The Chameleon Fallacy (Big Bamboo Book 2) (38 page)

“
I crossed over into the house, leaving all the lights off. For all I knew, the lowlife that slugged me could still have been inside. It was real quiet, and there was a funny sweet smell. I tiptoed up to my room, to get my purse, but it was gone. I ran back down the stairs, and tripped over something. My hand landed on a face. A cold face. I guess I panicked, thinking it might have been Khuy. I probably screamed, I can’t remember. I hit the lights, terrified of what I was going to see.

“
It was carnage. There was blood everywhere. A little fat guy was lying dead at the bottom of the stairs, and a big dog that looked like it had been torn to pieces. I ran back out to the car I’d been tied up in. The keys were still in the ignition, so I got the hell out of there. I called Khuy a million times, but I just kept getting the machine. I needed a place to have a drink and calm down and think things through. I knew enough to lose the car, so I dumped it and grabbed a cab, and he dropped me off at the bar where I met you.”

“
So what are you going to do?”

“
I’m going to find out what happened. I’m going to start at the beginning and follow the yellow brick road until I find the wizard so I can go home. It’s what I do.”

“
Do you think something might have happened to…? Oh, I’m sorry.”

Fanny smiled. “To Khuy. No, hon. You don’t know him. Nothing can happen to him. He’s a force of nature. All I have to do is find him and everything will be A-okay. What about you?”

“
The same, I guess. Only I don’t really know where to begin. It’s not my kind of thing. I’m lost. I guess that’s what happens when you think with your heart instead of your head.”

“
You said it, hon. But don’t worry. As soon as I find Khuy we can…Shit!”

“
What?”

“
It’s Oleg. Fucking Oleg.”

“
Who?”

“
That evil, ugly bastard who just walked in. He works for Khuy. And those two mugs with him. They’re the guys Khuy was doing business with. They’re the ones that were at the house.”

“
Well, then. You can ask them what’s going on.”

“
No. No, I can’t. Something’s not right. I never trusted that creep Oleg. Something’s wrong. Something’s happened.”

“
What are you going to do?”

“
I need to find out what’s going on. I need to find Khuy. He needs me. Listen, you better split. Here’s my cell number. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

“
Maybe I should…”

“
No, hon, you got enough shit to deal with. I’ll call you.”

Asia leaned across and kissed Fanny on the cheek. She stood and walked toward the door. Oleg and the Americans turned to look at her ass as she passed. She stopped at the door and looked back at Fanny, but Fanny wasn’t there.

***

Some people can only listen to “Lara’s Theme” a certain number of times before it starts to get on their tits. Like once, for example. Some people just find balalaikas annoying, per se. Baby Joe was included on both counts.

They were in some atrocious tourist trap restaurant with people in baggy pants and fur hats leaping about all over the place, and some fat bitch in a blue and gold dress and too much makeup kept warbling on about dawn over the Dnieper or some shit. Oblov had thought they would be impressed.

“
I come here all the time,” Oblov lied. “You might say it’s my local.”

“
So are you making any progress, Major?” Agent White said.

“
Well, the investigation is underway, and I can assure you we are making strenuous efforts to…”

“
How hard can it be to find two fuckin’ Americans in Moscow?” said Agent Black.

“
Ah. Well, it appears they may be using aliases. And anyway, what makes you so sure the Americans are involved?”

“
Who wears fuckin’ cowboy hats, slim?”

“
Er. Cowboys?”

“
Correct. So who carries American flick knives?”

“
Listen, Major,” said Agent White. “A senior partner in a major American IT company, who we know to have been here on business with his two partners, and who we know to have been in contact with Khuy Zalupa, ends up in a Moscow morgue, with a hole where his occipital lobe used to be, at around about the same time as Mr. Zalupa manages to get himself seriously perforated. You don’t think the other two might be in a position to shed a little light on the mystery?”

Baby Joe stared into his vodka and decided he was through with the bullshit. He didn’t know why he was doing what he was doing, other than that it was something to be doing, a way of keeping at bay the thoughts and emotions that he was going to have to deal with sooner or later…but preferably later. Maybe he could even manage to get himself shot, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about it. He stood up.

“
Where ya goin’, slick?” Agent Black said.

“
Listen. Either this cunt couldn’t find a fucking giraffe at Fenway Park or he’s stalling. I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

Baby Joe left them staring after him as he walked out. He took a cab back to the hotel. Before he got out he turned to the driver. “You speak English?”

“
Da
. A little.”

Baby Joe took out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the driver. “That’s for the ride,” he said. He produced a hundred-dollar bill. He tore it in two, and handed one half to the driver. “This is for something else. I’m looking for two Americans. About forty. One’s a black guy with a thin face. The other guy is blond, going a bit thin on top. They probably aren’t using their real names. They’ll use taxis. Call some of your buddies. When I find them, you get the other half. I’m in room 2010, and my name is Young. Okay?”

Baby Joe climbed out and walked across the frozen pavement toward the revolving doors. A woman in furs walking a small dog on a leash looked at him. The dog was also wearing furs. The dog looked at him. Baby Joe resisted the temptation to boot it into left field and pushed in through the doors.

He walked up to the concierge desk and repeated the procedure he had used with the cab driver, except this time he used two bills. He went up four flights of stairs into the bar, ordered a bourbon and back, told the bartender to keep them coming, and went and took a seat at a table by the window.

He stared down into the gathering night and watched the lights coming on and the people rushing past bound for fuck-knows-where, and what happiness or sadness and what wealth or destitution, or what assignation or romantic interlude or which drudgery and servitude and thankless task, or which fascinating volume or what bowl of potatoes to be peeled, or which ledger to be kept or account laid down, or which desperate and holy mission, or to pursue what calling or cheer for what team, or which table burdened with steaming dishes and surrounded by laughing children or what lonely garret where the only things that spoke were ghosts and even then in whispers.

He was on his third boilermaker when he got a call from the concierge telling him that two Americans fitting the description, and calling themselves Crick and Watson, were staying in the Savoy Hotel, near the center, and it could be known by its symbol, which was a salamander, and that he owed the concierge two half-hundred-buck notes.

***

As Baby Joe was hanging up, Fanny Lemming was just stepping out of a cab outside the Savoy Hotel, having used the same method as Baby Joe, except having gotten away with fifty bucks. Fanny booked herself a room. She took a shower, redid her makeup, and called down to reception.

“
Hi. I wonder if you could help me. I met someone this evening who is staying in the hotel. I’m afraid I can’t remember his name. He’s an American. About forty. Dark-skinned. You wouldn’t happen to know…?”

“
I believe I remember. Yes. Here it is. Francis Crick. He’s in the Queen’s Suite.”

“
Oh, thank you very much. Could you put me through to his room, please?”

There were only a handful of customers in the rooftop bar. The lights were low, and as if by some prior agreement each person was sitting as geographically far as possible from everybody else. There was no music, and the quiet and the darkness outside and the physical and mental isolation of the solitary drinkers gave the impression of being on an airplane. There was only one person sitting at the bar when Fanny walked in to wait for Momo Bibbs. She took a stool a couple of seats away. The guy never looked at her.

Fanny was intrigued. It was so unusual as to be almost unheard of that she could walk into a bar looking as foxy as she did, and a guy wouldn’t even turn his head. Even the gay guys gave her the once-over, and that guy looked about as gay as John Wayne in a beaver hat. He was motionless. As still as a graven image, with a bleak and forbidding expression on his rugged face. She felt drawn toward him somehow, not in a sexual way, but as if he somehow generated his own gravity. She studied his reflection in the mirror, cautiously, alert in case he should look up. But he just stared into his drink. His face was scarred, and his eyes were a piercing, pale blue. He was like one of the characters she invented for her books. Somebody who didn’t exist, but ought to.

Fanny made a fuss about ordering her drink, but the performance did not distract the man from his thoughts, and still he paid her no attention. The man downed his drink and indicated to the barman.

The barman walked over. “Same again, Mr. Young?” he said.

Baby Joe nodded.

“
Fuck,” said Fanny.

Baby Joe turned his ice blue eyes on her. His expression was impossible to read, but she thought she detected just a trace of cruel humor there.

“
Excuse me?” he said.

“
Oh, er. Nothing. I’m sorry, I was just…I have to call someone.”

***

Just as the feeble northern sun was struggling to make headway against the massed clouds that hung gloomily over the city, and a dull leaden light began to undress the night, three conversations were taking place more or less simultaneously.

***

“
If that’s the best fucking restaurant in Moscow, I’d hate to eat in the worst. I must have lost ten pounds. I’m going to go back there and complain.”

“
Crispin. Please don’t shout. I don’t feel so great myself.”

“
Well, if you will go traipsing about to who-knows-what den of iniquity. Without me, I might add,” Crispin added pointedly.

The phone rang.

“
Get that, Crispin, will you please? I don’t have the energy.”

“
Yes, hello,” Crispin said. “One moment, please. It’s for you. A woman. An American.”

Asia jumped up out of the bed and grabbed the phone. “Fanny. Hi. Yes, I…You what? When? I mean, where? Okay. Okay. Right away.”

Asia dropped the phone in the cradle and ran to the wardrobe. “Crispin, come on, get dressed. Hurry.”

“
Where are we going?”

“
To see Baby Joe.”

***

“
Lee, Lee. Wake up.”

Endless opened his eyes. Momo was standing over the bed.

“
What the fuck’s going on?”

“
The broad, she’s here.”

“
What broad?”

“
The writer. Zalupa’s woman. She’s here.”

“
Where?” Endless said, getting to his feet and reaching for his pants.

“
Here. In the fucking hotel.”

“
How do you know?”

“
She called my room. She’s waiting for me in the bar.”

“
Shit.”