To Die Fur (A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Mystery) (35 page)

Or at least without burning myself so badly that I dropped them.

The entire book caught with a loud
pffft!
and pain seared up my wrist. I forced myself to bring my hand around slowly, and tossed the flaming book carefully onto the floor. I fully expected to be shot dead while doing it, but the gunman just stared at me like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

And then the overproof rum soaked into the overpriced carpet at his feet went up with a
whoosh
of flame.

It’s funny, the things that make us panic. They tend to be primal: heights, drowning, darkness. And, of course, being set on fire. Panic overwhelms the reasoning part of the brain and galvanizes the central nervous system into action, directing muscles to take immediate steps to solve the problem with no consideration of consequences.

Only the gunman’s pants were on fire, but it was enough to make him react without thinking. He dumped his drink on his legs, trying to put the flames out.

Then he was
really
on fire.

I rarely panicked. My reaction to a crisis situation was to go the other way, becoming hyperanalytical and detached while events unfolded. My reflexes sped up, and I could make snap decisions based on virtually no information. Also, I became bulletproof, could bend tempered steel with my eyelids, and gained the ability to see through walls.

Okay, maybe not quite. But I definitely don’t turn into this guy.

He tried to shoot the fire.

In retrospect, it almost made sense. Almost. Agonizing pain plus total surprise plus panicked impulse equals frenzied attempt to kill whatever is to blame. Or maybe his ambushed brain made a connection between pistol and water pistol, I don’t know.

What I do know is that he screamed, dumped fuel on himself, shot himself in the leg, and fell to the ground. Shondra was out of her chair in an instant, and had his gun a second after that.

Me, I sprang up and grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall—I knew where every single one on the grounds was, thank you—and put him out. He just lay there, unconscious from shock and covered in white fire retardant.

“Navarro,” Shondra said. She was already sprinting for the door.

“Zhen,” I snapped. “First-aid kit, under the bar. Doesn’t look like he hit an artery, but we need to stop the bleeding. Everybody else, into the wine cellar. It has a heavy door that locks and Navarro will have a hard time getting a dump truck in there.”

“Good thinking,” said Oscar. He finished his drink and set the glass down. His hands didn’t shake at all. “I say, nobody ever told me alcohol would be so readily available in this sort of situation; if I’d known, I’d have taken up being a hostage sooner.”

I helped Zhen bandage the wound as ZZ herded everyone else out the door and Oscar led the way. “Foxtrot,” she said when she was the only person left in the room.

“Yes, ZZ?’

“You are the best assistant I have ever had. Do not get yourself killed, that is an order.”

“Yes, ZZ.”

“When you’ve made sure that horrible man isn’t going to bleed to death on my carpet, go for help.”

“What about Shondra?” ZZ’s security chief had been the first one to leave, but neither ZZ nor I thought she was going for help. She was going to make
other
people scream for help.

“I’m sure she’ll leave some of them alive for questioning, dear. Don’t get in her way, all right?”

“Yes, ZZ.”

I’d told Zhen to grab the first-aid kit because she was the only one I knew had a background that might include medical training. From the quick and professional job she was doing, it looked like I’d been right.

“He passed out from shock, but I think he’ll be fine,” she said. “Vital signs are strong, breathing is not bad, he did not lose too much blood. Even the burns are mostly superficial.”

I wish I could say I was surprised that nervous, socially awkward Zhen proved to have a cool head in a crisis, but I wasn’t. The better someone is at their profession, the less time they have to spend on their own life; almost every high-powered CEO or celebrity I’d ever worked for had sacrificed part of themselves to become that successful. Put them onstage or at the head of a boardroom, they’d shine—it was when you stuck them in their own kid’s birthday party that they’d fall to pieces. If you were rich enough, you could hire someone like me to keep all those pieces connected. If you weren’t quite that rich, you just filled all your hours with work and avoided certain situations altogether.

“Great,” I said. “Now hold his wrists together while I use the rest of these bandages to tie him up.”

As we worked, I kept expecting the sound of gunfire from upstairs. Navarro must have heard the shot; since his communication system wasn’t working, he’d have to investigate personally.

Poor guy.

Tango! Can you hear me?

Fine. Guests are safe, we’ve taken down one guard, and Shondra’s hunting Navarro.

I know, right? Still, he deserves it. How’s it going on your end?

Well, yeah. But it’s going to take all of them to move that body, so their guns will be slung over their backs. The heavy rain will cut visibility down to almost nothing. And all we really have to do is scatter them and destroy the cart.

Belt
and
suspenders, Tango. I’m on my way to do that now.

“You need to get to the wine cellar with the rest,” I told Zhen. “I’ll give you directions—”

“No. I am coming with you.” She wasn’t arguing, either, simply stating a fact. “That is
my
liger he is attempting to steal. I will not let him.”

I tried to sigh, but wound up smiling instead. “Don’t have time to discuss this, do we? Well, I guess I can use a lookout. Let’s go.”

I cracked the door and stuck my head out cautiously. No sign of Shondra or Navarro. “Come on,” I whispered. We crept out, down the hall, and to the front door.

I opened it and peered out. The rain hammering down was deafening, a deluge of biblical proportions. Hailstones covered the ground like the remains of an epic snowball fight between two leprechaun armies, and a new lake swelled on the driveway. The dump truck stood in the middle of it, an industrial island of rusting gray steel on heavy-treaded tires. The back was probably half full of water by now.

“Stay on the porch and keep an eye out for Navarro,” I said. “If you see him coming down the stairs, yell, slam the door, and run that way.” I pointed toward the graveyard, then gave her quick directions to get to the caretaker’s bungalow. “His name is Cooper. Tell him what’s going on and to call the cops. If he’s not there, there’s a key hidden in the flower bed, under the gnome smoking a pipe. Let yourself in.”

“What about the men who went to get Augustus’s body?” she asked.

“Oh, they’re going to be having problems of their own.”

I sprinted out into the downpour. It was like running full-tilt into a waterfall, drenching me in an instant, cold and shocking and relentless. I splashed through the lake, made it to the truck, and vaulted onto the running board. The door wasn’t locked; I wrenched it open, jumped inside, and slammed it shut behind me. No way anyone would hear the noise over the pounding of the rain.

Then my luck turned bad. No keys, which meant I couldn’t just steal them. I tried shifting it into neutral, but we weren’t on enough of an incline for it to roll on its own. I was doing my best to figure out how to pop the hood when I heard a rap on the driver’s-side window.

I snapped my head to the side. Navarro stood there, pointing a gun at me. He motioned for me to move into the passenger seat. I had no choice but to comply.

After I did so, he opened the door and got in beside me. Through the curtain of falling water, I could see that Zhen was no longer on the porch; either I hadn’t heard her yell over the rain, or she hadn’t seen him in time.

“You’re very resourceful,” Navarro said. He was as soaked as I was, but I doubted that would affect his gun. “But you should quit while you’re ahead.”

“‘Quit while you’re ahead’? What kind of bad-guy dialogue is that? Shouldn’t you be threatening my life or my mother or something?”

Navarro sighed. “I didn’t come here to kill anyone. All I want is the liger. Really, you should just cooperate.”

“Okay, I’m pretty sure you’ll get thrown out of the Villains’ Union for talking like that.”

“I’m not a villain. A villain would have shot your security chief instead of sneaking down the back stairs.” He had a set of keys in one hand, and now he stuck them in the ignition and started the truck. “But now that you’re here, I don’t have to worry about her, do I? And by the time she figures out I’m no longer in the house, we’ll be all loaded up and ready to leave.”

“Yeah, no. See, your men are going to be showing up empty-handed, due to the little accident they had with their cart. No cart, no liger. Sorry ’bout that.”

He frowned with his eyes and smiled with his mouth. “Accident?”

“Well, altercation, actually. With a hippo.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. Oh, didn’t I mention we have a vicious guard hippo? He likes to prowl around in rainstorms, looking for wheelbarrows, trolleys, laundry carts—anything that rolls, really. Then he bursts out of hiding, bellowing at the top of his lungs, knocks it over, and stomps it into the mud. Caroline thinks it’s some kind of competitive mating behavior, but I tend more toward the theory that somebody used to dress him up in a flowered bonnet and parade him around in a baby carriage when he was just a tiny little hippo, and now he’s working out deep feelings of helplessness and humiliation.”

Navarro blinked. “Some people babble when they are afraid. You are obviously one—no, two or three—of them.”

“No, I’m quite serious. We’re probably safe in here, but that cart of yours is history by now. Ever see a hippo stomp on something? It
stays
stomped.”

“If you’re trying to distract me, it won’t work. I can keep an eye on you and my rearview mirror at the same time; no one is going to sneak up on me.”

“Hippos don’t sneak. But like I said, we’re safe in here. Your men, though, are probably running for their lives.”

“From the hippo.”

“No, hippos aren’t much for chasing. That, they leave up to the shape-shifting dog.”

His look of puzzlement became a grin. “Ah. I see. You are stalling for time by telling me a story. Since I need to wait until my men arrive with their cargo, our plans dovetail neatly. Please proceed; I can’t wait to hear more about this dog.”

“Well, I’m not allowed to tell you very much. You think a white liger is the most exotic creature we’ve ever played host to? Please. This is where the government dumps their secret genetic experiments when they don’t pan out.”

“I see. Such as shape-shifting dogs.”

“Yeah. The one we have is pretty much insane—”

[I heard that.]

Shut up, I’m on a roll.
“—and due to his genetomorphic abilities, almost impossible to keep locked up. He can squeeze through the tiniest crack, like his whole body was made of, of
toothpaste
.”

“And I suppose this toothpaste dog is going to rescue you? Or will he just want to examine our teeth?”

“No, right now he’s busy running down your men and disarming them. You know, knocking them over, grabbing their guns, running away. Repeat as neccessary. I figure he’s probably using a sequence of greyhound, Saint Bernard, pit bull, and then greyhound again.”

[Greyhound, Great Dane, rottweiler, actually. Few unarmed men will chase a rottweiler.]

“Ah,” Navarro said, nodding. “Then with my cart destroyed and my men disabled, I suppose I am at your mercy. Except, of course, I have you at gunpoint.”

“So you do. At least until the police arrive.”

Navarro’s glances at the rearview mirror were getting more frequent. His men should have shown up by now.

His eyes widened. From the look on his face, what he saw was not what he was expecting.

Three of his men ran up to the truck, talking rapidly in Spanish. None of them was armed, but all of them were upset; they were also wet and muddy and their clothes were ripped. Navarro wasn’t looking too happy, either.

“Take your men, take your truck, and leave,” I said. “This is your only chance.”

Navarro studied me for a second, his brow furrowed. He looked like someone with a royal flush who’d just discovered he was playing Go Fish.

Then his face cleared. He nodded graciously. “Thank you for your generous offer. I accept. You may disembark.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I yanked the door open and climbed out, my foot sinking into a cold, ankle-deep puddle. Navarro barked a few orders at his men, who climbed into the back of the dump truck. From all the splashing and cursing, it must have been like jumping into a very cold, very full wading pool.

Shondra ran around the corner as Navarro drove away. She had a few choice curse words of her own to add, but hers weren’t in Spanish.

“It’s okay,” I said to her. “They’re gone. And they didn’t get Augustus.”

“They didn’t? What happened?”

“I’m not sure. Go check on ZZ and the others in the wine cellar. I’ll make sure the body’s still here.”

*   *   *

What I found, just at the border of the zoo’s grounds, was the remains of the heavy-duty trolley Navarro’s men had brought with them, smashed into a pile of wood and metal and crushed into the ground. Right beside it was Augustus’s body, its white fur matted and drenched and muddy. Standing a few steps away was Rajiv Gunturu, with a large, bloody hacksaw in one hand; he was just as wet and muddy, and his face was bleeding from a dozen different scratches, three of them running across an eye that was now swollen shut. He was waving the saw in the air and cursing in some Indian dialect.

Between him and the body stood my cat.

If I hadn’t known it was her, I’m not sure I would have recognized her. Tango was just as wet as Gunturu, but she was doing that puffed-up back-arched angry-cat thing, and the combination made her look like some kind of feral giant rat. Her mouth was wide open, she was hissing like a snake, and her eyes were no more than slits. I couldn’t hear her in my mind at all; it was as if she’d reverted to some sort of primitive feline ancestor.