Flame (22 page)

“Don’t sound like you,” Ogden said musingly. “Not judging by what we know about you.”

“Which is?”

“That you’re an asshole,” Butcher said softly.

Ogden ignored Butcher. He said, “You don’t have a history of sulling up like a possum when trouble comes your way. If you’re nothing else you’re a determined asshole”—a nod to Butcher—“who keeps scrambling no matter what. No, more than determined. Obsessed.”

Carver was tired of hearing himself described that way. “It’s hard to be obsessed with something when you have no choice. When you’ve been forced into it.”

Butcher said, “Speakin’ of forcin’ somethin’ into somethin’ else,” and pressed with the knife point hard enough to make Carver gasp and draw back his head, arching his back as if sitting at military attention. What Butcher wanted to see.

Ogden sat quietly for a while with his head bowed, thumb and forefinger toying with the crease in his pants. Headlights from passing cars now and then illuminated his thoughtful features. “Know what I think?” he said, after a truck had passed and rocked the parked Ford with a brief turmoil of wind. He kept his head lowered thoughtfully, staring at the glove compartment. “I think you didn’t short-circuit and go to Miami at all. I think you calculated we wouldn’t know what to do if you simply dropped from sight, so we’d do nothing. Wouldn’t that be just like you, to find a move we hadn’t thought of? One all the way off the table?”

“Just like,” Carver said.

“But to make sure your lady friend’d be safe, you kept an eye on us. Probably me in particular. That’s what you’ve been doing the last several days, not jerking around down in Miami, but watching us. You followed us here, didn’t you?”

“Think so?”

“How else could you show up here?”

Carver said, “You’re the one dreaming up the story. I already told you the truth.”

“No,” Ogden said, “you’re not to be trusted.”

“Well, I’m not as upright as you two guys and Courtney.”

“We spotted this car parked here,” Butcher said. “Wondered why. Thought it was too much of a coincidence. Then we seen it was a rental so we waited to find out what happened. What happened was you limped outa the dark and climbed in. I wasn’t surprised, Carver.”

“That’s because you’re so good at thinking ahead.”

“You bein’ sarcastic?”

“Don’t you know?”

Butcher said to Ogden, “He’s pretty feisty, ain’t he?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ogden said. “Question is, did he manage to get on the property and see or hear anything?”

“With the fence and them dogs and security guys? Not hardly. Asshole here’s probably been limpin’ around tryin’ to figure a way in without gettin’ chewed and buried like a bone. Besides, ain’t there an alarm system, too?”

“There’s that,” Ogden said, sounding annoyed that Butcher had mentioned it. Dumb to show a hole card when it wasn’t necessary.

Carver knew they didn’t realize he’d gone for his nighttime swim; they attributed his remaining dampness to perspiration. It figured. Butcher was used to making people sweat.

“Well, your lady’s still okay,” Ogden said, “though Butcher here was hard to hold back at times. He was awfully angry at you for disappearing.”

“I wanted to skin some choice parts of her,” Butcher said in a low monotone. “I can do that so it takes hours afore a person dies. Works on ’em just like it does on hogs.”

Carver wondered if he could whip his elbow around fast enough to mash Butcher’s nose and still avoid the blade. Decided he couldn’t; Butcher knew his business. Knew knives. How much bluff he was, Carver couldn’t be sure. None, probably.

Carver said to Ogden, “Your friend’s a psychopath.”

Ogden said, “Sure. That’s why he’s good at what he does. Only problem is, sometimes we run into someone like you who doesn’t realize the gravity of the situation. That irritates me, but Butcher doesn’t mind.”

“That’s because Butcher has no mind.”

Butcher gave his deep phlegmy chuckle. There was no anger in it, only an amused patience with an edge of anticipation. Carver didn’t like that.

Ogden said, “I gotta admire you, sitting there with a blade at your neck, smarting off all the same. But then, maybe it’s because you know we still need you and won’t open your throat. That it?”

Carver said, “I guess that’s part of it.”

“You can be wrong,” Butcher said.

“Sure can. That’s why I’m sitting here with you.”

“Okay,” Ogden said, his tone suddenly softer and serious. “Here’s where all this leaves us. You don’t stray again, or we’ll consider your usefulness ended and your lady will meet Butcher. You stand by our original agreement and relay the content of any and all conversations you have with the DEA, in particular with Jefferson or Palma. If you don’t stand by our agreement, or you drop outa sight one more time, sooner or later Edwina Talbot dances with Butcher. Maybe you can hold things off and make it later instead of sooner, but believe me, they’ve got a date.” He took a deep breath and swiveled in the seat to face Carver. “Now, we finally got an understanding? Know each other’s hearts and minds?”

Carver said, “Sure. You made it all clear.”

“Well, I thought I had the first time.”

Ogden nodded to Butcher, then opened the door and slid out of the car. Fresh outside air moved in to take his place. A pleasant interlude that didn’t last long.

As soon as the car door slammed, Carver felt Butcher’s arm close on his throat. Somehow he still held the knife so it’s point was digging into the side of Carver’s neck. “Let’s get outa the car, sweetmeat.”

Carver opened the door and heard the rear door open at the same time. The blade was away from his neck for only an instant as Butcher moved with so much quickness he seemed to be standing outside the car even as the door opened. He laid the edge of the blade against Carver’s neck again, then used his other hand to summon Carver out with a little scooping motion of his thick fingers. All the time with a sadistic grin that would have looked silly if Carver hadn’t known the twisted drive behind it was real.

Ogden was standing in the shadows near the front of the Ford. “You wanted to see what was behind the gates,” he said, “so we’ll show you.”

Butcher withdrew the knife. Said, “You wouldn’t try to limp away on that cane, would you?” He laughed like a schoolkid who’d heard a dirty joke.

Ogden said, “Mr. Carver’ll accompany us without any trouble. After all, we’re taking him where he was trying to go. Actually he should thank us.”

“Hear that, Carver?” Butcher said in a gloating whisper. “You oughta say thanks.”

Carver limped along silently, setting the tip of his cane firmly with each step. He wasn’t going to thank these bastards.

Butcher said, “Okay if you don’t say it this time. You’ll tend to get more agreeable as the night wears on.”

They crossed the highway and walked back along the slanted shoulder to the driveway with the closed gates.

I
T WAS A LONG WAY
up the driveway. Carver couldn’t make out much about the house except that it was large, as it had appeared from the ocean. Only a few windows were lighted in the front part of the house. Oddly enough, he saw or heard no sign of the dogs or any other security measure. Apparently, when Ogden had used the intercom outside the gates, the way had been cleared immediately for them to set foot on the grounds.

Carver was led through a side door. Then, flanked by Ogden and Butcher, he was ushered down a long hall. The walls were sand-colored and rough. The floor appeared to be real marble, a pink-veined gray that reminded Carver of flesh struck lifeless. There was no furniture other than a long, uncomfortable-looking wood bench along one wall, and a potted miniature fruit tree near the far end where the hall either ended or made a right-angle turn. Sparse but stylish.

Ogden stepped ahead and opened a tall door with oversized hinges and knob. Butcher shoved the back of Carver’s head to indicate he should follow Ogden into the room. Carver stumbled forward and almost fell, but he managed to remain upright. Knew he must look like a drunk lurching in a swaying world.

It was a large room, carpeted in deep maroon and with matching floor-to-ceiling drapes of some kind of velvet material. The walls were darkly paneled and covered with arrangements of fox-hunting prints. Red-coated riders on sleek horses leaping hedges and fences. Hounds streaming through fields in frantic chase. Carver noticed that the fox didn’t appear in any of the prints. On a sort of pedestal near a massive stone fireplace was a stuffed fox, head turned, one front paw raised delicately, looking alert and ready to bolt for safety. The taxidermist had done a good job; the stuffed creature probably seemed more alive and aware than had the fox itself when blood coursed through its veins. Almost worth shooting again.

Butcher noticed Carver looking at the fox and said, “You and your furry friend’ll have a lot in common you try any more bullshit.”

Ogden said, “Sit down, Mr. Carver,” and motioned with his hand toward a blue leather sofa.

Carver limped to the sofa and lowered his body into a corner of it. The leather was incredibly soft and he sank deeper than he’d anticipated. It wouldn’t be easy to get up in a hurry if he had to; he propped his cane against the cushion, within easy reach, giving himself another second or two if it became necessary to act.

The door they’d come through opened with a faint brushing sound as it skimmed the carpet, and Carver turned his head to see a tall silver-haired man in his mid-sixties enter. He was long-limbed but thick through the middle, with a pronounced stomach paunch; it made him slightly resemble a spider. He had on pin-striped gray pants, a white shirt, red suspenders. Without speaking, he came around to stand facing Carver. Looked down at him sitting on the sofa and smiled with large yellow teeth. His eyes were pale blue and they weren’t smiling. Something about him. He did look a lot like Bert Renway. The late Bert Renway.

Still smiling, he said, “Mr. Carver, I’m Frank Wesley.”

There was an air of certainty and authority about him that Renway hadn’t had. And a hard quality to the eyes. He filled his space in the world and was very much whatever he was. One look at him and people knew it instantly. Sensed his energy. Wesley was the sort of man who had his private concept of reality and could sell it to others by virtue of his belief in himself. People like him achieved fame or fortune marketing used cars or leading nations into wars. With Wesley it had been hogs. But now it was drugs. More money in drugs. More power.

Carver said, “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Wesley shrugged. “We’re all supposed to be lotsa things we aren’t.” He had a thick Southern accent only hinted at when he’d first spoken. Maybe he could control it. Used it only when he wanted to, for effect. He said, “While I had the chance, I figured I oughta talk to you, explain there’s big things in the wind and you’re not one of ’em. You’re a small thing might just get blown away if you’re not careful.”

“I try to be careful,” Carver said.

“No, sir, I disagree. That’s not your track record. But you are reputed to be a man of good sense, so I’m going to state to you the simple fact that there’s a deal working that involves so much money it’d just be a meaningless figure to you if I said it. You understand, that much money ’bout to flow, we’ll kill you in a minute if it don’t look like you’re of much use to us anymore. You follow that logic?”

“Perfectly. The more money the cheaper the lives.”

Wesley had never stopped smiling, but now the yellowed smile stretched wider. “That’s a fine answer, Mr. Carver. ’Cause it’s true. And that makes your life very cheap indeed.”

Carver noticed Butcher had moved. Was out of sight somewhere behind the sofa. Flesh bunched on the back of Carver’s neck, as if something were crawling there.

Wesley said, “I made my money the hard way, Mr. Carver, and I’ll keep it the hard way if need be.”

Carver said, “Need be. The DEA doesn’t want your drug deal to happen.”

“Well, that’s natural enough, and surely nothing new. They’re sort of an occupational hazard we long ago learned to cope with.” He shook his head in mock concern. “The things ‘n’ people money buys. It might surprise you.”

“No,” Carver said, “it wouldn’t.”

“You might not see it from down where you live, Mr. Carver, but the truth is I’m neither more nor less than a businessman. Doin’ what you’d do under the circumstances, granted you had the grit, know-how, and capital.”

“What about Bert Renway? Was he part of your business?”

“Thing to remember there,” Wesley said, “is it was the DEA and not me who put Renway in that car. Not to mention Renway himself volunteering.”

Carver couldn’t argue with that one.
The things and people money buys.

“You’re part of this team now,” Wesley said, “whether you like it or not. Best you don’t stray again. You truly realize that?”

“More or less.”

“Gonna be more,” Wesley said.

He abruptly stopped smiling and turned away. Walked back out the door. Carver had been dismissed from the minds of the self-important that way before. Wesley was finished talking to Carver; on to genuinely important matters.

Ogden was standing motionless with his head slightly cocked to the side, cupping right elbow in left palm, touching his chin lightly with two fingers. Made him look a little like Jack Benny. He was staring oddly at Carver.

That was when Carver detected an acrid medicinal scent. Something familiar, yet he was unable to place it.

Until Butcher, from behind, clamped a rough cloth over his mouth. Yanked back on his head so Carver gave an involuntary gasp. Carver recognized in that instant the stench of chloroform. Then Butcher’s other hand grasped the back of his neck and applied hard pressure so Carver’s head might as well have been locked in a vise.

Carver couldn’t breathe. Gasped the dizzying fumes but couldn’t exhale. He panicked and lashed back with his arms, but strength was draining from them and feeling was leaving his hands. Some of the chloroform dripped onto his chest, chilling him through his shirt. He heard Butcher laugh from a great distance. Felt his heart expand and pound against his rib cage. Saw pinpoints of light. Thrashed mindlessly with his arms and legs, thumping them against the floor and the sofa’s arm and back.