Rogue Alliance (37 page)

             
Now
,
it was ringing and he was ready to talk with who ever was on the other end.

Dragging the IV along with him, he crossed the room, opened the drawer and flipped open the cheap phone. He didn’t say a word. The line had a faint static but was otherwise silent.

             
Eventually,
the caller spoke up.

             
“I hope that you don’t think that just because our first attempt was unsuccessful that we’re just going to give up and forget about you.”

             
“Why would I make such a naïve presumption?”
Brennan asked.

             
“Yeah, I guess you’re too smart for that. Why don’t
you come back on your own free
will and we’ll work something out peacefully.”

             
Brennan was taking note of the man’s voice and speech, which was soft-spoken and articulate. He imagined extreme wealth and intelligence.

             
“I don’t consider what occurred the other night with your hired henchman to be very peaceful
,” he said,
“
so I’m going to have to take a pass on that offer. Why don’t you come on down her
e and deal with me face to face?
I’d love to take care of this once and for all.”

             
“No. I don’t think so,
”
the caller laughed.

             
“Who are you
,
anyway?”

             
“I’m an investor who doesn’t take too kindly to anyone who destroys years and year’s worth of my lucrative investments. I had a long term goal with that institute and your training which I held very dear. And I’m not particularly thrilled with the fact that you killed Dr. Shinto, either.”

             
Brennan didn’t respond.

             
“N
ow that plan A has been unsuccess
ful, that leaves us with plan B. U
nless
,
of course
,
you change your mind about turning yourself in.”

             
Brenna
n despised the casual manner in which the
caller was speaking about the attempt on his life
,
as if it were a game.

             
“I’m guessing that since you brought plan B to my attention, you want to tell me about it,” he said wanting to draw out the conversation. It occurred to him that this person probably knew about his history, his life before the institute.

             
“Very perceptive,” the caller said in a smug voi
ce, “y
es, I think you should know what plan B is. I think it might change your mind about how you choose to move forward. You see, during your…training, we planned for the possibility that a scenario such as this might develop. We knew that we couldn’t just have you out in the world if you ever escaped so Dr. Shinto and I came up with a solution.

             
“We not only made you dependent on human blood for survival, we made you dependent on a very specific type of blood. We injected a protein into the infusions we gave you which your body was slowly conditioned to need. Without it, your red blood cells will begin to break down before they can fully mature, as if you haven’t received the transfusion at all. Soon it won’t matter how much blood you consume. Your body simply won’t be able to process it properly without this protein.

             
“It will be a much slower process than if you were de
prived of supplement altogether -
possibly up to six months, but it will eventually kill you. I’m sure you’ve already begun to experience a tiredness and fatigue in your body that you haven’t been able to shake.”

             
Brennan was suddenly cold to the core and very aware of the truth of what he was being told. He had been more tired than usual lately but had chalked it up to the chaos of his current situation. What he hadn’t been willing to admit was the nagging suspicion that it was more complicated than that. Now his hunch was confirmed and he knew that he would never have the future he’d dreamed of.

             
He was clenching his teeth. Forcing his muscles to relax he spoke in a slow, direct tone.

             
“I’m not turning myself in. I’d rather die than give you the satisfaction, so on to plan B.”

             
Snapping the phone shut and tossing it on the bed he stared down at the almost black liquid which was still slowly coursing into his left arm. He’d always hated his dependence on the substance and now even it wouldn’t save him. Anger spiked and soared.

             
Grabbing the plastic tubing
,
he yanked it out with a vicious tug. Blood spurted from his vein. He ignored the mess and threw the equipment at the bedroom wall, knocking out a basketball-sized chunk of drywall. He didn’t care. Destruction was the only thing that was going to relieve his pain and frustration. Picking up the small kitchen table
,
he tossed it across the room and it shattered the television imagining his dreams breaking into a million pieces with it.

             
With
his
chest heaving
,
he looked around and felt no reprieve. He grabbed a dishtowel from the stove and pressed it to his arm. The room was closing in on him. He needed to get out of there. Not knowing or caring where he was going
,
he grabbed the keys to the hummer and fled down the stairs. He had to get away for a
while. He needed to think. If he was going to be dead within six months
,
he had to decide how he wanted to live the rest of his life.

FORTY-ONE

             
Shyla stepped out of the LAX terminal and into
the fall sunshine as it
filter
ed
through layers of smog. Scrunching her nose
,
she realized that she’d forgotten the way home smelled of carbon monoxide and hot asphalt. Even in early October, LA was a toasty seventy-eight degrees.

             
Donning her sunglasses
, she hailed a cab. Before she
left Redding she made a few calls and found that Ricardo had been released from jail on a technicality. Before her unexpected transfer to Redding
,
she’d been on his case. She was quite familiar with his behavior and knew exactly where to find him.

             
Opening the back door of the cab she tos
sed her duffle bag in.

             
“The Wet Spot
on 78th
,
”
she said.

             
The driver looked over his shoulder with raised eyebrows.

             
“You sure, Lady? I’ve been to that place. It’s not somewhere someone like you wants to hang out.”

             
“I’m sure.”

             
As they drove through town, she considered the fact that the city where she’d lived for the last decade no longer felt homey. It felt crowded
, yet empty;
kind of how she usually felt no matter where she was at.

             
Her cell phone buzzed as a text came in. It was Carmen reminding her about dinner on Friday. She smiled. The girl was driving her nuts. How in the hell would she forget about something when Carmen was bringing it up every single day?

             
They pulled into the bar’s
large parking lot.
On a Wednesday at noon, there were only
a few cars our front; probably a few people laying down bets for the fights later that

night. Gambling wasn’t legal,
but everyone knew that The Wet Spot
had a large clientele who participated in their back room bets.

             
On the surface it was just a grungy titty bar. The dancers started their shift at lunchtime so business would likely start picking up soon. She tipped the driver and slid out of car with her duffle bag over her shoulder.

             
“You want me to wait, Lady? I can run the meter.”

             
She shook her head.

             
“No thanks. I’ll be here a while.”

             
“If you say so,” he answered
,
but looked hesitant to drive away.

             
Shyla
turned and walked into the bar. It was
a
cliché; dark and reeking of smoke despite the ban on smoking in public fa
cilities
. It was an open space with a long bar on the far right wall and a t-shaped stage which divided the room in half. Only one dancer was on stage. Her shape looked unbalanced with an Auschwitz-thin build and enormous fake breasts bulging out of her chest, looking like they would burst. Shyla wondered how the girl could stay upright rather than toppling over.

             
She scanned the room. Ricardo was sitting in a small booth with two other men. This establishment was where he did most of his dealing as well as satiated his appetite for girls and gambling.

             
As she approached, Ricardo spotted her first. His eyes widened in alarm then darted around the room like a scared animal pondering its chances at escape.

             
“Morning gentlemen, mind if I have a few words with Ricardo?”

             
“Well, hello, pretty girl, what can we do for you?” the man opposite Ricardo said. His face had two days worth of stubble and when he smiled she could see a gaping hole where his left incisor should have been.

             
She gave them a friendly smile.

             
“I just have a little business to shore up with Ricardo. It won’t take long. Sorry to break up your conversation.”

             
They stood up.

             
“No problem at all,” the man said,
“w
e’ll be over at the bar if you decide you want to hang out for a bit. We’ll buy you a beer or whatever it is that you like to drink.”

             
“Long time no see,
”
she said, sliding into the booth with a small grin,

             
“What are you doing here? If any
one here catche
s wind that you’re a cop, they won’t be so friendly about it. All I gotta do is squeal. You pigs oughta recognize that.”

             
“Don’t piss me off, Ricardo. I’ve had a shitty week and I’m in no mood to deal with your bullshit. If you were gonna call me out, you would’ve done it already. But you didn’t and you won’t because you wanna hear what I’ve got to say and you know you’re walking a thin line with the law already.”

             
He adjusted his ball cap and leaned back in the seat as if resigned to the idea that he was going to do as she said.

             
“Fine,
” he sighed,
“
what do you want? The cops already asked a shit-ton of questions. I didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. What makes you think I’m going to tell you anything?”

             
“You don’t have much of a choice right now. Victor’s in jail at this very moment
,
which is why you aren’t already dead. But he won’t be in there long and
,
as soon as he’s out
,
you can bet your ass that he’s going to be looking you up.”

             
Ricardo squirmed in his seat and looked down at the table.

             
“Don’t know why he’d have a beef with me. I ain’t done nothin’ to piss him off.”

             
“Oh, see, that’s where you’re fooling yourself
,
Ricardo. Just because you didn’t talk to the authorities in hopes of demonstrating your loyalty to Victor,
it
doesn’t mean he’s going to forget that you stole his goods, and abused his trust to begin with. You should know by now that Victor is a ruthless business man. You violate his code once and you’re out. And by out, I mean dead.”

             
Ricardo’s gaze shot up and searched hers.

             
“I know you’re just trying to get me
to admit that I worked with him,” he said, “but
I didn’t
. S
o fuck off.”

             
He started to slide out of the booth but Shyla wasn’t done.