Authors: Quincy J. Allen
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary Fiction, #Dystopian
Chemical Burn (11 page)
Marsha had asked me a few times over the years where I’d been born, but I always tap-danced around the answer. She’d finally given up and simply considered me a competent man of mystery with a heart of gold … although I know she suspected something was very different about me. She knew more about me than most.
Without responding I picked up the cards and laid down another seven.
“Case?” Marsha injected, raising her voice a bit.
“Hunh?” I looked up, surprised, finally realizing that Marsha had been watching me. “Oh … this,” I said, smiling as I scooped up the cards. “I’m not, and we don’t. I was just thinking about something, and this occupies the front side of my brain. I have no idea what they mean.” I wrapped the cards up in the scarf again, slipped the bundle back in my coat, and stood up. “Marsha, can you do me a favor?”
“Anything, Case,” she said. I knew she meant it.
“Never say ‘anything’ before you know what I want,” I scolded her, but I had a smile. “Can you be closed Monday night? And let me have the keys?”
“You mean shut down the
back
of the place?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure. I’ve been meaning to take a break, and the crew wants to hit Vegas for a night or two. I’ll post it in the usual spots. You’ll have the place to yourself.” She hesitated a moment and then asked, “What’s this all about?”
“I can’t tell you anything other than that a friend is in trouble.” She knew what that meant, because she had been a friend in trouble once. When my friends were in trouble, it usually wasn’t for very long, and the people causing that trouble never fared well. She could attest to that personally. “Thanks, sweetie,” I said. “I owe you one.”
“We’ll work it out in trade, mister,” she said, smiling a bit wickedly. “Maybe I’ll bring a friend.” I knew she had always batted for both teams, frequently inviting me to join in, but I’d never taken her up on the offer. I’m old, and a bit old-fashioned, even for where I come from. There, people are particularly rigid, and I’d inherited quite a bit of that before my hasty departure.
“We’ll have to see about that,” I said, grinning. “Speaking of friends, how’s Sasha?”
“Sasha? Didn’t you hear? Fling of the month for both of us. She’s dating a Hollywood exec these days.”
“No kidding? You crazy girls. I could never keep up with two like you.”
“I’m thinking you probably could if you put your mind to it.” She leaned in half-seductively and half-jokingly. She ran her hands over my buttons, plucking at them gently. She raised a suggestive eyebrow.
“I’ll get here around eleven,” I said, holding my ground, “but I may not be done till one or two. I’ll lock up when I leave. You won’t even know I was here.”
She disengaged, laughing at me with her eyes. “That sounds fine.” She kissed me on the lips lightly and walked to the door, opening it. “Are you going to take very long back here?”
“A few more hours, and then Rachel will pick me up. We’re having lunch.”
“Do you need me to bring you back anything?” she asked.
“Nope. If I get hungry, I’ll hit the fridge behind the bar.”
“Make yourself at home, then. No one should be coming back here except Kenny and me until later tonight. And we’ll leave you alone unless you call.”
“Thanks, Marsha. You’re the best.”
“You say that to all the females in your life.”
I considered that for a moment. “True,” I said finally.
“Even that weird cougar of yours,” she added.
“Also true,” I added, grinning from ear to ear.
She closed the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.
I pulled out my phone, selected Rachel’s number and typed in “Grady’s 11am back room please.” I pressed SEND and reached into my jacket, pulling out the leather pouch and the pipe. I packed it, lit up, and pulled out the tarot deck again. Unwrapping it, I sat down and went through the motions of dealing. For two hours I robotically dealt cards while my brain continued to sort out the plan for learning everything else I needed to know about DiMarco’s operation and, more importantly, how to bring an end to DiMarco himself.
***
Everybody’s Not Dead
Rachel opened the door to the gambling parlor and peered in. I still sat at one of the poker tables, dealing tarot cards like a robot, my unlit pipe stuck in my mouth. She watched me go through the motions as she walked up behind the bar, poured herself a cola and walked back to the nearest of the two conversation pits. Reclining back and facing me, she straightened her slacks, crossed her legs, and waited patiently through another round of cards.
“
Ahem!
” she said loudly as I picked up the cards and prepared for another deal. My hand stopped in mid-motion, and I looked at her.
“Hello,” I said cordially.
“You know, one of these days that’s going to get you killed.” She shook her head. “I will never understand how you can be so intuitive, observant, brilliant, and everything else and yet be so totally and completely
not there
when you’re focused on something.”
“Any complaints about my flaws should be forwarded to the manufacturer,” I said calmly. “Besides, it would be impossible for me to get killed like that.”
“And why is that?” she asked dryly.
“Because, I only ever never notice my friends. Everyone else shows up on radar.” I grinned mischievously.
“What about that waiter?” she asked.
“I blame the mai-tais … and your dress,” I added, winking at her. I looked at my watch. “Eleven-o-five …” I twisted my face into a scowl. “You’re late,” I chided.
“I’m exactly on time,” she admonished, holding up her drink to emphasize that she’d been there a while. “You’re an airhead.”
I thought about that one for a few seconds. “Oh yeah,” I finally conceded, unable to argue with her. I quickly wrapped my cards in the scarf and stood up from the table. Slipping the bundle into my coat, I walked over to the bar, leaned over it, and pressed the intercom. “Marsha?” I called.
After a pause, “Yeah?”
“Could you send back another sickly?”
“Sure thing.”
I turned to Rachel. “You want a sickly?”
“You know those things make me barf. They’re like, half sugar. Besides,” she added holding up her drink and juggling it in front of me again, “I have something.
Remember?
”
“Oh yeah,” I replied and chuckled slightly. I turned back to the pickup and pressed the button. “Thanks, Marsha.”
“No problem, sweetie.”
“Now that beverages are attended to,” Rachel said slowly, “would you mind telling me where the hell you were for twenty-four hours?”
“Yep,” I said as I walked over to the conversation pit. “I mean, yep, I’ll tell you, not yep, I mind.” I tapped my pipe out into a giant, multi-colored, seventies-vintage ashtray on the coffee table.
“I know what you meant,” she said with mock irritation and covering a laugh. “Get on with it, would you?”
“Let me give you the
Reader’s Digest
version—”
That’s when Marsha walked in with my sickly-sweet. Rachel got a frustrated look on her face as Marsha winked at her, like they knew something I didn’t. I wondered about it but didn’t ask. Instead, I reached for my leather tobacco pouch.
“We should tell him,” Marsha said.
“Tell him what?” Rachel gave an almost worried look.
“What we were just talking about.”
“You don’t mean—”
“I do.” Marsha turned to me. “Justin,
you
have a conundrum.” She walked up and put the sickly in front of me.
“Marsha …” Rachel said, clearly uncomfortable.
I gave her a thoughtful look and finally said, “I know. That’s why I came in here.”
“Not
that
conundrum, you blockhead.” She put her hands on her hips. “Another one.”
I put the cards down. “Okay,” I said slowly. “Tell me about my other conundrum.”
“Well, when Rachel first came in, we had a chance to talk. She’d asked me about Sasha.”
“To which you replied, ‘Old hat,’ I’m sure.” I had no idea where this was going.
“That’s right. Sasha and I are still friends, but she has her sights set on money.”
“Which isn’t what
you
want,” I guessed.
“Right,” she confirmed.
Rachel cut in, “And I asked her if I should be sorry or happy to hear it.”
“Definitely happy.” Marsha said, with a grin. She turned her eyes to me, searching for something. “And then I asked if
you
and Rachel had anything going.”
My eyes got a little wider. “Uhhh … what?” It takes a lot to blindside me, but I have to admit, she could have hit me with a thirty-pound haddock and I wouldn’t have been more surprised.
Marsha clearly enjoyed my shock. “You know what she said?”
“Uhhh …” was all I could manage.
“She said, and I quote, ‘No, but lately things have been … oh, I don’t know … evolving. I can’t explain it.’” Marsha gave me a quirky smile. “And then she asked me if you and I were an item.”
I looked at Rachel, and I could tell she was afraid of the answer—not Marsha’s answer, but my reaction to all of this.
“I told her, ‘No, sweetie, but only because he’s never asked.’” Marsha got a concerned look on her face. “I think there’s something you need to do, Justin, and you don’t know what it is.”
I looked at Rachel’s face and saw the feelings there. I guess I’d known for a while. Hell, I was working through some strange feelings myself, but I really had no idea what to do.
“I … ummm …” I started.
“You’re so cute when you’re speechless,” Marsha added. She pinched my cheek like I was a chubby five-year-old. “I just thought you should add that little bit of information to whatever it is you’re working out.” Marsha picked up my empty cup and walked towards the door. She gave Rachel a smile and said, “He’s all yours.” She leaned over and kissed Rachel on the lips, holding it a bit. I knew the two of them had enjoyed a fling the previous year—a girls’ night out, a couple of pitchers of Margaritas, and then a cab-drive back to Marsha’s because they were both too drunk to drive. It hadn’t happened again—that I knew of, anyway—but I also knew both of them remembered it fondly. They’d become close friends over the years.
I could only sit there blinking at them. They parted and Rachel glanced at me, a funny sort of look on her face, like when someone spots a bewildered puppy with its head cocked sideways. She squeezed Marsha’s shoulder and then changed the subject to give me an out. “I meant to ask you,” she said to Marsha, “how’s the leg?”
In that instant, my respect for Rachel went up a few more notches, which is saying something. She’d taken Marsha’s ploy in stride, let the message get across, and then given me an out so I didn’t feel like my nuts were in a vice. I added that little fact to the long list of reasons Rachel is my favorite human.
“Stitches come out tomorrow,” Marsha replied as if nothing had happened.
“Nice!” Rachel cheered. “What about the other guys?”
“Still in the hospital, one in critical,” Marsha said with pride.
I finally came back to my senses. “She might be better than you are, Rachel,” I added quietly as I lit the pipe and took a few puffs. I gave Rachel a wink.
“
What?
” Rachel blurted, her pride clearly stinging. Marsha remained silent, but a wicked smile lit up her face. “We’ll just have to see about that!” she challenged. “I smell a showdown.” She sent a steely, almost predatory look at Marsha. “When did the doctor say you could train again?”
“A week,” Marsha replied, grinning confidently, “maybe less, but I’ll need a week to get back in shape after that if we’re going to scrap. That means training four or five nights straight, Justin. You up for it?”
“If I’m not working, sure. To be fair, you both should be training together.” I’d actually baited Rachel deliberately, knowing this was exactly where it would lead. The people I was dealing with all-too-frequently went after friends and family, and I wanted to make sure that both of them were as lethal as I could make them.
“Head-pads, full contact,” Rachel said boldly.
“You’re on!” Marsha replied. “And you ref, Justin.”
“Nope.” I rejected the suggestion seriously as I sipped my cappuccino. “No ref. This is the real deal. All I’ll be doing is counting points. You both go all out, and may the best woman win … no broken bones, though. Okay? I need you both in one piece. Well, one piece and one piece,” I added awkwardly, pointing to both of them, “not both of you attached.”
They looked at me a little wide-eyed at the suggestion, then they stared at each other with slightly narrow eyes, sizing each other up like the predators I’d been training them to be.
“Deal!” they said simultaneously. It warmed my heart … among other things. I couldn’t help but think to myself that the whole thing was kind of …
hot
. I almost felt guilty about it … almost.
“I have to get back to my customers,” Marsha said, heading for the door.
“Did you park in the back, Rachel?” I asked.
“Don’t I always?” she replied.
“Good girl,” I nodded to Rachel. “We’ll go out the back, Marsha,” I called as she opened the door.
“Take care …
both
of you,” Marsha said and walked out.
I sipped my cappuccino thoughtfully and then put the pipe back in my mouth. Rachel watched my face for a few moments, seeing the gears turning. She’d worked with me long enough to know when a plan was shaping up in my head.
There was, a dangerous one that would put both magnificent women in considerable danger, but I was increasingly certain they could both handle it. I came back to the moment and looked at Rachel.
“Okay. So where did I leave off?” I asked her.
“You hadn’t started, dammit.”
“Right.” So I told her about the limo and Natalia. Then I mentioned what Natalia had said about Xen being dead.
“WHAT?” Rachel cried. “Xen’s dead?” She looked horrified.
“No, no, no,” I said, holding up my hands. “It’s okay. Xen’s alive,” I added quickly.
“Alive?” Rachel’s voice filled with joy. “But you said—”
“She
thinks
he’s dead. So does everyone else, and we have to keep it that way, okay?”
“Of course,” she assured me.
“I got an email from him.
After
the Natalia said they found his remains in that vat. Xen’s no dummy. Whatever happened, he saw it coming. I’m betting he faked the whole thing himself to keep from getting killed. I may just give him my job. It seems I still have a best friend. Well, best guy friend,” I corrected. “You’re my best friend,” I added, winking at her.
I swear she almost blushed.
“Let’s go get some lunch,” I said, interrupting what little of the story I’d started. I got up and walked towards the back door.
“Are you serious?” Rachel asked in disbelief, but she followed along.
“Yeah. I’m hungry.” I opened the back door onto an alley where she’d parked her Porsche up against the wall.
“But what happened next? Damn it!” she fumed. I’m
always
doing this to her.
“I’m too hungry to finish,” I said, smiling. I got a thoughtful look. “Chinese or burgers?”
“Bastard,” she said quietly, convinced that I wouldn’t continue until I got food in my stomach.
“Do you read Russian?” I asked as we got into the car.
“No, only French, Spanish, and Latin,” she replied with a just a trace of venom. “I’m still mad at you.” She hated when I left her hanging. I had what she considered a filthy habit of dragging stories out simply for the tease value. She called it
taleus interruptus
, and she considered it to be almost as bad as the coitus kind, with a significantly lower possibility of lung cancer.
“Don’t worry, I’m gonna keep talking while we’re in the car, I promise. But before we get lunch, I need to see a busker downtown.”
“What the hell is a busker?” she asked.
“Street musician.” I gave her a look like she should already know that sort of thing. Then I winked at her and smiled. “In this case a Russian busker … Head for the six-hundred block of South Fairfax. Got a piece of paper and a pen in here?” I asked.
“You don’t have one in your coat? You have everything else in there.” She smiled sarcastically.
“I had an accident,” I mumbled a bit sullenly. The pen and paper had been in my front coat pocket rather than one of the inner ones when I hit the swimming pool. Believe me, it makes a difference. Both my $200 fountain pen and the notebook became … inoperable.
“In my pocketbook,” she said finally, enjoying a rare victory as she started up the car. As I turned my body to grab her purse, she revved the engine and dropped the clutch, squealing down the alley. My head bounced off the headrest as I struggled to get my hand on the pocketbook.
Without looking at me she said smugly, “You had that coming, you know.”
“Yes, I did.” I nodded, and we both laughed. I finally got my hand on the bag, opened it, sifted through the short list of items within—including a small Berretta—and easily came up with a small spiral notebook and a ballpoint.
Rachel always keeps a tidy purse
, I thought. I flipped open the notebook and scrawled some Cyrillic characters on it. I held it up so she could see.
“What does it say?” she asked.
“I don’t know … that’s why we’re going to see the busker.”