Fade (2005) (24 page)

He picked up the new satellite phone he'd bought that morning an d started dialing.

By the time he was onto his twentieth bakery, he had his headset on an d was doing pull-ups from a doorjamb that looked like it was going t o separate from the wall any moment. The activity was bringing th e feeling back into his right foot, as it always did, but not as quickl y as it had in the past. Apparently, all this excitement wasn't good fo r his delicate constitution.

"Wild Flour, can I help you?"

"Yeah. A friend of mine, Kelly Braith, asked me to pick up a cak e there for her tomorrow and I was wondering if I could come by a littl e early."

"What's the name again?"

"B-R-A-I-T-H." He dropped off the doorjamb and began jogging aroun d the Cadillac.

"Uh, right. Here it is .. ."

He stopped short, barely avoiding ramming his shin into the bac k bumper. "What did you say?"

"I've got it right here. Carrot cake. Happy Birthday Hillel , right?"

"That's the one."

"I've got this down for a seven thirty pickup. We open at seven, s o you could come in then."

"Great, thanks. And what time do you close tonight?"

"Five thirty, but it won't be ready then. I'll make it fresh in th e morning."

Fade pumped a fist in the air and danced as much of a solo tango a s space would allow. "Of course you will. Thanks. I'll see yo u soon."

The role luck played in killing people couldn't be overestimate d probably contributing about the same as talent and training when th e moment came. Fade, while not exactly on speaking terms with Fat e lately, had always been Death's favorite son. Apparently, their lon g separation hadn't changed that. The bakery was perfect. A tin y storefront on a quiet street, surrounded by other small shops tha t didn't start opening until ten.

He'd arrived at three a . M
." peeking in the dark windows at the fron t and then pulling around to the empty parking lot in back. Stil l cramped from sitting for so long, he ended up lying across the bac k seat of the Caddy watching what stars could defeat the weak securit y light at the far end of the lot. He gauged time by their movemen t across the sky, occasionally looking at his watch to check hi s accuracy.

At four a
. M
. it was still dead quiet, despite what those Dunkin' Donut s commercials said. He pulled his jacket over him and closed his eyes , allowing himself to drift a bit.

The sound of a motor and the flash of headlights sweeping over the ca r jerked him awake and he slid to the floor, enveloping himself in th e deep shadow cast by the front seats. The motor and lights died and h e heard a car door open and then close. Footsteps started, paused, an d then began coming his way. He held his breath and watched as a woma n stopped a few feet away, moving her gaze slowly over the car.

"Nice," she said aloud and then turned and disappeared from sight.

Clearly a woman of breeding and taste.

He waited to hear the jingling of keys before easing himself into a sitting position and peering through the front windshield. The woma n seemed absorbed by the lock on the bakery's rear door, so he sli d silently to the pavement and padded up behind her.

He was only a few feet away when the door opened. Rushing forward, h e clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her inside before kicking th e door shut behind them.

She struggled admirably, but then froze when he pressed the barrel o f his pistol against her cheek.

"If you scream, I'm going to shoot you."

Her back was pushed against his chest and he could feel her tremblin g as he eased his hand off her mouth. The fact that she was young an d reasonably fit was kind of a relief. He'd been afraid she was going t o be some seventy-year-old woman with arteries clogged by years of pastr y sampling. Giving somebody's grandmother a heart attack wasn't in hi s plan.

"I ... I take the money to the bank after we close at night. I've onl y got .. ."

"I'm not here for money."

That had been the wrong thing to say. A nearly inaudible squeak cam e from her throat and her trembling turned to outright shaking.

"No, no. Relax. I'm not here for that either. Start breathing again , please."

She did and he backed away, keeping his gun pointed at her face. Sh e was actually kind of cute. Dark, shoulder-length hair and big , beautiful eyes that were almost black. Maybe she had a thing fo r murderous sociopaths? Hell, he was nearly famous.

"What do you want then?" she managed to get out, glancing over at a magnetic strip containing a few rather nasty looking knives. Fad e couldn't help smiling.

"I just want you to bake me a cake. Carrot, if it's not too muc h trouble."

"You could have just called."

"Well, I have some special ingredients that I want you to work with."

He pulled a couple of glass vials from his pocket and put them on th e counter.

"What .. . what are they?"

It was a good question. He honestly didn't know exactly. His sho p ping spree earlier that night predictably had begun in the rat poiso n aisle. He'd been in a fairly dark mood at the time. After fondlin g the box for a few minutes, reading the wonderfully sadistic soundin g list of ingredients on the back, he'd finally been forced to return i t to its shelf. Simple and effective, yes. But impossible. There wa s just no way to control who was going to sample Strand's birthda y cake.

So, what then? There was always LSD, which definitely blew the top of f the fun meter. Unfortunately, he had no idea where to get it, beyond a Grateful Dead concert, and Jerry Garcia was dead.

The possibility of Ex-Lax was hard to ignore and had a really appealin g "fuck you" quality to it. But it didn't really get him anywhere.

A few hours later, in an all-night drug store devoid of customers, a young pharmacist had become very helpful when Fade had put a gun in hi s ear, suggesting a concoction that was guaranteed to create a trul y obscene combination of explosive diarrhea and projectile vomiting.

After that, a new and improved plan had begun to evolve.

"What are they?" the woman repeated, examining the vials in he r peripheral vision but never taking her eyes off Fade.

"What's the difference?"

"You want me to poison someone. I won't do it."

Fade frowned deeply and folded his arms across his chest, tapping th e trigger of his pistol impatiently. Ninety-nine percent of humanity wa s a complete waste of skin and he gets a woman with principles.

"Look," he said finally. "I don't mean to nitpick here, but I have a gun and you don't."

Karen Manning forced herself to stop pacing and instead stood in th e middle of the room taking slow, deep breaths and staring at the doo r only a few feet away. If she dove for it now, she could sprint dow n the hall, knock over a security guard or two, and be free in less tha n ten seconds.

She'd finally swallowed what little pride she had left and called he r father on the way home from throwing her badge at Pickering. He'd tol d her to turn around and come directly to his office. By the time sh e arrived, there were three people from one of the world's top publi c relations firms sitting in a conference and he was on the phone wit h the governor of Virginia. Apparently, he'd already spent over a hundred thousand dollars laying the groundwork for the day she cam e crawling back to Daddy. How embarrassing.

And now, here she was in the green room of The O'Reilly Factor, waitin g to be interviewed by one of the country's most vicious and highes t rated talk show hosts. Despite hours of intensive coaching by her ne w PR team and a warm-up interview on a local news show that had bee n thoroughly analyzed by a twenty-person focus group, she didn't fee l ready.

But ready or not, here she was. And when it was over, the famil y Learjet would immediately whisk her to a meeting with a top New Yor k law firm to see if a defamation suit against the department wa s feasible. Her father promised her that it was only a threat, but sh e knew that she was going to have to keep a close eye on him. He had a way of getting carried away when there was blood in the water.

Her cell phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket, hoping it wa s someone with a few last-minute words of wisdom. When she saw th e incoming number, she froze. This wasn't what she needed right now. Sh e needed to focus on what was ahead of her, not what was behind her.

Right?

"Hello, Fade," she said, putting the phone to her ear.

"I saw you on TV. Why didn't you tell me you'd quit? The dress was a little weird, though. You let your mom pick that one out, too?"

"The focus group loved it. Apparently it exuded competence withou t being overbearing."

"Focus group? Very smart, Karen. The media can hurt you, but it ca n also help you if you play your cards right."

"You know what would really help me?"

"Wait, don't tell me .. ."

"If you turned yourself in."

"I'm a little busy right now. Actually, I got a job."

"A job?"

"Yeah. I'm working in a bakery. Though, to be honest, I don't thin k it's going to be a long-term thing. Tell you what, give me a littl e more time and if you want, I'll let you kill me."

"How many times do I have to tell you " Karen got out before sh e realized she was shouting. "How many times do I have to tell you tha t I don't want to kill you."

"I know. You "

Fade suddenly went silent and she heard a quiet jingle over the phone.

Like the bell stores hung on their doors.

"Oops. It looks like I've got a customer .. ."

"A customer? Fade, what are you "

"Sorry. Gotta run."

The line went dead and she found herself staring dumbly down at th e phone. Why did she actually believe he was working in a bakery? An d why was he calling her? And who the hell was he? She shoved the phon e back in her pocket and started her deep breathing exercises again , trying unsuccessfully to put him out of her mind.

Who was he? The strangest mass murderer she'd ever met that's who.

Chapter
Thirty-Two.

While Egan's prior hotel room had been no prize, this one gave th e impression that it wasn't meant to be used for more than an hour at a time. In light of the fact that Strand was almost certainly pullin g out the stops to find him, he'd bypassed the hotel chains and settle d in an independent that happily accepted cash and false names, and tha t had no computer link to the outside world. Egan pulled a beer from a trash can full of ice, and flopped down on the bed. He'd considere d buying a new chalkboard, but what was the point? He'd alread y exhausted most of the possibilities for finding Fade. At this point a sticky note would probably do.

On the brighter side, Syd had become much more cooperative with a gu n barrel pressed against his knee, and Egan now had a manila envelop e filled with color copies of all Fade's phony driver's licenses an d passports. Thank God Syd was a complete coward Egan doubted he woul d have been able to pull the trigger. He wasn't sure, though. And tha t uncertainty bothered him.

He twisted the top off his beer and took a long pull. No poin t dwelling on obscure moral conundrums when he hadn't yet been able t o answer the obvious ones. Getting the IDs was a major step in the righ t direction and brought the prospect of actually finding Fade int o sharper focus. What was he going to do if he did? Would Fade be read y to talk or would he just start shooting? And, in the unlikely even t that he missed, would Egan shoot back?

The sad truth was that that was the easy scenario. A more likely on e would be that he'd figure out a way to creep up behind Fade and giv e himself the chance to safely shoot his old friend in the back. Tha t left him with two choices: yell something stupid like "Freeze!" an d give Fade a chance or just pull the trigger and take that chanc e away.

After fifteen minutes of concentrating on the problem, he'd gotte n nowhere. Maybe it was better that way. Worry about it when and if th e time came.

He picked up his new phone and dialed, letting himself sink farthe r into the formless pillows propped beneath his head.

"Hello?"

"I heard a thing on the radio today about the new Madonna record an d they didn't even mention you."

Elise laughed. "Thank God."

"When are the people who actually write the songs going to get a littl e respect?"

"Just not the way of the world, honey. Actually, I spoke to her, uh , people yesterday and they're already talking about me doing another on e for her next record. Apparently she really likes it."

Normally, he would have told her only to do it if she wanted but unde r the circumstances .. .

"It's probably not a bad little side business to get into, Elise."

"Yeah, but you know how I like to play the artistic martyr. Honestly , though, it's pretty easy money. I mean, you loop a beat that make s people want to shake their butts around, throw in a catchy hook, laye r on an ethereal, sexy vocal to give it that Euro feel she's going for , and then repeat for five minutes."