Blood World

by Chris Mooney

“And you’re sure he didn’t recognize you.”

  “Am I one hundred percent positive? No. But I don’t think he did. If he did, he would have told Anton, and I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you, would I?”

  “Tell me about the ride home with Anton,” Roland said.

  “There wasn’t much talking. For a good half of the ride, Anton was quiet—told me he wanted some time to think, process everything.”

  “So, Anton’s in business with Paul now.”

  “Maybe,” Ellie corrected. “Anton hasn’t committed to anything yet. It’s only recently that Paul started reaching out to Anton through a series of dead drops.”

  “How twentieth century of him.”

  “Paper is much safer than technology. I don’t know the specific locations of these dead drops, how often they communicate, but suffice it to say the sum of these conversations amounted to Paul saying that Frank and Sebastian would be handing over their business. Today’s meeting—”

  “Back up,” Roland said. “You said ‘handing over.’”

  “Those were Paul’s exact words, so, yes, Frank and Sebastian are going to be handing over their business to Paul. Today’s meeting—and this was the first time Anton and Paul met—was about this.” Ellie reached inside her dress pocket and came back with a small baggie, the kind dealers used to sell drugs. It contained two capsules filled with a dark red liquid.

  “According to Anton,” Ellie said, handing the bag to Roland, “this is what’s going to put Pandora out of business.”

  Roland’s eyebrows rose. “Pandora,” he said. “Anton used that word?”

  Ellie nodded. “Frank and Sebastian are the ones behind Pandora.”

  Roland’s eyes turned electric with excitement. This was the first time the elusive Pandora had been mentioned.

  “Well, hot diggity dog,” he said, and held the baggie up to the light.

  Ellie sat on a couch upholstered in stiff white leather inside the living room of penthouse apartment number 32 at the Ritz-Carlton Residences at LA Live on West Olympic Boulevard. After Anton had dropped her back at her boyfriend’s house, Ellie had used a series of federal agents posing as Uber drivers to safely deliver her here for a debriefing. Roland had insisted on a face-to-face.

  The floor-to-ceiling windows offered stunning aerial views of downtown LA. The sun was setting, casting bars of deep gold and red light inside the room. Roland held the bag back up to the window.

  “I take it the red stuff in these capsules is carrier blood.”

  “That’s what Anton told me.”

  “And what’s a blood pill supposed to do?”

  “Turn a nun into a nympho, for starters,” Ellie said. “Anton wants me to try them, report back to him.”

  “What else?”

  “Anton wants me to help him get female carriers.”

  “Why?”

  “He wouldn’t say other than Paul wanted only female carriers—the younger, the better. Anton also wants me to give him a full report on how the Celebrity Center is set up, floor by floor, room by room. He also wants me to get access to their client list.”

  “You don’t have access to their client list.”

  “Which is what I told him.”

  “How did he react?”

  “He told me to try harder.”

  Roland slid his hands in his pockets and paced, his head tilted downward as he digested this information, thought, and planned their next steps.

  Ellie quietly sipped her bourbon, felt it going to work on her nerves. In the distance she could make out one of those 747 planes the news called “SuperTankers” flying over the mountain, dropping thousands of gallons of fire retardant on the wildfires. Everywhere you went in LA, you could smell smoke, see it billowing from far, far away.

  “When is Anton going to meet Paul next?” Roland asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “But the plan is for them to partner up, manufacture these blood pills?”

  Ellie shook her head. “The pills, Anton told me, are a preview of what Paul’s blood product can do.”

  “Which is . . . ?”

  “Anton didn’t get into specifics.”

  “You didn’t press him?”

  “You don’t press Anton.”

  Roland picked up his drink, a glass of straight vodka, no ice, and took the chair across from her. It was also upholstered in white leather. Nearly all the chairs and sofas were white, designed more for appearance than for comfort, the kitchen cabinets, countertops, and appliances black, giving the place a very cold, modern feel. Sterile and antiseptic.

  Roland stared into his drink. “If Paul recognized you, there’s a good possibility he may call Sebastian or Frank, tell them you’re a cop.”

  “They’re not talking. Sebastian’s got a bounty on Paul’s head.”

  “But they worked together. Have some sort of history. And who’s to say Paul might not call him to gloat, say, Hey, dipshit, you’ve got a cop in your organization—you know, rub it in his face? Or maybe he’s waiting to use it as some sort of leverage. You see where I’m going with this?”

  “You’re assuming Paul recognized me,” Ellie said. “He didn’t.”

  “What if Paul decides to call Anton instead and tell him who you really are?”

  “You’ve got people watching Anton. If that happens, we’ll know.”

  “My job is to protect the asset. If your cover gets blown or, God forbid, you get killed, I—”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You don’t know that, either.”

  “But I do know that these people are like us,” Roland said. “They can dismember someone and then go out to dinner, come home, and kiss their kids good night and sleep like a baby. If they’re not outright psychopaths, they’re sociopaths or suffering from some other personality disorder.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  Roland’s face twisted with concern. “I can—and will—put more people around you, have them stake out your place and your car, see what turns up. The reality is, I can’t guarantee your safety. You may want to give that some thought.”

  “I did. The whole way home with Anton.”

  “And?”

  “I feel like I’m on the edge of something—a major breakthrough,” Ellie said. “I’m staying.”

  “Even knowing the risks?”

  “Even knowing the risks.”

  Roland sighed. “The pills Anton gave you,” he said. “I’ll take one with me to give to the lab. The other one—I want you to give it to Frank.”

  “Frank?”

  “Tell him who gave it to you and where you got it. Tell him everything you told me.”

  “They’ll kill Anton.”

  “Not right away,” Roland said, Ellie surprised how matter-of-fact he sounded, like they were discussing a board game and not a human life. “The smart play will be to use you as a mole, have you stick as close to Anton as possible, monitor everything he says and does, and report back to Frank. Then they’ll make a move to get Paul for reasons I’m sure you’ll soon discover.”

  Ellie was surprised at how fiercely she wanted to protect Anton. He was a kidnapper and murderer, and yet she wanted to tell Roland, No, I can’t sell him out, not like that.

  “This is a good way for you to get closer to Frank—to get closer to his inner circle,” Roland said. “It shows you’re loyal to him.”

  Roland began to explain exactly what Ellie had to do. She barely heard him, a part of her brain still working out her feelings about Anton. If the tables were turned, he’d throw her to the wolves in a heartbeat. So why did it bother her so much? Because she liked him? Because he was good to her? Not to everyone else, mind you, but to her. It made Ellie think of interviews she’d read of people w
ho had known Hitler, the heinous acts he and his men had been committing, these bystanders justifying their lack of action by saying, Well, he was always nice to me. Hitler and his goon squad never did anything to me. But these people had distance; they weren’t directly involved in the atrocities. She was involved—had a front-row seat.

  Under that thought was another one: coming into this, she had believed she could do her job and find her brother without getting her hands dirty. Without causing suffering to herself or anyone else, unless they absolutely deserved it. Did Anton deserve this? She couldn’t answer the question.

  No, that was a lie. She didn’t want to answer the question, even though she already knew what the answer was.

  Roland said something. Ellie struggled to recall it, couldn’t.

  “Could you repeat that?”

  “I asked if you understood how you’re to approach Frank,” Roland said.

  She stared out the window.

  “Ellie?”

  “I heard you.”

  “Then hear this,” Roland said. “If Ron Wolff’s people were shadowing Anton—and it’s reasonable to assume they were—then Frank knows that Anton and you gave him the slip. You left your phone behind, so Frank and/or his crew couldn’t track you. If you don’t go to Frank, he’ll come to you.”

  “I understand.”

  “Anton may act all nice with you, but don’t forget there’s another side to him, a guy who has no problem slitting someone’s throat or putting a bullet in someone’s head. You’re not an exception to the rule.”

  She knew he was right. But the emotional part of her refused to give any ground, and there was something else that was bothering her: Roland was asking her to use Anton as a human chess piece to further an agenda—something politicians and bureaucrats did. It didn’t sit right with her, crossed some invisible line.

  “Anton sealed his fate a long time ago,” Roland said. “Remember that and you’ll be fine. You’ll get over it.”

  Roland checked his watch. “I’ve got to get going. Your next appointment will be here soon.”

  “My next appointment?”

  “Cody.”

  Hearing his name was thrilling, and a much-welcomed relief given the long day. Still, a part of her mind wouldn’t let go of Anton—and Frank, and Paul, all of it.

  “How much time do we have?” Ellie asked.

  “Couple of hours. That enough time for your conjugal visit?”

  “Conjugal visit? That’s for prisoners.”

  Roland smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Aren’t we all?”

  CHAPTER 24

  ELLIE CAME TWICE. She was on top—her preferred position, giving her the most control—and steadily working her way to a third orgasm, a new personal record, when she felt Cody’s fingers dig into her hips and ass, the signal that he was getting close to having his own. She leaned forward and placed her hands on his chest, feeling the strength there, the muscles contracting, and started to ride him harder, wanting selfishly to get to the finish line before he did.

  Then Cody arched his back and let out a gasp of pleasure that to her ears also sounded like a cry for help, a plea for her to come back home, back to him.

  Cody hadn’t said any such words to her—hadn’t said much of anything since she’d walked through the door to her hotel room twenty minutes ago. It took him a moment to get over the shock of seeing not only her after their months apart but also how different she looked, with her haircut and dye job. She had also answered the door naked, except for the black stiletto heels. Cody loved it when she wore heels.

  Cody was all over her, Ellie nearly ripping off his shirt as they inched their way to the bed, where she tried to lose herself in the way he touched her, the way he smelled and tasted, the sight and feel of his body—anything to divert her mind from her conversation with Roland, Anton, Paul, the entire day.

  “Whatever you do,” she whispered to Cody, “don’t be gentle.”

  He wasn’t, going at her like she had stolen something from him—kissing her flesh and licking it, drinking her in like she was an oasis. He was rough, and she liked it, and she almost came when he forced her legs apart and pinned her arms against the bed, acting like he wanted to tear her apart and put her somewhere inside him—someplace where he’d know she’d be safe. His.

  When it was over, Ellie was about to roll off of him when he said, “No, wait,” and then he brought her close to him, wrapped his strong arms around her back, and pressed her damp flesh against his, Ellie feeling his heart galloping along with her own, both of them trying to catch their breath, catch up to each other. He kissed her cheek and he threaded his fingers through her hair, and he kissed her again, on the mouth. “I love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I love you so much.”

  Cody was the only man she’d ever been with who felt free discussing his emotions; she was used to his saying such things. What she wasn’t used to was hearing how torn up he sounded, as if the words had been wrapped in barbed wire. It made her feel guilty, hearing him like this. She had known her departure had hurt him, but she didn’t know just how deeply it went until right now.

  “That’s all you’ve got to say? What about my hair?” she said, a lame attempt to break the awkward tension ballooning inside her chest.

  Cody chuckled. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  Cody wouldn’t let her go—wouldn’t, in fact, stop squeezing her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “For everything.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Although clearly it wasn’t, the way his body tensed. He tried to sell it, though, put a bow on it, when he kissed her again and said, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” And she did. Ellie smiled into his chest and lay on top of him, the room warm and drowsy with the fading sunlight. She dozed off, and woke when he gently slid out of bed. Light was still in the room, and she saw Cody squat on his haunches. He picked his jeans up from the floor, slid a hand in the right-front pocket. What was he—?

  And then she remembered: the ring. All these months, and not once had she thought about it. She didn’t want to think about it now, either. She said, “Hey.”

  He started a bit, surprised by her voice. “Thought you were asleep,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

  “Just dozed off. You leaving already?”

  “No. I was just looking for my phone. Wanted to make sure I had it turned off. Didn’t want to wake you up.”

  He came back to bed, his hands relaxed. If the ring was in his pocket, he’d left it there.

  Cody lay on his back. She snuggled up next to him, his arm around her, his fingers tracing the slope of her hip.

  “So,” he said, “what happened today?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “Something went down. I can feel it.”

  Ellie sighed. “You know I can’t—”

  “I know. I was hoping to catch you in a moment of weakness.”

  “I’m feeling pretty weak.” She craned her face up at him, smiled. “Well done, sir. Well done.”

  “Just tell me . . . I need to know you’re okay and not in any danger.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “But in danger.”

  “I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” Ellie said, wondering if she was trying to convince Cody or herself. “I’ve got good people watching over me.”

  “You honestly believe that?”

  “You know something I don’t?”

  Cody shook his head. “It’s just . . .” He didn’t finish the thought.

  Ellie propped herself up on an elbow. “What?” she prompted.

  He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “These people watching you—they don’t have your back. They won’t take a bullet for you. And it’s not because they don’t care; it’s because they can’t. It’s hard enough for so
meone you love to carry that burden, but a total stranger?”

  “You want me to get out?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But if I was asking?”

  “Then yeah, I’d say leave. Come back home.”

  “And do what?”

  “You can go back to patrol.”

  Back to patrol. Back to playing referee in domestic disputes. Back to writing speeding tickets and catching drunk drivers.

  “You could get a desk job,” he said.

  “I don’t want a desk job.”

  “What if you did something else?”

  “You mean, other than being a cop?”

  “You ever think about it?”

  She had always wanted to be a cop, and now she was; there was nothing else to think about other than the job in front of her. “No,” she said. “You?”

  Cody shrugged. “There are other things to do in life.”

  “You mean the whole white-picket-fence thing, two kids and a golden retriever?”

  Cody chuckled, but it sounded cold to her. “You make it sound like a prison sentence.”

  In her mind’s eye she saw herself hosting holiday parties and living in the suburbs, where you talked about kids and dogs and schools and shared recipes and gardening and lawn care tips. She saw herself trapped.

  Cody said, “Is that so bad? Us having a life together?”

  “No. Absolutely not.” And she meant it.

  “But that’s not what you want.”

  “Kind of preoccupied right now, you know, with the job.”

  “Have you thought about it?”

  “Sure,” she said, although she hadn’t, not really. She loved Cody—she truly did—and while she could imagine a life with him, saying yes to marriage meant accepting his feelings and opinions about the course of her private and professional life. Saying yes meant accepting no longer being able to think about just herself, and she wasn’t ready for that—especially now, not in her current situation. She loved him but didn’t want to feel owned by him, and she wondered if Cody knew the difference.

  “It’s hard to think about the future right now,” Ellie said gently. “I’ve got to keep my head in the game, you know?”