3 Blood Lines (32 page)

“Forget that. You’ll just have to squint.”

It had never occurred to her that they wouldn’t let her keep her glasses. Of course they wouldn’t. Not in Special Needs. Glasses could be used as weapons.

All the composure she’d managed to gain with the control over her muscles fled.

It was what she’d been terrified of since the retinitis pigmentosa had been diagnosed.

“Nuh!” Using her arm like a club, she knocked the other woman’s hand away and attempted to snatch her glasses up off the pile of discarded clothing. But her fingers wouldn’t close fast enough and a sharp shove from the guard sent her lurching back against the wall.

“Here, none of that! You show fight and you wear the restraints. Understand?”

Something of Vicki’s fear must have shown on her face. Dickson frowned and said brusquely, “Look, Hanover, you convince the shrink you don’t belong in Special Needs and we’ll give you your glasses back.”

Hope. The psychiatrist would listen to her. Probably even recognize the drug.

“Now come on, I haven’t got all day. Christ, it’ll probably take me the rest of the shift just to list what you’ve got in that bag.”

The world had condensed into a fuzzy tunnel. Vicki shuffled along it, heart leaping as doors and furniture and people loomed up without warning. She cracked her knee on the edge of something and slammed her shoulder into a corner she couldn’t see.

Dickson sighed as she steered her charge through the first of the locked doors and onto the range. “Maybe you’d do better if you just closed your eyes.”

The noise was overwhelming; the clatter of a busy cafeteria with the volume control gone and so many women’s voices that all individual sound was lost. The smell of food overpowered the smell of prison. Vicki suddenly realized that she hadn’t eaten since about nine o’clock the evening before. Her mouth flooded with saliva and her stomach growled audibly.

“Great timing, Dickson,” called a new voice. “We’re just counting the spoons. You’ll have to keep her out here until we finish and lock ’em in for cleanup.”

“Oh, joy, oh, bliss,” Dickson muttered. Vicki tensed as the guard pushed her back until her shoulder blades pressed against the concrete wall. “Stay there. Don’t move. You’ve missed lunch, but considering the food in here, that might be a good thing.”

Vicki could feel people staring. The bars were a hazy grid at the edge of her vision and beyond that she could make out only a shifting sea of blue.

The hair on the back of her neck rose.
You’re only in there until you talk to the shrink. You don’t need to see anything.

To her right, she could hear the clatter of spoons against a plastic tray and then the new guard’s voice rising above the noise. “So, what’ve you got?”

“Skinbeef. Brain-fried, too.”

“Violent?”

“Barely mobile.”

“Can she piss in the pot?”

“Probably.”

“Well, thank God for small mercies. I’ve already got four that have to be hosed down. Where the fuck am I supposed to put her though, that’s the question. I’m three down in fifteen out of eighteen cells now.”

“Put her in with Lambert and Wills.”

During the long pause that followed, Vicki realized the two guards were talking about her. As though she wasn’t there. As though she didn’t matter. Because she didn’t.

“Skinbeef, eh?” The second pause had a more ominous sound. “How old was the kid?”

“Don’t know.”

“Well, I think Lambert and Wills will make her feel real welcome.” She raised her voice. “All right, you lot, get inside, you know the drill. Oh, for Christ’s sake, Naylor, take Chin with you. You know she gets lost. . . .”

Gradually the sea of blue receded, turned into separate shapes, then disappeared. Vicki heard the sound of steel doors closing.

“Shu . . . shu . . . shu . . . ?”

“What the hell are you muttering about?” Dickson’s face swam into focus as she grabbed Vicki’s arm above the elbow and tugged her toward the set of double doors that led into the cell block.

“Shink . . .”

“Oh, the
shrink
. Hey, Cowan, the shrink been in yet today?”

“Yeah. Came and left before lunch.”

“You heard her. Looks like you’re in here until Wednesday at least.”

They stopped in front of one of the cells and Vicki was willing to take any odds that the two women inside were watching her suspiciously from their bunks. The cells were built for two, a third meant the beginning of crowding that often went as high as five. She intended to move quietly into the cell, but her legs froze at the threshold and the panic started to rise again.

“Come on, Hanover, move it!”

A shove in the small of her back catapulted her forward and after three wild steps she crashed to her knees.

It’s okay. It’s only two days. Once the drug is gone, I’ll be fine. These people are crazy. I’m not.
Slowly, carefully, she got to her feet. Behind her, she heard the cell door locked and Dickson moving away.
Even if the mummy got to Henry, or Celluci—
and dealing with that possibility would have to wait—
it can’t have gotten to the psychiatrist. Two days. I’ll be out of here in two days.

The bunk to her right squealed a protest as the woman reclining on it swung to her feet. Hands held out from her sides, Vicki turned to face her cell mate.
Remember, she’s crazy. Probably confused. Lost. You’re not. Two days.

Cropped gray hair and a tiny, whippet-thin frame. Large dark eyes in a face that seemed all points. Something familiar . . . but Vicki couldn’t see well enough to determine what.

“Well, well, well. Will wonders never cease.”

The voice sound low and clear and frighteningly sane.

“Isn’t it amazing the people you meet in these places, Natalie?”

The grunt from the other bunk could’ve meant anything.

Vicki felt a dry palm and fingers wrap around her right hand. Her knuckles began to rub painfully. She tried to return the pressure without much effect.

“It’s
so
nice to see you again, Detective Nelson . . .”

“. . . you can’t imagine.”

 

“Nelson Investigations. No one is available to take your call, but . . .”

“Damn it, Vicki, where the fuck are you?” Celluci slammed down the receiver and slammed out of the phone booth. Vicki never used her answering machine when she was home. So she wasn’t home. So where was she? He’d left a message on Fitzroy’s machine and called Vicki’s apartment half a dozen times from half a dozen different areas in the city.

She was probably out working; tracking the mummy, gathering information; maybe even doing her laundry or the grocery shopping. He had no reason to believe she might be in danger.

Cantree’s looking for me. Dave would’ve mentioned it if she’d been pulled into this as well.
Trouble was, Cantree, not to mention a good part of the force, knew about their relationship. And if Fitzroy had found something out about the mummy that Vicki thought she could use, and then she had, Cantree and the Metro Police could be the least of her worries.
She was a good cop. One of the best. You don’t get to be one of the best without learning not to throw yourself at a superior force.

So that takes care of Cantree and the mummy,
Celluci told himself.
Vicki’s fine. There’s no reason to believe she’s in any danger just because she didn’t call you when she said she was going to.
You’re
the one up shit creek without the paddle.

He lit a cigarette, shoved his hands back into his pockets, and slouched down the street, trying not to inhale—a haze of cigarette smoke made an almost impenetrable camouflage when people thought they were looking for a non-smoker. It had been one of Vicki’s tricks for going undercover and he suddenly realized how much he’d been counting on her help.
Sure, she rushes right over when Fitzroy needs her, but when my balls are in the fire where is she . . . ?

There were four messages on Henry’s answering machine. Two were from Mike Celluci for Vicki. One was from someone named Dave Graham for Celluci; apparently nothing had changed. With a growing sense of unease, Henry wondered just what nothing referred to. The fourth message was from Tony, for him.

He’d barely hung up after reassuring the younger man when the phone rang.

“Fitzroy? Celluci. Have you heard from Vicki?”

Henry’s grip tightened on the receiver. The plastic groaned. “No,” he said quietly, “I haven’t. Why?”

“I’ve been trying to get her all day. When she contacts you, warn her to lay low. Cantree’s got a warrant out for my arrest and he might have one for her.”

Cantree. The man Henry had watched ensorcelled. According to Vicki, Celluci had been vocal about his belief in the mummy around the station so it wasn’t surprising Tawfik had decided to silence him. Henry frowned. Tawfik had no contact with Vicki though.

“What does Vicki have to do with this?” he demanded.

“Cantree knows how close we are, Vicki and I.” The emphasis was unmistakably a deliberate dig. “He won’t believe for a minute that I didn’t give her all the details on something I felt that strongly about.”

Henry fought his way through a wave of jealousy and barely made it out the other side. “How do we know he doesn’t already have her?”

“I gave Dave Graham, my partner, your number. If she’s picked up, he’ll let me know.”

“Graham left a message. He says nothing’s changed.”

“Okay. Cantree doesn’t have her. You stay put in case she calls. I’ll stay in touch. Once we know she’s safe, we can make plans.”

“Do not presume, mortal . . .”

“And don’t bullshit me, Fitzroy. Can you find her?”

Could he track the call of her blood, with so many other lives around? “No.”

“Then stay put! Look,” Henry heard the effort it took for Celluci to force reason into his voice, “if you hit the streets, we’ll have no way to pull together again. Vicki can take care of herself.”

“Not against Tawfik.”

“God damn it, Fitzroy, she’s not up against Tawfik. He’s using Cantree now to . . .”

“What about Trembley?”

“He didn’t have his bully boys in place then. I know how these guys work. Once they have an organization set up, they don’t dirty their own hands anymore.”

“Tawfik is not some petty crime boss, Detective.” Henry bit the words off and spat them into the phone. “And you have no idea of how the mind of an immortal works.” Ignoring anything further Celluci had to say, and that seemed to be a great deal, Henry very carefully hung up the phone. Vicki lived. He would have felt the absence of her life.

Come to the corner where we first met,
Tawfik had told him.
And I will find you.

Find me,
Henry thought back at the memory,
give yourself up into my hands, and you will tell me where she is.

The world had taken on a tint of red.

 

For a few hours at least, it was over. Vicki lay back on her mattress and tried to relax her muscles enough to sleep. Although she regained more control with every hour, the twisted ridges across her back refused to unknot. She didn’t blame them.

Angel Lambert was pretending to have slipped a few gears in order to get out of a trip to Kingston and the Women’s Penitentiary. The right diagnosis would send her to the relative comfort of a hospital and a short time later back out on the streets. Her bragging had been very explicit. Of course, the bragging had come after Lambert had assured herself that Vicki hadn’t been placed on the range as a police spy.

 

“Maybe they figure’d that ’cause you aren’t on the force no more you’d be safe.” Arms crossed, Lambert had walked a slow circle around her new cell mate. Vicki tried to keep her in sight, nearly fell over, and gave up. “ ’Course, druggin’ you seems to be goin’ just a bit far.” Making sure Vicki saw what she was about to do, she lashed out, kicking Vicki hard in the calf, the toe of her sneaker sinking deep into the muscle.

Vicki tried to avoid the blow but couldn’t get her leg to respond in time. She grunted in pain and made a grab for Lambert’s throat.

Lambert leaned easily back out of the way. “Well, well, well. Got doped up and got yourself in trouble, eh? Heard the guard say you were in on a juvie skinbeef. You know what that means, don’t you? They’re not gonna care if you pick up a few bruises. In fact, they’re hopin’ you will. That’s why you’re in with us. We got us a bit of a rep for playin’ rough.” She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms, scratching a little at her biceps. “I saw your eyes when you recognized me, so I know you’re in there. And I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’ that as soon as that drug wears off you’re gonna clean my clock. Not a bad plan, you’re bigger than me and you got all that fancy training, but,” she smiled, “I got something you don’t. Natalie, come around where our new friend can see you.”

At five ten, Vicki didn’t look up at many women, but Natalie Wills was huge. Even slouched she had to top six feet; if she ever straightened up, she’d probably hit six six or six seven. Her frizzy halo of blonde hair emphasized the rounded curves of her face and her pale blue eyes bulged slightly out of the sockets. At some point in the past, her nose had been broken, at least once, and improperly set. Through the space between slack lips, Vicki could hear heavy adenoidal breathing. Her breasts and belly stretched the limits of the jail uniform. It looked and moved like fat but Vicki wasn’t willing to give any odds that it actually was.