I Shot You Babe (16 page)

Samuel: Your resume is quite impressive. Sixteen years of military experience, extensive counterterrorism work. I’m surprised anyone could afford you. What’s the catch?

Creasy: I drink.

—
M
AN ON
F
IRE

“Are you going to kill me or what?” a tired and bored Arje Dekker asked me an hour later. I sat across from him in the holding room. He was chained to the wall in a way that allowed him to move around a cot, chair and toilet. I was perfectly safe. A little drunk, but okay.

“I just don’t get it,” I droned on for the fortieth time. “How did I miss it?”

Dekker rubbed his eyes. “I’ve told you, I don’t know. I thought she was this naive little schoolgirl too.”

I sat up. “I never thought she was naive.” I poured Arje another paper cup half-full of scotch and withdrew to a safe distance.

He drained it in one gulp. That made me sad inside. It was no way to treat such a good single-malt.

“Look, Bombay, what does it matter in the grand scheme of things? We’re men of action.”

I giggled at his words and he smirked.

“Men like us don’t get used by women. We use women.”

“I don’t use women, Dekker.”

An ugly smile crossed his face. “Oh, no? Ronnie said you had all kinds of rich-housewife carney groupies. Are you telling me you weren’t taking advantage of their fantasies to get laid?”

“You know,” I said a little too slowly, “your English is really good for a Dutch mercenary.”

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, then just leave so I can get some sleep before I’m killed.”

I shook my head. “Extra sleep isn’t going to help, my friend.”

“And drinking yourself into a stupor over that little bitch isn’t helping you either.”

“Hey! Don’t call her that!” I rose to my feet to…to do what? I sat back down.

We didn’t speak for a moment. I did refill his cup. To his credit, he drank slower this time.

“I don’t know why you are talking to me about this,” Dekker said quietly. “I’ve got no experience with feelings toward a woman.”

I lifted my glass to the light and turned it slowly, examining the amber fluid. “Well, I guess I just needed someone to talk to.”

He snorted. “And you thought that someone was me? I am surprised. After all, you see me as some kind of genocidal monster.”

I was a little defensive. “I’ve seen your file, Arje. I’ve seen what you have done to women and children. Just for fun.”

Dekker shook his head. “Back to that, are we?”

“Are you denying it?”

That would be stupid. I don’t believe everything I read. But the Bombay network has always been completely accurate. Why would the council lie about Dekker’s history?

“Yes. I am denying it.”

“Well, that’s damned convenient,” I shouted. “Now that you face your death, I’m not surprised that you’d recant.”

“How can I recant something I never said in the first place?” Arje said quietly. “You are the one with the faulty source, not me.”

I started to pour more scotch, but stopped myself. “Let’s drop it. I shouldn’t have come down here.” I stood and collected my bottle.

He looked me in the eyes, causing me to sit back down. “I guess if I was to have any regrets, that might be the big one.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “It would’ve been nice to be in love. You got that over me.”

I snorted. “Yeah. And I really picked a good one.”

Arje Dekker got up from his chair, walked over to his cot and lay down on it. “Turn out the lights when you go. I need to get my beauty rest for the execution to come.”

I didn’t want to go. I wanted to talk more. But I did as he asked and left him. I took the bottle of scotch with me. I’m not a total idiot.

Sartre’s shrieks woke me from a dream where Dekker and I were in the Brazilian jungle fighting off a tribe of Amazonian women who all resembled Veronica Gale. Staggering from my bed, I pulled some fruit from the basket on the table and broke it up, tossing it inside her cage. While she jumped greedily on the mango, I had the distinct impression she was pissed off at me for my lack of presentation.

A knock at the door revealed my mother and father holding a platter of scrambled eggs, sausage and biscuits. I wearily let them in. After all, it had been a long time since I’d had eggs. There weren’t many chickens in Mongolia.

“That’s my boy.” Dad smacked me on the back, launching my hangover into overdrive. I excused myself to clean up a bit. One shower later I was clean. Hungover, but clean.

“Your mum says you aren’t yourself,” Dad said with a grin. “She thinks it’s because of some lady friend in Mongolia.”

“I’m all right,” I managed as I finished my second helping of eggs. The food was giving me a little strength. “It’s nothing.”

My parents looked at each other. They’d always been able to read me. I’d been lucky in that they never once questioned anything I did. They seemed just as proud of my decision to become a carney as they were when I got my Ph.D. from Yale. This prying into my emotional affairs was something new.

“Squidge,” Mum started, “I’m a little worried about you.”

“Why?” I’d given them no reason to worry. How did they know?

Mum handed half an orange to Sartre, who was our living centerpiece, before continuing. “You haven’t killed your vic yet. That’s not like you.”

Oh. This was pretty unusual for a Bombay. There had been rare occasions when one of us would drag a live one home, or there wouldn’t be holding cells on the property. But keeping one alive so I could get relationship advice from him must have seemed a bit strange.

“I saw the surveillance tapes and know you went in there, but we’re having some difficulty with the sound.” Mum frowned. “I don’t know what we were thinking, sending Missi off on assignment. Nothing works here without her.”

“You were spying on me?” I asked.

Dad nodded and my mother shot him a deadly look, causing him to dive into another helping of sausage.

“I was worried about you. Is there something you are trying to get out of him before you take him out?”

That sounded good. “Yes. He has some information I need and he’s not coughing it up.” She would believe that. Obviously a vic wasn’t going to spill his guts before we literally spilled his guts. He’d try to keep any information he had to prolong his life span.

“Oh. Okay.” Mum looked distracted. “So, when will you do it then?”

I sighed and leaned back from the table. “Soon. I promise. I just have to do a little research first. That’s all.”

We finished breakfast and, after kicking my parents out of my rooms, I hit my laptop. There were a couple of things I wanted to look up before I did anything else.

The next two days were a blur. I spent a lot of time online and calling in favors to get some information. My mother made frequent visits to see when I was going to clear my assignment. I didn’t see the other members of the council, but I knew she was getting pressure on this.

The hardest part was forcing myself not to find out who Drew was. It wasn’t easy, but I was so torn up about Veronica’s admission that I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Drew seemed like a nice guy. Who was I to say otherwise? Besides, cyberstalking him would probably just make me mad. And I might find out he’s a better man than me. That would suck big-time.

“So, what do you think?” I said to Dekker on one of my late-night visits to his cell. I made sure to permanently disable the sound on the surveillance cameras. It was just enough to confuse the council but not enough to incur Missi’s wrath when she returned.

Dekker rubbed his face. “Jesus, Cy. Will you just end it already? I swear that your drama is making me want to kill myself.”

“Come on, just one more answer.” He was right: This was beyond weird. I was the first to admit it. But something about these midnight sessions made me feel a little better. I thought that Dekker should be happy he was helping in some minor way. Apparently, he wasn’t.

“Okay, okay. I think you should just confront her.”

“What? You’ve been telling me all this time that I should forget about her! How can you flip-flop like that?”

“You obviously need closure.” He held out his hand. “Now can I please have my cyanide pill?”

“You want to die now?” That was a shock.

“No. But this is beyond annoying. You are keeping me alive to be your analyst. And after all this time, you still haven’t asked me about the truth.”

I shook my head. “Not this again. Everyone on death row says they’re innocent. And more than likely they’re not. Why should I believe you?”

Dekker spread his hands wide. “I’m not going to beg. I’ve done some bad stuff in my career. But you keep accusing me of genocide and torture. And while I’m guilty of many things, those two are not on the list.”

I cocked my head to the side, feeling a little like a spaniel who thought he might have heard the word
treat
but wasn’t sure. “Look. My evidence is credible. And you admit you’ve committed acts of evil. Why should I believe you?” Seriously, this saw was getting dull.

“Why do you insist on pigeonholing me?” he said quietly, and the words shook me.

“What…what did you say?”

“You heard me, Bombay.” Dekker steepled his fingers. “I have killed a lot of men. Most of them were armed. I’ve given orders for torture to retrieve information. But I’ve never directly participated in it, nor have I ordered the torture of civilians. I’ve been paid handsomely for my work. But I’ve never tolerated the torture or murder of women or children.” He punctuated his monologue with a shrug.

I stared at Arje Dekker for a long time. His words wormed their way through my brain and froze there. They caused just enough doubt…just enough to make me stop and think. Oh, there was no doubt when it came to the fact that Dekker was a gun for hire. There was no doubt that he’d chosen to work for whoever paid him most, good or bad. But the fact that some of what he said made me question my beliefs was important. Dekker might, indeed, be innocent of the gravest offenses—the ones that would make me want to kill him.

“You’re right,” I said finally. “I did pigeonhole you.” His expression did not change as I continued. “And maybe that makes you right about other things too.” I stood, gave him a brief nod, and left Arje Dekker alive.

Dignon: Just hear me out. It’s called Hinckley Cold Storage. Here are just a few of the key ingredients; dynamite, pole-vaulting, laughing gas, choppers—can you see how incredible this is gonna be? Hang gliding, come on!

—
B
OTTLE
R
OCKET

I knocked on the door and stepped back to await an answer. Nothing. I rapped a little more firmly. Still nothing. It was two o’clock on a sunny afternoon. I decided to wait it out on the swing on the porch.

A few neighbors gave me odd glances as they came and went, but no one said anything. It was a hot day, but I sat in the shade and there was a slight breeze. My quarry would be home soon enough. And then I would have the answers I needed to send me back to my RV. I might even be able to hook up with a few county fairs before state fair season. The thought of that made me smile.

“Cy?” Ronnie seemed shocked as she came up the sidewalk. She looked around furtively. “What are you doing here?”

I rose from my seat and said nothing as she approached. I didn’t owe her anything more than what I had in my hands. I’d fulfilled my promise. That was all that was important.

What I’d underestimated was the effect seeing her again would have on me. My stomach shrank and my heart skipped several beats, no matter how calm I tried to appear. I hoped she wouldn’t notice.

The sun illuminated her light blonde hair. The pale skin that had made me shiver in Mongolia had been replaced by a bronzed glow. It took everything I had not to scoop her up and carry her up to her bed. Until I remembered that it wasn’t just her bed, but Drew’s as well. The lust was instantly replaced with anger. Anger was good. I could handle anger.

“Don’t worry,” I said as nonchalantly as I could (which was considerably less nonchalantly than I’d hoped). “I just had to drop something off.”

She looked around. “Did you talk to Drew?”

“Again, don’t worry. I have nothing to tell him. What happened in Mongolia stays in Mongolia.” She started to speak, but I didn’t want to hear it. “Besides, I’m just fulfilling my promise to you.” I handed her the envelope I had brought with me and turned and walked away.

“You are an arrogant idiot,” she shouted after me, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of turning around. Mostly because she was right about the idiot part. I didn’t need anyone to remind me of that.

“Quit running away from your problems and talk to me, dammit!” Ronnie shouted.

I turned and stormed back to her. “You are not my problem. I am my problem. The fact that I fell in love with you on the steppes of Mongolia is my problem. But you don’t love me. You told me that last time I was here.”

“I never said I didn’t love you,” she said quietly.

“You said you loved Drew. That was enough.” I left out the other complications, mainly that she would never fit into my world and her mere existence would constantly remind me of my faults. I could never tell her that.

“Why do you want to walk away?” she asked.

“I don’t want to. I don’t like walking away. I just feel that this is what is best for both of us.”
What is best for me.
“I want you, and I can’t have you.”

“What…what does that mean?” Ronnie’s voice quavered, cutting me to the quick.

“Trust me, Ronnie. Pigeonholing me is just the tip of the iceberg. You don’t want to know about what’s beneath the water.” Ooh. That was good. A
Titanic
reference. Was that the best I could do?

“You are saying I don’t want to know who you really are?”

I shook my head. “I’m saying I don’t want you to know who I really am.” With that, I turned and headed for the car.

Good-bye, Veronica Gale.
And that would be the last time I would ever let my heart get in the way of my dignity.

I was mildly surprised as I drove away that she didn’t run after me. What did I expect? That she’d throw herself at my feet and beg my forgiveness? That clearly wasn’t going to happen. I must admit I did check the rearview mirror. She looked pissed. Her arms were folded over her chest and her face was red. That was a little bit satisfying.

Within twenty-four hours, I was back in my motor home, driving aimlessly around the state of Ohio. Why? I don’t know. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Sartre had mellowed somewhat after her international adventures. I took in a movie now and then and had dinner wherever I stopped for the night. I was getting my groove back by burying the memories of betrayal.

Ronnie didn’t e-mail me. Not that I expected her to after what I’d dropped off. I’m sure she was not happy to find a complete file on the wrongdoings of one Senator William Anderson. Oh, yes, the sexual liaisons were just a small part of what that man had done wrong. I gave her a two-inch-thick file folder detailing some pretty shady money-laundering schemes involving the French government and several accounts of bribery in a “pay to play” scam he was running. I was pretty sure she hated me now.

I didn’t feel the need to give her too much information. I wanted an
I told you so
moment but didn’t want to crush her completely. Oh, and I also looked up Drew. It wasn’t hard to find out who he was. Not that I would do anything with the information.

Turned out Drew was Drew Connery, a Rhodes scholar and former campaign manager for the Johnson County Democrats. He ran a Web site on the conspiracy theories behind Senator Anderson’s death. Well, great. I hope she shared the information I gave her with him. Let them both stew in their sullenness.

Okay, so I entertained a few fantasies of smashing his face in, strapping him to a space shuttle or feeding him to a pool full of piranha. But I thought there was something to be said for not acting on that.

I went back to Santa Muerta to make sure Dekker was all right. Without consulting anyone, I took him with me off the island. It was a pretty drastic act on my part. But until I could sort things out, I wasn’t quite ready to kill him. And if I didn’t, the council would.

“Why am I here?” Dekker asked as he sat in my favorite chair drinking my favorite scotch.

“Because I don’t want to kill you,” I said as I chopped up a salad for Sartre.

“And why don’t you want to kill me?”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Dekker chuckled at that. No doubt he found this whole scenario amusing. I’d rigged up an ankle-and-wrist collar system loosely based on the invisible fencing idea for dogs. If he tried to lunge, kick or leave, he’d be shocked senseless.

“Nice place you got here,” he continued. “Like a mobile command base.”

I nodded. “You should see my summer home. It’s a Volkswagen Microbus.”

My guest laughed at that. That was odd—thinking of him as my guest instead of my vic. It was only a matter of time before the council caught on to the fact that I hadn’t cleared my assignment.

Interestingly enough, just as I thought this, my cell phone rang.

“This is Coney,” I answered, hoping it was just my dad calling with the football scores. I didn’t really follow the game, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Coney? It’s your aunt Carolina. Where is Dekker?”

“What? You mean he’s missing?”

“I’ve sent you something.” She hung up before I could respond. Within seconds, a UPS courier knocked on my door.

“Dude, you are hard to find,” the pimply kid said as I signed the release for the package.

“Apparently not,” I replied as I shut the door in his face. Sartre mistook the sound for the fridge door and began
wheek
in
g.
I tossed her some spinach and sat down to open the envelope I’d been sent.

Son of a bitch.

If I were to look at things philosophically, I would have to say that I am not a paranoid person. I knew the council watched us to an extent, but I didn’t think they knew everything about us. At least, I didn’t before I opened that damned envelope.

There were a lot of things going through my mind as I drove through the night to Iowa. I injected Dekker with a sleeping agent. He let me. Maybe he was tired of all this too. Once the caffeine kicked into overdrive, even stranger thoughts took over. I toyed with the idea of the existence of God. Something larger than me seemed to be at work here. That was the only way to explain how I got a summons from the council asking me to return to Santa Muerta with both Dekker and one Veronica Gale.

Oh, sure, it might have been a coincidence. I’d feel a whole lot better if that were the case. It would be so convenient to believe that. But this all seemed too arranged. After five hours of trying to figure out how it happened, I gave up and pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot in the Quad Cities to get some sleep.

I reread the file. There was no doubting its intent. I was being ordered to bring these two people before the council. They had a lot of questions. And it was my guess that they wouldn’t let either Ronnie or Arje live through the day. That wasn’t like the council. Well, it was exactly like the old council. But our folks were in charge now, and they were different. At least, they were supposed to be.

I probably don’t need to mention that I didn’t sleep well. I thought about leaving Dekker there and just going myself to the island. I sure as hell didn’t want to involve Ronnie in any of this. But if I left them here, it could be a trap, and someone else from the family might grab them or worse. What a mess. Freud didn’t have dilemmas like this.

As I downed my coffee the next morning, I realized something: I was in Carolina Bombay’s hometown. I could stop by and see her and ask her about my orders. Yes. That would work. Aunt Carolina would have to give me something to work with. Mainly because I wouldn’t leave her house until she did.

I called first, because I’m not rude. Carolina sounded thrilled that I was in town. By the time I got to her house, my cousins Gin and Dak had joined her for a little family reunion. In spite of the fact that this was business, I was happy to see them.

“Coney!” Gin squealed as she hugged me. Dak grinned from behind her, holding his son’s hand. Louis smiled up at me.

“Hey, cuz. Great to see you two.” And I meant it.

Carolina emerged from the dining room carrying a tiny, redheaded infant. She introduced the baby as Dak and Leonie’s daughter, Sofia.

“You guys sure are settling down,” I observed. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined Dak married with kids.

“So when will this happen to you?” Gin asked.

I winced. A month or so ago, I would’ve thought it possible. Now it seemed like I would never start a family. With a twinge of surprise, I found myself feeling sad about that.

I took the baby from my aunt and cradled her in my arms. “I don’t think so.” Sofia cooed and promptly fell asleep. She smelled like talcum powder, and I realized I was sniffing her head.

“Yeah, right.” Dak laughed.

I tried to smile. I really did. But something about holding that baby made me feel sick inside. I cursed the Bombay family for taking this chance away from me. Carolina brought out some wine and cheese, then took the baby back. I watched her expression of unadulterated bliss.

“I know Georgia would be a wonderful grandmother,” Carolina said, looking directly at me.

“I think you’re right,” I said. But that was impossible. First of all, my idiot brother, Richie, had to go and get himself killed—which was okay, because I was pretty sure any spawn he had would’ve been born with the mark
666.
And second, well, unless I got a surrogate, there wasn’t much hope for my procreating.

“What brings you to the area?” Gin asked as her daughter, Romi, burst into the room only long enough to grab her cousin Louis and run off.

“An assignment. Your mom called. I thought I’d get some details.”

I watched as everyone looked at one another. While it wasn’t unheard-of for Bombays to talk over their assignments, it was still pretty rare.

“Should we leave?” Dak started to rise to his feet.

I waved him back down. “No. Stay. It doesn’t matter to me.”

In fact, the only person it would matter to was Carolina. She was a member of the council. If it was top-secret, she’d let us know.

My aunt seemed to think about this for a moment. “No, it’s okay. What did you want to know?”

“Why do you want me to bring these two people back to Santa Muerta?”

“What two people?” Gin asked.

“My girlfriend and my former vic.” There was a stunned hush. I don’t know if that was because they were surprised I had a girlfriend or at the fact that any vic was considered “former” and not “late.”

Carolina nodded. “You didn’t clear your assignment. You brought Vic to the island, then took him off…alive. We want to know why.”

“And the reason I am supposed to bring Veronica Gale into all of this?”

“We think she knows too much,” Carolina said slowly. She knew she had to be careful. Both Gin and Dak had involved their mates in the family and almost had to kill them.

“I was careful,” I said, hoping that would be enough.

“We have to make sure,” my aunt said evenly. “For everyone’s safety.”

“I can’t let you kill her. I won’t allow it. If we leave her alone, she will never know anything.”

Carolina shook her head. “You know the rules, Coney. Unless you marry her and tell her everything, she is dangerous to the family.”

“That’s not going to happen, Aunt Carolina.” I felt a stab of pain. I wanted to marry Ronnie. But there were too many complications.

“What?” Gin shouted. “That’s so wrong!”

“What are you complaining about?” Dak asked her. “You’re retired, remember?”

His sister shot him a look that would’ve eaten paint off a wall.

“That doesn’t matter. I still think it’s unfair.”

Carolina spoke up. “This is the wrong business for fairness, Gin.”

“I don’t like it either,” Dak said. I was thinking I might not have to say anything at all. “The council once put a hit on my wife.”

His mother nodded. “I can see that. However, sometimes there are gray areas when it comes to a job. It’s not easy to come up with reasons all the time. You will just have to trust that the council knows what it’s doing.”