The Austin Job (25 page)

“How good can word of dead man be? Tell me, Sheriff, from one dead man to another. How does it feel—” a wire sprang from the floor, encircling Lickter’s left leg and dragging him to the floor.

“Sheriff!” Starr lunged forward, but a blinding burst of fire bowled him over, the heat curling what hair he had left.

“To know you never see daughter again!” Oleg jeered before scouring the narrow hall with two more surges of liquid fire, dripping sticky flame onto every surface including Lickter’s skin. “How dare you threaten family!” Oleg screamed over the pulsing bursts he unleashed from the cramped vault packed with flammable paper. “Everything I have done is for family! Go to hell!”

Starr scrambled on hands and knees, trying to reach Lickter to pull him clear of the flames.

“Stay back!” Lickter bellowed. “Dear God, stay back!” He flailed his .38 toward Starr even as he covered his face with his hat, the flesh of his hand smoking. “Take care of her!”

In a flash the yellow-orange glare of the flames changed to black as smoke roiled from the vault, followed by paint-pealing screams and the stench of melting flesh. Lickter stood in the temporary absence of molten fire, strips of flesh hanging from his body like tattered rags. “As long as I take you with me!” He lumbered toward the vault, pistol held out rigid in front of him.

His gut writhing with horror, Starr bolted for the fire suppression lever by the stair. The low ceilings of the basement, the choking smoke, the skin-curdling scream, all combined to tempt him to madness. Stumbling, he nearly collided with Daisy as she emerged at the base of the stair. “James—”

“Stay back!” Breaking the glass with his elbow, he yanked down the lever and sparked a powdery mist from the ceiling. Three deafening pops filled the basement, a quick two followed an instant later by a third. He embraced her, clasping his hands over her ears until the echo of the screaming and the shots surrendered to a sickly quiet.

Falling limp in his embrace, she stuttered, “What’s happened?” He held her in silence for several seconds more, a mist collecting in her hair. The tang of cooked flesh replayed nightmares from the capitol lawn in Starr’s mind. Finally, he sat her on the bottom stair, took a single step backward to test if she’d stay. She didn’t flinch.

Rushing to the vault, Starr arrived as the suppressant extinguished the last flickering tongues of flame. The burn had been accelerated and ferocious for the seconds it raged. Two bodies, one draped over the other, lay smoking amidst a heap of charred briefcases and leather bags, all filled with the ashes of paper money. Money now turning to slurry in the falling mist—money Starr had no doubt to be counterfeit.

Stepping closer, he swallowed the urge to vomit. He tore off part of his sleeve and stooped to roll Lickter’s remains from the top of the heap. The plastic handle of the sheriff’s pistol had melted in his grip—his jaw blown off by his own hand. The powdery drizzle and the stench mingled, causing Starr to break out in a cold sweat.

Curled in the fetal position, Oleg’s charred remains had merged more completely with the briefcases beneath him. Snapping the body loose, Starr found Oleg’s flask protruding from his brittle rib cage. He held it up to read the inscription. “Y.O.R.” A distant motor turned over. The suppressant stopped and the smoke in the vault began exhausting through the vent in the wall. He breathed deep.
 

It didn’t make sense. There was no way out. Everything indicated Oleg had played the game poorly, shamefully. Why would he have given up after all this? Had this final act somehow guaranteed his family’s safety? He took a last look around, knowing Daisy needed him. He only hoped she wouldn’t blame him for her father’s death.

TWENTY-SIX

Phoenix

Emerging from a hundred year sleep, the couple reached the top of the stair. Daisy was the first to speak. “I always knew, but I never thought…” She couldn’t finish.

Starr leaned against the wall and held her. Broken and suffering, the woman with the potential to unlock his heart, to strengthen his will and sharpen his mind represented the final victim of a single person’s immeasurable lust for power. The whisper of the gas lights muffled the sounds of chaos scratching at the other side of the metal door—the sounds of countless lives shattered, survivors grieving, a city scarred. All of it because of Gwendolyn Winifryd Lloyd.

The smells of the basement wafted up the stair and Starr had to get out. With Daisy in his arms he kicked the door open. Immediately on the other side they were met by Ms. Lloyd. She’d emptied the area of all others, and stood as if she’d been about to descend the steps in search of them. He wondered how long she’d had to stage the effect, waiting for them to surface.

“What’s happened?” Ms. Lloyd followed close behind as Starr carried Daisy into the women’s bank and placed her on a couch. “You’ve stopped him. You’ve done it. Where’s…”

Starr masked his emotion, watching her response to his words. “Dead, both of them. Burned to death in the vault. It’s over.”

Ms. Lloyd gasped. “Dear God. How—”

Starr shook his head, scowling at her then nodding toward Daisy. “I wouldn’t go down there if I were you.” He asserted the words, making them more than a simple suggestion. “I’m sure there are still fires to put out.” Before Ms. Lloyd could respond he knelt in front of the couch and stroked Daisy’s hair. He whispered into her ear. “He protected you. Even if you didn’t want it, he protected you to the very end.”

“I heard him.” Daisy kept her eyes closed.

“Oh?”

“I heard his last words—for you to take care of me.”

“Dont’ worry—”

“It’s okay.” Daisy stopped him. “I want you to care for me.”

He breathed deep, absorbing the words he’d longed to hear. Like salve they began to heal his wounds both physically and emotionally. With Daisy’s love strengthening him he could do anything.

Ms. Lloyd cleared her throat. “I realize both of you have been through a horrible experience, but if you’ll come with me, medical attention awaits outside. Please.”

Starr continued to run his fingers through Daisy’s hair, aware of a gathering ruckus outside the building and Ms. Lloyd’s increasing discomfort. He leaned close to Daisy’s ear one more time. “I spoke with your father, just before. He wanted to help. He was a good man.”

She smiled, “Not as good as you,” and kissed him on the cheek.

He stood. “Ms. Lloyd’s got a point. I feel like hell.”

Daisy coughed and sat up. “You big baby.”

He winked, helping her to her feet. “Thank you, Ms. Lloyd. Now that you mention it I’m sure both of us could benefit from first aid.”

“Of course. This way.” She glided in front of them. “In case you were wondering, the students assisting Oleg have been taken into custody without further harm. None of the tellers were seriously injured.” She softened her tone. “Benjamin helped save the city. The streetcars have succeeded in putting out the fires. Surprisingly little of the town burned, considering. He was a good—”

“My shoes.” Daisy interrupted. She let go of Starr’s hand to pull her sparkling golden heels from a pile of debris. Gingerly she put them on with Starr’s help. Annoyed, Ms. Lloyd coughed before continuing toward the Congress Avenue entrance. As they reached the battered but not broken brass doors with bulls’ horns for handles, Starr’s brain jarred. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the connection. But before he could speak Ms. Lloyd continued.

“Job well done, both of you.” She swung the doors open. “A grateful city awaits.”

Popping lights jolted Starr causing his wrist to flick toward his holster. Daisy caught it, her mind faster than his reflex. The lights were quickly followed by a barrage of questions, the sidewalk in front of the Grandview congested with people.

“How did you conclude who was responsible for the recent attacks?”

“We’ve been told the perpetrator is dead. Who’s responsible and how did it happen?”

“Was it Professor Medved? Was he behind the protests?”

“Is Medved really the touted Dr. Death who disappeared from Russia?”

“Was there an attempted bank robbery?”

The questions bounced about Starr’s skull like rubber balls continually gaining speed.
So this is how she wants to play it.

“Gentlemen!” Ms. Lloyd intervened. “As to the latter question, there was no bank robbery. Professor Medved’s demonstrations came to a gruesome end in my bank’s vault. All property destroyed will of course be replaced at my expense. Now,” She gently ushered the nearest members of print media back a foot. “I’m sure any questions not regarding my bank would best be answered by Senator Starr.” Several voices clamored for attention. “One at a time! Donald, from the
Statesman
.” She stepped aside leaving the crowd to a dazed Starr.

“Senator Starr, did you stop one Professor Yuri Medved from burning the entire city?” A few chuckles filled the silence as the gathered curious waited to hear the inside story of how their city had come to the brink of total destruction and been spared. Oleg had been three moves ahead of him the entire time until the final move. Starr knew he hadn’t done much—contained the damage, maybe.

He looked across the street, past the buildings, and focused on the last red tinges of the setting sun in the western sky. Tendrils of smoke rose in every direction as if the earth’s crust had crumbled and opened shafts to its molten core. He looked at the people’s faces. Finally he looked to Daisy nestled at his side, her gun belt still slung low over her hip. She nodded and rested her head on his chest.

If nothing else, he’d been there. At a time when their leaders had abandoned them, he’d been there. Maybe that was his heritage after all—like all the people of his past and present who had been there for him. Sometimes a man couldn’t be asked to do any better. He cleared his throat. “Everything I did, I did for family.” But other times justice demanded more. “Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, citizens of Texas. Over the last few days our family has been put at risk due to the betrayal of one of our own—Ms. Gwendolyn Winifryd Lloyd.”

~~~

“One hundred thousand dollars in Pride of Texas Bank notes as you request.” He tossed the satchel on the ground. “Now, my family.”

“Your family has been secured. They are staying at the St. Anthony Hotel in San Antonio as guests. The money is for you. Use it to travel to San Diego with your family where a new lab and cover story have been procured for you in advance. A letter explaining everything has been left with your wife.”

Oleg sighed deeply, struggling to vent ten years of exhaustion and guilt. He had underestimated the depth and breadth of his slavery. The bread crumbs had been too tempting. Now the trap had snapped shut. He wanted to leave the money, take his family and flee to Canada. But he would not reduce his family to fugitives as well as refugees. He needed to be human again. He needed to be family, and the money would make it easier. So the cycle would start again, but this time everything would be different, because they would be together.

“Your choice of course.” Oleg picked up the bag, and turned to go. “I suggest you exchange the bills for U.S. currency sooner rather than later.”

“Of course.”

~~~

Daisy rested her head on Starr’s stomach, the both of them gazing at wispy clouds and enjoying the sunny October weather. Almost a month had passed since the day locals had begun referring to as Phoenix Day. And indeed the citizens had taken to the theme of rebirth vigorously. Nearly all other work had ceased to focus on the clean up and rebuilding. Striking farmers and protesting students picked up lathes, chisels and hammers side by side with business owners, shop keepers and bankers—all save Ms. Lloyd, who awaited trial imprisoned in San Antonio.

During the work the two main topics of conversation had been G.W.’s fate and the mysterious source of the oil that had drenched the city. Consensus seemed to be that G.W. would certainly rot in prison and that the city must rest on the largest oil field in North America. Hobby assigned a special task force to investigate the truth of the latter, and the public forced him to set Starr as the head of the committee.

Today marked the official end to the city-wide rebuilding effort, and the first opportunity for the city’s most beloved couple to escape the public eye. Daisy tugged the edge of the blanket over her as a breeze rambled past. “It was nice they gave Willy and my father military burials.”

Starr scoffed. “It was Hobby’s way of salvaging his order for martial law. Smart move actually.” He ran his fingers through Daisy’s hair. “Dubbing your father a military hero helped isolate the blame to G.W.”

“And shift the spotlight from you.”

“Bahh. It’s cathartic for the people. G.W.’s publicly spectacular demise will restore the city.” Starr breathed deep, watching Daisy’s head rise and fall as he did so. “And now I’m fiancé to the daughter of a military hero. Besides, they deserved it.”

She sighed. “My father did what he was good at. Sometimes even if it wasn’t a good thing to do.”

“Sometimes it isn’t easy to know when a thing is good and when it isn’t, especially if you’re good at it.”

“Really?”

“Take Willy. He never made a good bronc. He had attitude, but too much awareness. He couldn’t lose control. Rider after rider urged him to the brink. His surroundings nurtured it, but he refused to do it. For some horses losing control is good while for others it isn’t.”

“Is that why you adopted him?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. After he sat down underneath me I busted my knee on the very next ride. At the time I thought it was guilt.” He put his hands behind his head. “You should have seen him at the end. No other horse on earth can do what he could. Just give him a little encouragement.” Starr pushed himself up on elbows to look down the rows of white crosses marking the fallen. “Every man wants a chance to do what he’s good at.”

“What about you, James Starr? What are you good at?” She looked up at him, her upside-down expression comical.

“Give us a couple years, and maybe we’ll find out.” He winked. “You’ve got a little something.” He brushed the tip of his nose with his thumb.