The Night's Legacy (4 page)

The woman was a lot worse.  She was a real comic book superhero, only instead of tights she had some kind of magic armor.  No one had figured out how to kill her yet, despite a bounty of ten million dollars to the one who left her head on his desk.  He doubted anyone would ever claim it even if he tripled it. 

He finally saw the ship’s lights on the horizon.  Maybe he would get lucky and tonight the do-gooders would be home washing their tights or something.  If he were really lucky he might manage to get three hours of sleep without waking up with acid burning in his throat.  Maybe it was time to start delegating authority as his wife suggested.  He looked at Salei’s wolfish profile and then shook his head.  No, delegating was the first step to winding up floating in the harbor.

He did allow himself the luxury of sitting on the hood of his Mercedes as he watched the freighter come in.  He went through a whole roll of Tums while he watched
El Pescado Grande
dock safely.  That was one headache out of the way.  If they could get the weapons back to the warehouse for distribution then he could go home for the night.

The first crates had come down the ramp when Salei put a hand to the side of his head.  He turned to Rahnasto, who already knew what his lieutenant would say.  “She’s here.”

He swore in Finnish and then patted the pistol on his hip.  He might as well pick up a rock for all the good it would do.  “Try to tie her up and get as many weapons loaded as possible,” Rahnasto said.

He reached into his jacket for a pair of nightvision goggles.  The goggles were frequently as useless as the pistol.  He could only tell where she was by the soldiers she sent flying.  That damnable armor of hers somehow let her turn invisible.  Not so much the armor as the cape.  Every now and then the silver cape would billow out and he would catch a glimpse of her.

Not that he needed to see her anymore; he saw her often enough in his nightmares.  She was tall and thin with a dancer’s body.  She moved like a dancer too, leaping over the head of one man to land behind him, where she pirouetted to kick him in the small of the back.  Another soldier shot her right between the smallish breasts that along with the overly large feet were the only flaws of her body.  Rahnasto already knew the bullet would ping off the armor to deflect into the night sky.  Faster than any normal human, she chopped the gun away from the soldier and then swept his legs out from under him.

Then she turned and looked right at him.  They had to be a city block apart and yet he knew she was looking at him.  Her swan-winged helmet kept him from seeing any part of her face, but he could feel her eyes on him.  He turned to Salei.  “It’s time to go.”

“We’ve only got a few crates—”

“Then feel free to stay and finish the job.”

Salei wasn’t a fool.  He spoke into his headset, giving orders to keep her tied up for a few minutes to cover their escape.  Then they got into the Mercedes.  He didn’t have time to sigh with relief before the doors locked and he heard the click of a pistol.

Instead of the driver he saw a man torn out of a Humphrey Bogart detective picture, with a brown trench coat and fedora.  The only difference was the dark red ski mask the man wore to conceal his face.  The .38 in his hand looked older than Rahnasto, but he knew it would still be deadly.  “Drop you
r guns on the front seat,” the Private Eye hissed.  “Then we’ll go for a ride.”

“What do you plan to charge us with?” Rahnasto asked.

“We can start with murder and go through the rest of the criminal code.”

Rahnasto reached slowly to his hip for his pistol.  “Whose idea was it to use the woman as a diversion?”

“Quit stalling and drop the heaters.”

“Fine.”  A musty odor wafted to the backseat.  That was as much a calling card as the Private Eye’s costume.  “You know, there’s
a ten million-dollar reward for her head.  You could retire to somewhere with a shower.”

“I’d rather retire you.”

“But another would take my place.  You know that.”  He dropped his weapon on the passenger’s front seat, as did Salei.  They were effectively trapped now in the car with a lunatic who dressed like a film noir detective.  There was one last card to play, though.  “Why don’t you let Mr. Salei drive?  Otherwise how will you be able to keep the gun pointed at us?”

The Private Eye considered this for a moment and then nodded.  “Fine.  But don’t
try anything funny or I’ll put a few bullets in your boss.”  The Private Eye slid over to the passenger’s side, directly across from Rahnasto while Salei tumbled over the driver’s seat.  As he did, he reached for a gun hidden in the headrest.

The Private Eye emptied the gun into Salei.  Rahnasto didn’t stick around to see if his lieutenant was dead.  He had unlocked the doors and was already to the backup car when he heard the sixth shot ring out.  Rahnasto dropped the dead body of the second driver out the door and then started the car.  He took off into the night, already feeling the acid reflux building.  There wasn’t going to be any sleep for him tonight.

* * *

Instead of the
house he went to the Brass Drum, one of the many bars he owned.  It was closed for the night, but Kamensky, his second lieutenant—now his first lieutenant with Salei’s death—let him in.  “They got about a third of the shipment to the warehouse,” Kamensky said.  “Cops got the rest of it.”

“Fine.”  That was just as good as him receiving it.  Within a few days he could arrange to have the weapons “disappear” from the evidence warehouse.  “How many did we lose?”

“Three dead, another thirty arrested.”

Rahnasto nodded.  Those numbers were better than usual.  The three dead—Salei and the two drivers—had been the Private Eye’s work.  He wasn’t afraid to kill whoever got in his way.  The woman, being a true superhero, left her victims alive to be arrested.  In two years—half that with good behavior—most of the thirty would be back.  A few would have a change of heart or embrace religion, but most were unskilled immigrants who needed the money so badly they would risk a hitch in prison.

He cut through the VIP room to his private office.  From the bottom drawer he took out a bottle of scotch and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.  He downed a shot of the former and then a shot of the latter.  Only then did he look up at Kamensky.  “Anything else?”

“Someone left a message for you.”  Kamensky passed over a manila envelope.  With a grunt Rahnasto opened it.  Inside he found a single sheet of paper.  Typed on it were the words, “You want the Silver Seraph.  I know how.  Meet me tomorrow at midnight.”  There was an address included as well, one Rahnasto didn’t recognize but could easily have someone case.

“Who sent this?”

“Don’t know.  It was left on a table.  Cameras don’t show anything.”

Rahnasto tossed the message back at Kamensky.  “Send a couple of boys over there this morning and check it out.  If it checks out we’ll go.”

“Sure, Boss.”

Then Rahnasto waved Kamensky from the room so that he could lean his chair back and sip the Pepto-Bismol as he thought about how nice it would be to operate in a city free of do-gooders.

Chapter 4

Lois woke up in her bed at seven o’clock the next morning.  For a moment she looked around, not recognizing her own bedroom.  What kind of motel was this? her bleary mind asked.  Then she saw Mom standing over her and remembered she wasn’t in Durndell or any other two-bit town but back in Ren City with Mom.  “Time to get up, sweetheart,” Mom said, sounding far too chipper.

“Why?  I don’t have school anymore.”

“It’s the first day of your new job.”

“Job?  What are you talking about?”

“We’ll discuss it down in the kitchen.  Do you still eat pancakes?”

“Your pancakes or pancakes in general?”

“We can go out if you’d prefer.”

Lois
knew they could go out to a restaurant, but then Mom’s feelings would be hurt.  And maybe her cooking had improved over the last seven years.  Not a realistic possibility, but not impossible either.  “No no.  Pancakes are fine.”

She just about fell down the
unfamiliar stairs on the way to the kitchen.  She didn’t know how Mom could be so full of energy so early in the morning, especially if she had been at the office all night.  By the time she used the bathroom and got down there, Mom already had a stack of round dark brown objects that could charitably be described as pancakes.

“I found some real maple syrup, like you used to like.”

“Is that what took all night?” Lois asked as she sat down.

“Of course not.”  Mom shrugged and said, “I’m sorry I left you alone most of the night.  I got working on some budget reports and fell asleep.”

“Budget reports have a way of doing that to people.”

Mom took the syrup off the stove to pour over
Lois’s pancakes.  She had never cared that much about the maple syrup except that the liquid made the pancakes somewhat edible.  Mom didn’t eat any of the pancakes herself; she already had a tall glass of green liquid at her place on the table, the protein shake she drank every morning.  Lois had tried such a shake once and spent an hour in the bathroom afterward.

Instead of sitting down, Mom went into the living room.  She returned a minute later with a box wrapped in blue paper.  “Here you go, sweetheart.”

Lois tore the paper off to find a cardboard box.  Inside that was a dark blue polo shirt.  She took it out of the box and shook it out.  On the left breast was stitched the Thorne Museum name and logo.  “A souvenir from the gift shop?  What for?”

“It’s not a souvenir, sweetheart.  It’s for your new job.”

“You got me a job at the museum?”

“We had an opening in the gift shop for the summer.  I thought—”

Lois tossed the shirt onto the floor.  “I am not going to work at the museum.”

“Why not?  Because I’m there?”

“In part.”  Also because she didn’t want to endure the humiliation of Dr. Johnson seeing her folding T-shirts in the gift shop, not when he had talked so many times about her working as his assistant once she was old enough to have earned her doctorate in Egyptology.

“Then what are you going to do?  Work at another diner?”

“Is there something wrong with that?  It’s good, honest work.”

Mom sank onto the chair next to
Lois.  She looked down at the floor, suddenly seeming  so old and tired.  Any moment she was going to start crying.  “I’m sorry, sweetie.  I didn’t realize you hated me that much.”

“God, Mom, don’t start guilting me.”

“Then what is it?  Why do you keep pushing me away?”

Lois
looked down at the floor as well.  “I just want to be my own person.  I don’t want people thinking I got the job because I’m the director’s daughter.”

“Oh.  I see.”  They looked up at the same time.  Mom’s eyes were watery, but she hadn’t started to cry yet.  “I understand.  You can work wherever you want.”

The worst part of it was that Mom really did understand.  If Lois went to work at another diner or even as a bartender at the Brass Drum, Mom would still understand.  She would probably show up on the first night to buy everyone a round to celebrate.  That was part of her annoying sweetness.

Lois
sighed and scooped up the polo shirt.  “Fine.  But just for the summer.  Then I’ll find my own job.”

“I understand.”  Mom gave her a hug and stroked her hair as if she were still eight years old.  “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Lois wondered how quickly she was going to regret this.

* * *

The regrets began about a half-hour later, after Lois took a shower.  On her bed she found a white turtleneck next to the blue polo shirt.  She stuck her head out the door, into the hallway.  “What’s the turtleneck for, Mom?”

Not surprising, Mom wasn’t far away.  “It’s to cover up your arms and neck, sweetheart.”

“What?  Why?”

“The museum dress code forbids visible tattoos among museum staff.”

“When did you make up that rule?”

“I didn’t write it.  The rule was put on the books in 1965 as a response to the peace movement.  The actual rule forbids ‘adornments of a tasteless nature.’  I would interpret that to include grinning skulls.”

Lois glanced down at her right forearm, where she had such a grinning skull tattooed.  She had been seventeen and in Portland, Michigan.  Since there wasn’t much to do in Portland, Michigan she had wound up letting a local draw the tattoo in his garage while she guzzled a bottle of vodka to dull the pain.  Not one of her finer moments.  Since then she’d gotten a few more, including a Chinese character for luck on the back of her neck.

“Jesus Christ, Mom.”

“Language.”

Lois
rolled her eyes and felt fourteen years old again.  She slammed the door shut.  Mom might have come in after her to argue, but her sense of modesty kept her out while Lois was changing into the turtleneck, blue polo, and tan cargo pants.  She was waiting by the door when Lois came out.  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“I know it’s going to be a difficult transition for you, but please understand I only want the best for you.  I’m your mother.”

“I know.”  She let Mom hug her.  When they parted, Lois did a slow turn.  “What do you think?  Do I look disreputable?”

“No, sweetheart, you look like my little angel.”

“Thanks,” Lois said, knowing it was going to be a long day.

* * *

The car they had taken from the airport was waiting by the curb.  If Mom had noticed her old motorcycle sitting on the porch she didn’t say anything.  Her Spyder was chained up in its spot, looking no worse for wear.

“So how much does the gift shop pay?”
Lois asked.

“Minimum wage.  It’s just a summer job.”

“Then you’ll probably want me to go back to school, right?”

“Only if you want to go back to school.”  Mom turned to her with a slight smile.  “What is it you want,
Lois?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then maybe this job will help you figure that out.”

“Yeah, maybe.” 
Lois wasn’t so sure about that.  Seven years of various jobs hadn’t brought her any closer to figuring out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.  Mostly she just wanted people to leave her alone.

They didn’t say much else the rest of the way to the Thorne Museum.  The driver opened the door for her.  She nearly fell on her face staring up at the museum’s stone façade.  Its Greek columns and portico had always struck her with a feeling of awe, as if she were entering an ancient temple
of Zeus.

She had gone up the marble steps numerous times, first on Mom’s shoulders when she was a baby and then scaling them like a mountain as a toddler and then doing a sort of hopscotch up as a little girl and then finally with her head down and hands in pocket as a teenager.  This time she tried to mimic the easy stride of her mother.  A part of her still felt like the toddler trying to ascend Mount Olympus to the heaven of knowledge.

Mom took longer to make her way up, her face a bit flushed and breath coming heavily despite that she didn’t seem any heavier.  “You don’t have to wait for me,” Mom said.  “You know where the gift shop is.”

“I thought you would want to introduce me around.”

“Most everyone already knows you.”

When she stepped through the front doors,
Lois thought maybe Dr. Johnson would be there waiting for her.  He wasn’t.  He was probably still in Washington for his presentation.  There was only a security guard who smiled at her.  “Hello, Miss Locke.  Welcome back.”

“Thanks—Stan.”  She remembered his face when it had been a little smoother and the hair a bit less gray.  She had gotten to know most of the guards, usually when they were giving her lectures about not playing in the exhibits. 

The main hall hadn’t changed at all in seven years.  There was still a blue whale skeleton suspended in the air, its yellowed corpse long and wide enough to take up most of the ceiling.  She followed Mom past the ticket counter, to the center of the hall that in an hour would be packed with gaping tourists.  On either side of the hall were sets of double-doors—six in all—leading to various exhibits.  The one on ancient mummies she knew belonged to Dr. Johnson.  He had probably dug up most of the mummies himself and brought them back on his plane.

“No one’s going to expect you to remember everything right away,” Mom said.  “If someone asks a question you can’t answer, just ask your supervisor.”

“Sure,” Lois said.  She hadn’t really paid attention to anything after the mummies exhibit; she hoped none of the tourists bugged her until she had time to do a little looking around.

At the end of the main hall was the bronzed skeleton of a mammoth named Jeff after Jefferson County, Missouri where he had been dug up.  Mom’s lip trembled as if she were about to cry as she looked up at Jeff.  “Remember when you climbed up there and tried to ride him?”

“Yes.”  She had been five years old and on spring break from fourth grade.  She had employed a cunning ruse by pulling a fire alarm to distract security while she climbed up Jeff’s skeleton, using the wires holding him together where she didn’t have natural footholds.  “I thought you were going to faint.”

Mom still hadn’t lost her temper when someone from maintenance got a ladder to bring her down.  She had looked
Lois in the eye with a Glare and said, “I’m very disappointed in you, young lady.  I want you to apologize to everyone whose time you wasted.”  She had spent hours apologizing to security guards, maintenance workers, and even some of the tourists who’d come back after the impromptu fire drill.  At the end of the day Mom had given her a hug and said, “That was a very big girl thing you did, sweetheart.”  They had gone home, where Lois still didn’t get any dessert.

At this memory she wanted to turn and flee, but Mom was already guiding her towards the escalator to the second floor.  The gift shop was just to the right, sandwiched between the displays of meteors and precious gems.  Seeing the rows of red and blue T-shirts she winced, thinking of what had happened in Durndell.  Maybe this was some kind of cosmic justice.

As if Lois were going to school for the first time, Mom looked her in the eye and said, “If you need anything, you call my office.  Understand?”

“I know.”

“Come upstairs when you get done for the day, all right?”

“Sure, Mom.”

“We’ll go out for dinner, I promise.”

“Great.”  She waited for Mom to do something embarrassing like hug or kiss her, but all she did was pat
Lois’s shoulder before shuffling off towards the elevator.

Taking a deep breath,
Lois walked into the gift shop and straight into a nightmare.  A man stood up from behind the counter and smiled at her.  She could already feel her face turning hot as Tony said, “Hi, Lois.  Small world, huh?”

* * *

Lois gave herself credit for not fainting.  She did have to grab onto a rack of discounted T-shirts for support.  “You work here?” she asked.

“Yeah.  So you’re the
Lois Locke they said was starting today?”

“I guess so.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the director’s daughter.”

“Most people don’t.”  Most people expected her not only to be as smart as Mom but as sweet and unassuming as well.  As if she were supposed to be Mom’s clone instead of her daughter.  “How long you been working here?”

“About a year.  Helps me pay the bills.”  He flashed a smile that brought back unwanted memories of his backseat.  “You making some extra cash for the summer?”

“Yeah.  Mom said there was an opening and I
leaped at the chance.”

Before they could say anything else, she heard a girl shriek, “Oh my God! 
Lois!”

A blond girl seized
Lois in a vise grip even tighter than Mom’s first hug back at the hospital in Texas.  After nearly choking the air from Lois’s lungs, the girl pulled back and smiled expectantly.  Lois glanced down at the girl’s nametag.  “Hey—Melanie.  How are you?”

Melanie
pouted.  “You don’t remember me, do you?  Melanie Pullman.  We had American Lit together in high school?  You came over to my sleepover, remember?”