wanted that same feeling so badly. Two double rums and half a schooner of beer had loosened all the tight places in my body, and I decided to suggest to Heart that we go somewhere with music. But what would we do with the Marshal? That thought made me chuckle, and I looked around for my chaperon.
“Ranger! Here, Ranger!”
It wasn’t Sixkiller’s voice coming from the very narrow gap between the Outfit and Dang and Darn. Because I wasn’t wearing my gun, I moved towards the edge of the building warily. I was safe enough out here in public, I told myself. Heart was only a shout away. And the Marshal…
“Who is it?” I called.
A face appeared from the gloom. Chains ran from his from lip to his ear and cheek and forehead. Kadee Matari’s man?
“What do you want?” I said, sounding as shrill and shocked as I felt.
“We speak. Alone.”
I glanced back at the door, willing Heart to open it and end this moment.
Peacemaker Page 20
