Deadeye (22 page)

She parked, closed the outer door, and made her way upstairs. Omo was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a beer and watching the news. Lee could see what looked like columns of black smoke in the distance and military vehicles in the foreground. The reporter was talking about casualties. “What happened?”

“A battalion of Aztec armor crossed the border and laid waste to the town of Douglas,” he answered. “The government is sending troops down to push them back.”

“I thought you had troops on the border,” Lee said as she sat down.

“We do,” Omo replied. “But not enough. Or so it seems. How did the meeting go?”

Lee told him about Bo-Jack and her theory regarding the officer's involvement in Rictor's death. Omo uttered a low whistle. “Wow . . . So what are you going to do?”

Lee raised her eyebrows. “About
what
? All I have is a theory.”

Omo chuckled. “Okay, what about some sort of Tom-Tom connection? Any luck there?”

“Maybe,” Lee answered cautiously. Omo listened intently as Lee told him what Bo-Jack had shared with her. Then, when she got to the part about the Nickels Corporation, Omo groaned and covered his mask with his hands. “Oh my God, you must be kidding me.”

“Why?” Lee said. “What's wrong?”

Omo dropped his hands. “A man named George Nickels owns the Nickels Corporation. And through it he owns a casino that's believed to be a front for a crime syndicate.”

Lee frowned. “What kind of crime?”

“Drugs, prostitution, protection rackets . . . You name it.”

“So why is Nickels out running around?”

“Because he owns the local police chief, who, by the way, hates Sheriff Arpo.”

Lee swore. “Bo-Jack didn't mention any of that. And he would have to be aware of it, right?”

“Right,” Omo agreed. “But it sounds like Officer Bo-Jack's world is centered on the reservation, and Tom-Tom built a clinic there, so he's looking the other way.”

Both of them were silent for a moment. Omo spoke first. “So what are you going to do?”

She looked at him. “Hell, Ras, you
know
what I'm going to do. I'm going to Tucson, I'm going to locate Tom-Tom, and I'm going to ask him where Amanda is.”

“That's a really bad idea. I don't like Tucson.”

“Nobody invited you.”

“I have to go.”

“Why?”

Omo looked at her. He wanted to tell her the truth, he wanted to say, “Because I love you,” but knew that would be stupid. So he offered a joke instead. “You're my partner—and you'd be helpless without me.”

Lee laughed. It was music to his ears. “I'm tired,” she said. “Let's get something to eat.”

“Lonigan's again?”

“Absolutely.”

They left shortly thereafter, but the Bonebreaker made no attempt to follow. Why bother? The puercos (pigs) would be back.

AMANDA SCREED'S PRISON
consisted of a spacious living room, a comfortably furnished bedroom, and a bath with separate shower. That meant her quarters were similar to those she had at her parents' house in Los Angeles—except that she couldn't come and go as she pleased. But
why
? The apartment seemed
too
nice in a way . . . Not like the prison it was.

She'd been there for weeks, watching TV, performing calisthenics, and waiting for a chance to escape. In the meantime, she had to “earn her keep,” as her jailer liked to put it. And that meant making an appearance at one of the weekly bacchanals that George Nickels hosted.

Amanda had attended three of them by that time. And although she had never been assaulted, she had been ogled, groped, and forced to symbolically kiss Mr. Nickels's feet while his guests clapped enthusiastically. Because watching a norm submit to Nickels not only served to reinforce his status but gave his guests a vicarious thrill.

So it was with a terrible knot in her stomach that Amanda waited for the perfunctory knock on the door followed by one of her jailer's forceful entrances. Eva Macintyre, or “Mac” as the rest of the staff called her, was a large woman who had been born with a snout rather than a nose. She was dressed in a severe blue uniform and carried a stun gun holstered on one generous hip. “So slut,” Mac said as she entered the room. “It's party time. Put this on.”

Amanda was sitting on the couch. She stood, and the bundle hit her chest. She opened it to find a two-piece swimsuit calculated to reveal most of her long, lean body. It was yellow with black polka dots. “Go ahead,” Mac insisted. “Put it on. You wouldn't want to be late.”

Based on previous experience, Amanda knew that if she went into the bedroom, Mac would follow. So she turned her back to the jailer, removed her top, and pushed the white shorts down off her hips. That gave Mac an opportunity to eyeball Amanda's butt, which she clearly enjoyed doing.

Fortunately, the skimpy top went on easily allowing Amanda to step into the bikini bottom and pull it up quickly. Then it was time to fasten the ties. A pair of red high heels completed the look. Mac nodded approvingly. “Good . . . You look like the whore that you are. Now stand still while I put your collar on.”

The black leather collar with the chromed spikes was a regular part of the attire that Amanda was forced to wear. It, too, was intended to degrade and humiliate her. Once the collar was buckled into place, Mac added a length of chain, and they were ready to go.

Amanda wanted to cry but refused to do so because Mac would enjoy it. So she held her head high as the jailer led her out into the corridor. Having been held there for weeks, Amanda knew that Nickels's circular, one-story house sat atop a hill from which he could look out upon his empire. That included a twenty-story-tall hotel, the casino that was connected to it, and the surrounding mall.

Amanda's prison and three other so-called “suites” were buried in the hill that the entrepreneur's home stood on. That seemed to suggest that Nickels thought of her as an asset. Something he could trade or sell when it pleased him to do so. Maybe that was why she was kept in comparative luxury.

The good news, if it could be regarded as such, was that she hadn't been handed off to someone for use as a sex toy or surrogate. The bad news was that it could happen anytime.

Mac led Amanda out into the hall and down a sterile corridor to an elevator lobby. There were two lifts. One for visitors and one for freight. Staff were supposed to use the freight elevator, and it took several minutes for it to arrive. As the doors parted, Amanda saw a stainless-steel cart and two kitchen workers. The food served at Nickels's parties was prepared in the hotel's kitchen, transported through an underground tunnel via “hot cart,” and brought up via the lift. The men leered at Amanda as she was led into the car. One of them produced a low whistle. “What I wouldn't give for an hour with
that
.”

“In your dreams,” Mac replied. “But feel free to squeeze her ass if you want to . . . She likes that. Don't you cuddles?”

Amanda didn't want the men to touch her—but knew the comment was an attempt to provoke her. So she gritted her teeth and stared straight ahead as unseen hands kneaded her flesh.

Fortunately, the trip was only thirty seconds long, and the men had to push their cart off as the doors parted company. Mac led Amanda out into a small lobby and from there onto the carpeted path that followed curved windows halfway around the house to the point where the prisoner could see a sweeping view of Tucson. It wasn't entirely dark yet, so hundreds of glittering lights were visible. Most, if not all of them, would have to be extinguished now that the new blackout regulations had gone into effect.

But there wasn't much time in which to admire the view. A fancy bar took up part of a wall. The dance floor was located adjacent to that. And a man in a tux was seated at a grand piano singing retro love songs as about thirty people stood in small groups and chatted. One of them spotted Amanda and said, “Look!”

Heads turned, and Amanda forced herself to meet their eyes as she passed through the crowd. It was obvious that the men wanted to have sex with her. And the women, many of whom had birth defects, wanted to
be
her.

Maybe that would change someday. Maybe the definition of normal would evolve so that people no longer compared themselves to those who hadn't been infected with
B. nosilla
. But that day was still a long way off. Until then, the reaction to norms would be the same. First came a sense of curiosity quickly followed by self-loathing and a feeling of resentment.

Amanda did what she could to steel herself against the insults, but it was difficult. “What a slut,” one woman said, as if Amanda had chosen to wear the two-piece. “I wonder what her face looks like?” a man said, and Amanda felt a jolt of fear. What if they removed her mask? It hadn't happened thus far, but it could.

Mac jerked on the chain, which caused Amanda to stumble. The crowd laughed. Then the mutants were left behind as Mac towed her to what Amanda thought of as the throne. The richly upholstered chair was positioned on a platform where everyone could see it. A tiger was sprawled next to it. It growled ominously as Amanda was ordered to take her place on the other side of the platform. Mac secured the chain to an eyebolt and withdrew.

The stage was set at that point, and the entire crowd turned to look as their host arrived. It was impossible to know what Nickels looked like originally, but it was safe to say that he'd been born with numerous mutations, all of which had been addressed with radical surgery.

He stood about six feet tall. And while most of his face appeared to be normal, the lower-left part of his jaw was made of metal. Nor did the modifications end there. Steel rods, pulleys, and a servo had been used to replace his right arm. And, judging from the fact that the right sleeve of his jacket was missing, Nickels
wanted
people to see his artificial limb. Amanda couldn't help but admire that in spite of the hate she felt for the man.

Such was Nickels's importance to those in the room that they nearly tripped over each other in an effort to catch his eye, tell him how good he looked, or otherwise suck up to him. And Amanda had seen that sort of behavior before. It was, she realized, the same way that those who occupied the inner circle of her father's church treated him.

And the adulation was an important part of what made “the bishop” tick. He loved the sense of importance that his position afforded him and fed off it in much the same way that Nickels did. The businessman didn't even glance at Amanda as he took the platform. Neither she nor the tiger were of any importance to him. They were little more than exotic curiosities intended to signal his wealth and importance.

Machinery whined as Nickels sat down, and the guests gathered around. Amanda was reminded of the times when her father met with the church elders. “Good evening,” Nickels said gravely, as his piercing blue eyes swept the crowd. “Each of you is here this evening to receive special recognition for your contribution to the corporation's success. Let's begin with Chief Dokey.”

That produced a round of applause, and the police chief looked suitably embarrassed as he stepped forward. He was dressed in a business suit, which, although custom-made, couldn't hide the hump on his back. Nickels smiled approvingly. “Nice job, Chief . . . Thanks to you and your people, crime in and around the casino is at an all-time low. Please accept this gift as a token of my appreciation.”

That was when the two-headed man stepped forward. Amanda knew that each head housed a separate brain and personality. But for reasons not apparent to her, the conjoined twins were collectively referred to as “Tom-Tom” and typically present for such occasions.

Both of Tom-Tom's heads had some independence of movement and conveyed their own expressions as they came forward to present Chief O. K. Dokey with a stack of so-called pumpkins, which was casino slang for thousand-eagle chips.

That produced more applause, and so it went, as a steady stream of public officials and executives came up to claim their bonuses. Eventually, after all the rest of the guests had been thanked, Nickels summoned one last person. “Frank Grifty . . . It's your turn! Please step forward.” Grifty had bright eyes and a monotonous head tic. He shuffled forward to stand just feet from the platform.

Nickels eyed the crowd. “As all of you know, Frank is in charge of the baccarat tables. What you
don't
know is that he's been stealing from the casino.”

Grifty tried to bolt, but a couple of burly men were ready and stepped in to seize his arms. “Stealing is very bad for your health,” Nickels said sternly. “Especially when you steal from me.”

Grifty attempted to speak, but Nickels brought a metal finger up to his lips. “Shhh . . . Don't embarrass yourself, Frank. You knew the chance you were taking, and you took it anyway. So let's behave like grown-ups. These nice gentlemen are going to take you out to the city dump and shoot you in the head. Don't worry, you won't feel a thing. And no, there won't be any severance pay.”

The last comment produced some awkward laughter from the crowd. Grifty was led away, the tiger licked a paw, and Nickels came down to mingle with his guests. It was early yet, and the party had just begun.

*   *   *

It was midmorning, and Lee was driving the rent-a-wreck south from Phoenix to Tucson. And, because Interstate 10 wasn't considered to be safe at night, there was lots of traffic during the day. The southbound flow consisted of trucks for the most part—but there were plenty of passenger vehicles, too.

There wasn't much to look at other than the occasional bullet-hole-riddled wreck next to the freeway and lots of desert. If Lee had driven a more boring stretch of road, she couldn't remember when. She glanced at Omo. The deputy was slumped in the passenger seat with his Stetson pulled down over his mask. Lee smiled as she turned back to the road. “I don't need you.” That's what she'd told him. It was a lie of course—but he didn't know that. Or did he?

Either way, Omo had insisted that they go to see Arpo, and the sheriff opposed the plan. “Nickels owns Chief Dokey,” Arpo said, “not to mention the rest of the department. And Tucson is outside my jurisdiction. That means your badges will be worthless down there. Detective Lee can do whatever she wants so long as her boss agrees. But there will be political hell to pay if I let an active-duty officer work in someone else's territory without their okay.”

“So I can't go?” Omo had inquired.

“You can't go on
my
time,” Arpo answered. “But what you do while you're on vacation is up to you.”

So Omo was using his vacation to escort an LA police detective to a potentially hostile city where he could get shot.
Why?

Lee felt a lump in her throat. Omo was coming for the same reason that Bryce Conti had gone out to confront the bank robbers.
For her.

She felt a tear trickle down her cheek and turned to make sure that Omo wasn't looking. He was snoring gently, and she could see a pistol butt through the opening at the front of his jacket.
I want you to survive,
she thought to herself.
I want you to live. Don't do anything stupid.

Thanks to the early start, they arrived in Tucson around 9:30
A.M.
And, since the twins were employed by George Nickels, the first order of business was to visit their place of employment. That was easy to find as they followed the freeway south. “See that hill?” Omo inquired as he pointed off to the right. “That was called Sentinel Peak back before the plague. Then Tucson fell on hard times, and George Nickels Sr. offered to buy the hill and the park around it for half a million eagles. In return, he promised to build a complex that would employ a thousand people. And he kept his word. A hotel, casino, and mall were constructed at the base of Nickels Peak.”

“And the park?”

“It's gone. There's a playground, though,” Omo replied. “Take the next exit. Once we enter the complex, there will be lots of cameras. I think some disguises are in order.”

That made sense, so Lee took the next off-ramp and followed Omo's directions to a small shopping center. She remained in the car while he went to purchase the things they needed. Once Omo returned, he threw some packages into the backseat before sliding in next to her. “Let's find a spot where we can change without being seen. There are at least three cameras in this parking lot.”

So Lee drove them into the ruins of an old housing development, where they could get out and don their disguises without being observed. Lee's outfit consisted of a full-length burqa similar to the one that Mrs. Fuentes had worn in LA. It was sky blue and hung all the way to the ground.