World Domination

by Steve Beaulieu

  Jerry poked his head in. “What’s the deal, man?”

  I shrugged and was about to respond when my phone rang. Smith. I motioned for Jerry to shut the door.

  “Do you have them?” Smith asked.

  “No,” I replied, a little embarrassed. My team had never failed to bring in its target before. Sure, sometimes things got a little messy and we had to improvise, but miss them entirely? Never.

  “I was afraid of that,” Smith said. “There’s something you need to know about her.”

  I was annoyed now. “Such as?”

  Smith took a beat. I had never heard him speak in anything other than a bland monotone, so it was hard for me to believe he was apprehensive, but that’s what it sounded like.

  “We believe she has a precognitive tendency,” he said finally.

  “A what?”

  “She has the ability to see things before they happen.”

  I looked around the filthy trailer and breathed in the sour smell of unwashed laundry and ripe trash.

  “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

  “Our classification system is never wrong.”

  “Alright,” I said. “We’ll regroup. She can’t have gone far.”

  “Good,” Smith said. “One more thing.” Another hesitation. “This is your last assignment.”

  “Look,” I replied. “If this is about missing her on the first try, I can explain—”

  “That’s not it,” he cut in. “Emma Worthy is the final target. She completes the project.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I thought of my collection of trophies stashed in the bottom drawer of my desk at home, and I wondered what I would take from Emma Worthy.

  • • •

  As Manny backed the limo out of the trailer park, the herd of kids trotted along with their dirty hands on the smooth black metal shouting suggestions. I thought he handled the criticism well.

  The phone rang with Smith’s insistent ring tone. I put it on speaker and rested my head back against the soft leather. “What now?” I said.

  “We have them,” he said in a tone that sounded almost excited. Smith emoting twice in one day? This target must be a big deal.

  “Where?” In the front seat, Manny cocked his head and switched his display to navigation mode.

  Smith gave the name of a local hospital. “Police brought them in. Boy’s hit by a car, mother’s there with him. Get there now.” He hung up.

  The hospital lay in a hollow surrounded by a grove of mature trees, encouraging the same mossy dampness we had seen at the trailer park. It was full dark now, and our headlights cut a swath of brightness as we swept around the circular driveway and parked behind a vacant police cruiser.

  The building was vintage ’70s, dark brick, narrow windows with peeling metal trim. A sea of overgrown shrubbery filled the space beneath the windows and a tattered American flag hung limply from a pole over the facade.

  The glass door gave a screech when I pushed it open and crossed the grayish linoleum. I paused under the sign that read “Reception” and cleared my throat. The girl behind the desk stopped paging through a tattered People magazine and tucked a lock of greasy brown hair behind her ear. She gave me a smile full of crooked teeth.

  “Yay-ah?” she said.

  I gave her my most sincere smile. “Hello,” I said. “I’m looking for—”

  “Emmy?” she said, standing up. “Yer lookin’ fer Emmy, right?” She gave me another wide-angle shot of her dental inadequacies.

  I nodded. “Emma Worthy?”

  She danced around to my side of the desk. “Com wi’ me,” she said, taking my hand and leading me down the hall. I caught Jerry’s eye and signaled for him to follow.

  She pushed through a set of double doors into what looked to be the emergency room. Where the rest of the hospital looked tired, this space was brand-new. Three examination cubicles lined the wall next to a nurses’ station outfitted with a pair of gleaming wheeled carts.

  In the first exam room, a boy lay stretched out on the table, an ice pack on his arm and a piece of gauze on his head. Next to him a woman sat on a plastic chair holding the boy’s uninjured hand against her cheek. She was gnawing on the fingernails of her free hand, but stopped when we came through the doors. She shrank toward the boy.

  I was glad to see Emma, but my attention was hijacked by the mountain of blue uniform standing on the other side of Cash’s bed. His uniform name tag said ROSS, and I could tell we were looking at ex-military. The sleeves of his uniform were snug against his biceps and the muscles of his neck rippled when he swiveled his head in our direction. His eyes flicked from me to Jerry and his lips tightened. Officer Ross stepped out from behind the bed and intercepted us in the middle of the room.

  “May I help you, gentlemen?” His voice was cool and even, with no hint of the heavy accent that seemed to plague the area.

  As if on cue, a doctor and nurse entered the room from my left and Diana and Manny came in from the double doors behind us. Everybody seemed to stop, waiting for my answer.

  “Officer . . . Ross,” I said, fumbling the words as I tried to pull myself together. “We’re with the—” The lie stuck in my throat.

  Diana moved up next to me and flashed her brilliant smile. “Officer Ross,” she purred, placing her left hand on his arm and stepping close enough to fit her breast in the crook of his elbow.

  Ross’s attention shifted from me to Diana, then back again. That was all the opportunity Diana needed. Her right hand snaked up under his arm and the sharp bzzt of a Taser crackled through the room. Ross stiffened and fell to the ground. He tried to get up and Diana gave him another shot of electricity in the neck. She turned to me.

  “Tie him up and get your head in the game, Matt,” she said. Jerry was already herding the doctor, nurse, and receptionist into the back room. I rolled Officer Ross over and handcuffed him with his own cuffs. I pulled the handgun and radio off his belt and handed them to Manny.

  Diana brandished the Taser in front of Emma. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Emma. It’s up to you.”

  Emma scraped her fingernail against her bottom teeth. “Y’all ain’t prize people,” she said in the same vowel-swallowing twang as the receptionist. “What ye want me fer?”

  Under the fluorescents, Emma looked much older than her thirty-one years. Streaks gray shot through her mousy brown mop and her skin had a papery quality to it, like crumpled parchment. She twitched in her chair and pressed her son’s hand to her cheek. The boy had his head cocked, listening to the exchange.

  Diana waggled the Taser in her hand. “Make up your mind, Emma.”

  The boy sat up suddenly.

  “Maw-ma,” he said in a low voice with the same local twang. “We should go with them.”

  • • •

  When we arrived at the Minneapolis warehouse, it was already past midnight and raining. Manny waited until the overhead door had shuddered closed before he unlocked the car and got out.

  Cash exited the car on his own, his face sweeping back and forth as he walked with one hand in front of him. He touched the wall, then settled his back against the vertical surface. Emma left the car reluctantly and scurried to his side.

  The heavy door at the front of the garage opened and Renee entered. She smiled at the mother-son pair, her crisp white lab coat with the ID tucked into the breast pocket shining in the fluorescent light. She consulted her tablet.

  “Emma,” she said. “Emma Worthy?”

  Emma nodded and shrank back against Cash. The boy cocked his head at the sound of Renee’s voice and a slight smile formed on his lips. Renee held out her hand.

  “I’m Renee, Emma,” she said. “Why don’t you come with me now?”

  The two of them moved in her direction.

  “No, Emma, I’m sorry. Just you. The boy needs to stay here.” Emma pushed her son behind her. Manny moved toward Cash and I approached her from the other direction.

  “Wai
t!” Emma said. Her eyes were wide, and she was taking quick, shallow breaths that echoed in the open space. “Lemme talk to my boy.” Emma’s wary gaze snapped from Manny to me.

  Her long, thin hands with the chewed-off fingernails gripped her son’s face, and she planted her lips on his forehead. She was crying as he whispered in her ear.

  Eyes dark with hate, Emma dragged the back of her hand across her runny nose. “Ye take care of my boy, ye hear?” She peered into my face, her breath rank. “Ol’ man gonna git ya.” Cash tittered, a high-pitched giggle that echoed eerily in the open space.

  The heavy door closed behind Renee and Emma, leaving us alone with Cash.

  Up to that point, I hadn’t thought about what we were going to do with the kid. I’d just assumed Renee would take them both. Manny walked around to the driver’s side and raised a quizzical eyebrow at me.

  “I’ll take him home with me tonight,” I said. Cash reached out his hand and I gave him my arm.

  It was still raining when we reached my driveway. Manny stopped the car and unlocked the doors. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said with a grin.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You, too, Manny.”

  Pickwick took an immediate liking to Cash. He jumped into the boy’s arms and set up a loud purring. Cash’s face, hidden beneath his dirty bangs, cast back and forth on a continuous basis, locking on a sound for a moment then continuing the search pattern.

  I ran a warm bath for the kid and put his filthy clothes in the washer. When he got out of the bath I wrapped him up in one of my old bathrobes, fed him two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and put him in the guest room bed. The entire time he didn’t say a single word.

  Pickwick jumped up next to him and resumed his purring. Before Cash, I had never heard the cat purr.

  By the time I got to bed myself it was almost two in the morning. I should have been exhausted, but I lay in bed listening to the rain on the roof and wondering what I was going to do with the kid. Maybe I’ll keep him, I mused.

  I woke to a land sheathed in ice. The sun peeked over the neighbor’s roofline, lighting the ice-jeweled tree limbs in dazzling fire. Thanksgiving Day. I drank my coffee and listened for any sounds of Cash moving around his room. Nothing.

  I decided I had a little time to myself.

  Apart from Pickwick, all my trophies were small inanimate items. At first, I’d kept my collection in a shoe box, but as it grew in size and importance, I bought a jewelry box at an estate sale. It was made from burnished cherry wood, with ornate brass corner guards and a heavy brass handle in the top. Best of all, it fit neatly into the deep bottom drawer of my desk. I rolled the drawer open and, taking the antique key from around my neck, opened the lid.

  I ran my fingers over the objects on top: the pocketknife from the organic farmer in West Virginia, the locket from the young mother in Nevada, the photo of two dachshunds in Holmes and Watson costumes from the girl in Boston. I hummed softly as I arranged them on the desk in chronological order, associating each one with the face of the person I had taken. The feeling of power was a little intoxicating—

  The door to my office creaked open. Cash stood in the hall, his attention locked on me. My bathrobe hung on him like a long dress and Pickwick pranced in the loose material at his feet.

  I jumped to my feet. “Cash!” I said. “Good to see you awake, buddy.” I looked at my watch and saw it was past noon. “How about some Thanksgiving dinner?”

  Cash advanced into the room, his spindly white legs stepping out of the bathrobe that trailed behind him like a royal train. I held my breath as he touched the silver “Don’t Mess with Texas” belt buckle, his nimble fingers exploring the ridges of worn metal. The top edge of the silver oval was shiny where the mechanic used to rub his thumb as a nervous habit. He was one of the ones we had to sedate.

  Cash lifted the silver oval from the desk and hefted it in his hand.

  “Cash, please put that down,” I said in a voice that was more forceful than I intended.

  He replaced the buckle exactly where he had found it. His face resumed the back and forth searching pattern.

  I guided him out of the room, locking the office door behind me to ensure he would not disturb my collection again.

  • • •

  While Cash changed back into his freshly washed clothes, I heated up some food. Looking over the table, I was pretty proud of myself for the meal I had pulled together. It was good to share Thanksgiving with someone, I decided. Maybe Cash should stay with me permanently.

  Cash sat down in his chair and I cut him some chicken and spooned green beans and potatoes onto his plate. Pickwick jumped up onto the adjacent seat, so I fixed a plate of chicken for the cat as well and sat back to watch both of them eat.

  My phone rang, Smith’s ring tone, the one that bypassed the silent setting and never went to voice mail. It kept ringing.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Smith,” I said, still watching the boy and the cat enjoy their chicken.

  Smith ignored my greeting. “I need you to bring the boy back to the warehouse.”

  Cash was navigating his teeth around one of the drumsticks. “Why?”

  “It’s not the mother we want. It’s the boy.”

  “What?” I stood up and left the room, automatically dropping my voice to a whisper. “What do you mean, you want the boy?”

  “This is not a discussion, Matt,” Smith replied. “Bring him in. Now.”

  “But he’s—”

  Smith hung up. I jammed the phone into my pocket.

  “Hey, Cash,” I called. “How’s about we take a car ride before we have pumpkin pie?”

  The urgency of the situation left me rattled and breathless. I tried to tamp down the feeling that Smith was cheating me of what was rightfully mine. Just get the boy back to Renee, I told myself. You can find another trophy.

  I ran out to the driveway to warm up the car. When I returned, Pickwick was in Cash’s arms.

  “He wunts ta’ com wi’ us.” The boy’s soft, twangy voice seemed out of place in my flagstone foyer.

  These were the first words he had uttered while in my custody, and I smiled in spite of myself. “Sure,” I said.

  Cash whispered into the big cat’s gray fur and Pickwick responded with a slow blink of his amber eyes.

  Traffic was light and most of the ice had melted off the roads, so we made good time to the warehouse. Cash cocked his head when the overhead door rattled but said nothing.

  I pulled into the garage and let the door close behind us before I shut off the car engine. The only sound in the car was the rhythmic rustle of Cash’s sleeve as he ran his hand along the cat’s spine and went back for another pass.

  Renee was waiting for us, wearing a dark teal suit under her white lab coat. As usual, her name tag was flipped over and tucked into the breast pocket of the coat. She smiled at me, making a “come here” motion with her hand.

  Cash unbuckled his seatbelt. As he opened his door, Pickwick leaped onto the floor of the garage. “Pickwick,” I called.

  “It’s okay.” Renee laughed. She had her back to the door, holding it open. The cat ran past her into the hallway. Cash moved toward Renee’s voice, his hand trailing along the side of the car. Renee guided him through the door. “C’mon, Cash. Your mother is waiting for you.”

  She turned back to me. In all the time I had worked for Smith, Renee and I had never been completely alone. She appraised me with her cool, hazel eyes, a slight smile playing on the corners of her mouth.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” I said when we were face to face.

  She smelled faintly of spice, like pumpkin pie, and her smile broadened. She touched my arm, and left her hand there. “If you want your cat back, you’d better go get him.”

  I squeezed by her. The heavy door clanged shut behind me.

  The hallway reminded me faintly of a nice doctor’s office. Deep blue Berber carpet ran the length of the passage, which terminated i
n a pair of heavy steel doors that looked like the entrance to a bank vault. Most of the dozen or so offices that lined the hall were open and a man wearing owlish spectacles poked his head out of an opening. Renee waved to him and pointed to Cash, who was heading in his direction. The man stepped into the hall to intercept the boy. He wore a white lab coat over a shirt and tie. His name tag showed his first name in large bold letters with the last name in smaller font underneath. I could see his first name was Henry, but was too far away to see his last name.

  Renee took my arm. The move surprised me, but I thought back to the look we had shared at the door. “C’mon,” she said, “I’ll give you the nickel tour while you’re here.” Her grip tightened.

  Up ahead of us, Henry guided Cash into one of the open doorways, Pickwick trailing closely behind. Henry stayed in the hall.

  Renee matched my steps. We moved in unison up to the room where Cash and the cat had gone. Emma Worthy was holding her son tightly. She looked rested and clean, but a bitter smile twisted across her face when saw me.

  “Gu’bye, May-at,” Cash said, pronouncing my name with two syllables.

  “Good-bye, Cash,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I could feel the heat from his mother’s glare.

  “We’ll just leave you two alone until it’s time,” Renee said. She pulled the door closed.

  “Ol’ man gonna git ya,” Emma called. She and her son began to laugh.

  Renee drew me further down the hall. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself,” she said. “As soon as Emma found out what we were doing here, she offered up the boy without a qualm. Told us it was the boy’s idea.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what it is you do here, Renee.”

  We were almost to the heavy double doors. “Well,” she said, “then you, my dear, are in for a rare treat.” She had an excited lilt in her voice and she leaned over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek before she moved to the security station on the wall. She swiped her ID badge, then gave a retina scan and finally punched in a passcode. The heavy doors swung open.

  I could tell the room was large by the way our footsteps echoed on the cement floor. A single light hung over the entrance, making it hard to see into the darkness beyond. By shading my eyes, I could make out four rows of dim green lights, arranged like seats in an auditorium.