Black Rust

by Bobby Adair

  That’s how it was with most people. In-person violence is frightening in a sticky way that doesn’t flit away with the next scene like scares in the movies.

  To most, death is a sanitized, repackaged, repurposed product wrapped in Hollywood-generated emotions. Fictional movie heroes slaughtering d-gens to save virgins from monsters’ lecherous grasps doesn’t bother anybody. That’s entertainment. Reality shows turning the killing into a joke, that’s just a laugh.

  TV turned death into something it wasn’t. It peeled away the suffering. Flat-screen entertainment might show a pair of pleading eyes, but it can never convey the fright a thing feels when it knows death has come. The smell of the panic-piss never leaches through. Nobody every shits their pants before they die on TV. Nobody’s skull explodes warm blood on your face. You never taste what gets in your mouth. You never have to spit out niblets of brain and gritty bone.

  So when real death drops at someone’s feet, with its overwhelming sensations, they’re seldom prepared. They scream. They cry. They run. And sometimes, like Sienna, they withdraw.

  I don’t do any of those things. I feel no empathy, no remorse.

  That’s not to say I don’t understand the pain of others, especially the dying, but I understand it in a clinical way. None of it ever touches my emotions.

  And it had always been that way. The state psychologist said I’d disconnected emotionally after shooting both my parents—back in those days it wasn’t illegal to kill those whose brains were being rotted by the prions. I let the psychologist think what she wanted. I knew I’d always been the way I was.

  I’m not claiming to be a monster. I don’t get off on watching things die. In fact, seeing the dying brings me no pleasure at all. For me, it’s business. I kill for money. Looking down at the dead Bully Boy, I supposed I killed for a few other reasons, too.

  Some fuckers just deserve an untimely death.

  Chapter 63

  Lutz watched Workman’s face flush as he sat back in his chair, harrumphed, and adjusted himself behind the desk.

  “That’s why you have those men outside with rifles?” Lutz asked.

  Workman glanced toward the window.

  Goose turned away from the glass and silently nodded at Lutz.

  Still laughing, Lutz said, “If you did your research, then you should know if Christian were here to kill you, those men wouldn’t do you any good.”

  “Why not?” Workman asked. “Is he that sneaky?”

  “I don’t know how much of what I read was true,” answered Lutz. “But if it’s half-true, then he’d just kill ‘em.”

  “Kill them?” Workman asked, trying to force a smile onto his face. “You hear that Goose, the guy who drowned in the river was going to kill all those men downstairs just to get to me.”

  Seeing Workman’s vulnerability, Lutz said, “You don’t have anything to worry about. Christian isn’t here to kill you.”

  “Wait.” Workman froze. “Are you saying he is here to kill someone?”

  Lutz realized he’d said too much. “No. I didn’t say that.”

  “You did,” Workman told him. He was back to being a superior prick again.

  “Don’t matter anyway,” Goose said without turning away from whatever had his attention out the window. “He’s drowned.”

  “I’m not going to threaten you, Mr. Lutz.” Workman let that obvious lie sink in before he proceeded. “But if a man thinks he might be in danger, if his beloved employees might be threatened, well, there ain’t no law all the way out here to protect him.” Workman sat back in his chair again. He slowly opened a desk drawer, reached in, and took out a knife with an antler handle and a long, wide silver blade. Workman set to awkwardly scraping the tip of the blade under his fingernails. “A man’s got to take matters into his own hands. You understand me, Mr. Lutz?”

  Lutz looked at the blade. He understood the threat.

  Goose took a glance at Workman and emphasized for Lutz’s benefit, “That’s a big knife.”

  Lutz rubbed his face as he thought about the best tack for fishing information out of Workman. Something about the guy wasn’t right. And if Lutz’s instincts were correct—and they usually were in these matters—then Workman was up to no good. He decided to put a few of his cards on the table. “If you did any research at all, you’d know Christian and me got into a little mishap last night just off your property.”

  “We know,” said Workman. “Half the damn country’s seen that video by now.”

  “That video might not be exactly accurate,” said Lutz.

  “How’s that?” asked Workman.

  “A clearer version might show up later that shows there were dead children there, so Christian and I were justified in the kill.”

  “The version I saw was pretty clear,” said Workman. “Bits and pieces, but it was just as clear as can be.”

  “That was altered,” said Lutz. “We have the original video, but we came here to convince one of your employees to back our version of the video when the police come to ask which version is fake.”

  “Convince?” Workman asked.

  Lutz looked at his hands in his lap. “Bribe, maybe.”

  “With a hit man from Mexico?” Workman made his disbelief clear with his tone.

  “I think maybe you’re reading too much into this situation,” Lutz told him. “Our business here has nothing to do with you personally.”

  Workman put his elbows on the table. He interlocked his fingers as he stared at Lutz with eyes that seemed to be trying to read his thoughts.

  Lutz held Workman’s eyes for a moment before he looked away, letting Workman think he was the biggest monkey in the tree.

  “You know what I think?” Workman asked.

  Lutz shook his head.

  “I think you figured you’d kill her instead of bribing her. That way the only witnesses to tell the police which version of this video is real are you and your partner.”

  Lutz said nothing. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink.

  Workman smiled. He got out of his seat, walked around the desk, and parked himself in the chair beside Lutz. “I think Ms. Galloway, the woman you’re here to convince, isn’t going to be with Blue Bean much longer.”

  Lutz kept his silence but showed a question clearly on his face.

  “She’s been unhappy here,” said Workman. “I doubt she’ll be around to be any kind of witness to anything so I don’t think that will be a problem for you. You should just go on back where you came from.”

  Goose stiffened and slapped a palm against the glass. “Oh shit.”

  Workman jumped to his feet.

  “Over there.” Goose pointed out the window. “Way over there by the trainin’ compound. Is that Galloway with that d-gen?”

  Workman ran around the desk and looked out through the glass.

  Lutz got to his feet and hurried over to the window as well.

  “Goddammit!” Workman shouted, letting his anger slip out. “That is Galloway.”

  “And that’s no d-gen,” Lutz told them. “That’s Christian Black.”

  Workman spun on Lutz and stepped close, jabbing his finger into Lutz’s chest. “I don’t know what your game is but I know you’re a liar.”

  “I’m not.” Of course, he was. Lutz backpedaled to get out of finger-stabbing range.

  Workman stayed after him until Lutz made it around the desk and half-ran to the center of the office. Lutz stopped, turned, and raised his hands.

  Workman was glowering.

  Goose had a hand on the butt of his pistol.

  Lutz saw the situation racing to a bad end with men who were motivated to get it there. He blurted, “You want her dead, don’t you?”

  Workman stopped. Goose glanced at Workman.

  Workman cautiously said, “I want her gone.”

  Lutz knew then that his view into the hearts of black-hearted men was as sharp as ever. “Maybe we have some common ground here.”

  “If that’s so,”
Workman shot back, “then why is your assassin running into the woods with her?”

  “Christian is a clever bastard,” said Lutz. “He doesn’t always share his plans with me, but you can bet he’s working an angle. There’s an advantage in it for him and me.”

  “Like blackmailin’ Mr. Workman,” Goose snarled.

  “Blackmail is for bitches,” spat Lutz, “like you.”

  Goose pulled his gun. Workman cowed Goose with a sharp look, and Goose holstered the weapon.

  Lutz, watching Workman’s eyes, said, “I think we do want the same thing—me, Christian, and you. You know why we want it. I don’t care why you do. Doesn’t matter to me. I guarantee it doesn’t matter to Christian. He doesn’t have a conscience when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

  “What are you getting at?” Workman asked.

  “Maybe we work together on this,” answered Lutz.

  Chapter 64

  Why did I take Sienna into the woods with me? I couldn’t answer that. I’d killed the brute who’d tried to have his way with her and the choice to save her seemed to carry an irrevocability that didn’t make sense to me, especially given that she refused to accept my bribe.

  Was I buying time to convince her, or delaying a decision to solve the problem? I wasn’t sure.

  I’d never hesitated in pulling the trigger before, though something about the whole situation had me feeling like a marionette. It occurred to me then, I needed to take a closer look around for puppet strings.

  Listening to the modulated buzz of cicadas that seemed to get louder as the day wore on, I retrieved my clothes and weapons from where I’d hidden them in the forest and got myself dressed.

  Sienna was wearing a d-gen shirt she’d had a supply of in the building. With the button popped off her jeans, she had them belted up with a piece of rope she’d found lying on the floor of the occupational therapy room outside her office. Now she stood on the bank watching the reddish-brown water flow. “The river cuts through the southern soybean fields south of here.”

  I nodded.

  “Those fields are part of the farm.” She pointed downstream. “We’ll run out of forest before we get off the property.”

  “If we can’t find a shallow place to wade across, we may have to swim it.” The forest across the river ran twenty miles east. Blue Bean property ended in five or six. “Can you swim?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “This is more dangerous than it looks,” I told her. “The water runs swiftly in places.”

  “Why didn’t we take my car?” she asked.

  I looked up, listening for the sound that had been chasing me for a good part of the day. “Buzz bikes were all over me—cop bikes before I got onto the property, Blue Bean-owned bikes later. I’m not sure we can lose them in a car.”

  “Maybe we can wait until dark.” Sienna looked up to get an idea of the time. “It’ll be easier than running through the forest at night.”

  She was right about that.

  “Christian,” a voice sounded out of the trees.

  I raised a weapon.

  Sienna crouched into some bushes.

  I stepped behind a tree, peeking around the trunk to see what I could see.

  “Christian,” the voice repeated. “I know you’re close.”

  Sienna looked over at me with a silent question on her face. “Who’s that?”

  “Talk to me, Christian.” The voice belonged to Lutz. He wasn’t making any effort to be quiet.

  I took a quick glance up the trail we’d followed along the river. It looked clear. I stepped over and squatted near Sienna and pointed back upriver. “That big cypress tree back there, the one growing right on the bank. You commented on it when we passed.” It was maybe forty or fifty yards up the trail.

  “What about it?”

  “Go back there,” I told her. “Hide nearby. I’ll come get you in a little bit.”

  “And if you don’t come?”

  “I’ll be there.” I had the strong suspicion bullets were soon going to be in the air. Lutz was in the woods, miles from where he should have been, inexplicably aware of my location. He was either bait in a trap, or he was a duplicitous backstabber in need of retribution.

  Other possibilities?

  I’d know soon enough.

  Sienna ran up the trail.

  I silently worked my way into the thickest undergrowth.

  “Don’t run away,” Lutz hollered. “Talk to me.”

  He was drawing closer.

  I waited, ready to ambush.

  “Christian?” Lutz called, louder this time.

  He was on the trail, just downriver, following it up.

  Moments ticked slowly by.

  Leaves crackled as he brushed past bushes. Twigs snapped under his heels. It was the noisy way he always moved through the woods. The noise never bothered him because he was stupid enough to believe he was always the deadliest predator in the forest. He’d only hunted d-gens, prey too stupid to associate Lutz’s racket with danger.

  “Christian, you’ve stopped. Good. I’ll be right there.”

  Odd thing to say.

  A moment later, Lutz came into view. Behind him nothing moved that wasn’t a natural part of the forest. To my flanks, nothing made a sound. He may not have been alone, but if so, he wasn’t with the dullards who’d hunted me earlier.

  I stayed out of view as he closed in.

  “Christian,” he called. “Come meet me halfway.”

  He was on the trail just a few feet from me, and then he passed by.

  I gave the trail behind him one more quick glance. If a man was back that way, he was better at this game than me.

  I silently stepped up behind Lutz, put the cold metal of a pistol barrel at the back of his neck, and grabbed his shirt collar to bring him to a stop and hold him in place. I hissed, “Not a word.”

  Lutz froze. He knew my voice, and he believed every bit of the threat.

  I tugged on the collar and steered him off the trail until we were twenty feet into the trees. With an additional threat to keep him silent, I laid him down on his belly and took his belt to bind his feet. Over his mumbled protests, I used his shoestrings to tie his hands. I removed his boots, slipped off his socks, and knotted them into a gag.

  When I was done, I leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “You be here when I get back. If I hear any noise from you—a grunt, a shuffle, even a fart—I’ll kill you.”

  I didn’t wait for an acknowledgment. If he screwed up that simple set of rules, then he’d have to deal with the consequences.

  I crept into the trees to search for his new friends I was sure had to be out there.

  Chapter 65

  Maybe I was too jaded by the lies of men like Lutz to accept that I was wrong in my assumptions, but after running through a fast search of the forest nearby I was frustrated—I’d found no ambush forming up to capture me. Blue Bean’s security forces were off doing whatever they normally did to fill their days.

  I jogged up the trail to make sure Sienna was okay and told her to stay put. She had questions—a lot of them—but I had too few answers. I needed to get some information out of Lutz and I wasn’t sure how hard I was going to have to push. I didn’t want a witness infatuated with her integrity there watching me if I did go too far.

  I returned to the spot where I’d left Lutz. I untied his hands and slipped the sock gag off his head. I asked, “What’s going on?”

  Lutz sat up, shaking his hands while opening and closing his fingers. “You asshole. I can’t feel my hands.”

  “You probably can’t feel your feet either.”

  He spit on the ground. “My mouth tastes like ass.”

  “They’re your socks,” I told him. “Now you know the importance of good hygiene.”

  “You’ve had your boots on since yesterday, just like me,” said Lutz. “You wanna tell me what your socks taste like?”

  “Like your mother’s kisses.”

 
Lutz ignored me and looked around. “Where’s Sienna?”

  “Close by,” I told him. “How did you find us out here?”

  “They triangulated on her phone. She’s on the company network.”

  Dammit!

  I’d not thought once about her phone. I apparently had a blind spot there. When I’d left Mexico, I’d been a finely honed weapon that didn’t blunder the details. Too many months going soft while hunting d-gens in Texas was starting to look like a burdensome mistake that grew heavier at every turn.

  I wasn’t going to let the next screw-up slip by. Triangulation on Sienna’s phone location was being done by a Blue Bean employee. That meant Lutz was working with Blue Bean.

  “You need to tell me a story,” I told him. “And I’m going to run out of patience quickly, so you better make it captivating.”

  Lutz ran through a quick version of how he’d been picked up by Blue Bean’s trustees and taken to meet with Keith Workman, the CEO of Blue Bean Farms. “What you won’t believe,” said Lutz, to put an interesting climax on his little yarn, “is they want her dead, too.”

  Trying to discern the lies, I stared at Lutz. But it all sounded like lies to me. Maybe I’d been in Lutz’s company too long. Maybe my preconceptions were tainting my judgment.

  “It’s true,” he affirmed. “She’s causing Blue Bean all kinds of regulatory problems with the state.” Lutz looked around. “Is she close enough to hear us talk?”

  I shook my head.

  “Workman wants to do away with her. That’s how all this shit started.”

  “Are you telling me it wasn’t some random employee who called in the tip last night, it was this Workman asshole, the guy who runs Blue Bean?” It sounded like a stretch. It sounded like lies. “They wanted us to kill her accidentally. Was that the setup? They were going to sacrifice us to make their problem go away.”

  “No, no,” said Lutz. “We’ve got it all worked out. You see, you just kill her and burn the body over there in the clearing. When it cools, we haul it to the kill site, and we say she was already dead when we got there. That’s the evidence we need. That justifies the kill.”