Torch Song: A Kickass Heroine, A Post-Apocalyptic World: Book One Of The Blackjack Trilogy (13 page)

“You should be. And I’m not lying to Mom this time, either. You tell her what happened.”

She glared at him. “Including the fact that you hit Ky so hard you thought he was dead?”

“He had a gun. I had to do something before he shot someone.” That was true, but it sure wasn’t all of it. He knew it and so did she.

She sighed. They were supposed to be trying to fool the Scorsis into thinking they were worried, or at least conciliatory. And breaking Ky’s nose, maybe his head, and Billy’s balls, was pretty far from conciliation. Not only that, Mother had ordered them to report fully and accurately on whatever happened and whatever was said. She’d know if they were hiding something. They’d have to tell her. All of it. She would push until she got the whole story, Drew knew, including the exact insult that had set Lizzie off. Not slut, not whore— fat old mother, that was what had done it.

Lizzie was biting her lip, not laughing any more. It was clear she was as reluctant to face their mother with this story as he was, now that the violent rush was over.

“Well, we don’t have to say we hit them first, do we?”

Lizzie was living in a dream world. He shook his head. “Evasion won’t work. You should know that by now.”

“It’s not evasion! We just don’t have to tell her everything that happened exactly as it happened. We delivered the treaty, after all.”

Always the same. Lizzie would do something risky and then she’d be afraid of Mother’s disapproval. She’d start lying. Loyally, he’d keep silent. Then Mother would find the lie and they’d both be in trouble. More trouble than the truth would ever have brought them. And that had been for little things like staying out after curfew. This was bigger. He wanted her to trust him with missions. He was worried about Lizzie’s unthinking violence, afraid she’d get herself into something she couldn’t get out of, some place and time when no one was there to help. He was enraged that Ky had said what he’d said and acted the way he had with Lizzie, and that Lizzie had reacted as she had and that both of them had made him so crazy he wanted to kill Ky. What had happened to his self-control?

“I’m not going along this time, Lizzie. We screwed up and she has to know what happened. What really happened.”

By the time they got home, he’d worked it out in his head. It was just a fight. Not a smart fight, not a strategic one, but understandable. He’d had a moment’s rage. Everyone did. The guy was drooling at his sister and trying to kill her, all at once! And they’d done their job, after all. The treaty proposal was delivered, and look! Blackjack was jammed with customers again. The merc attack had put only a two-day dent in the business. Lots of people tossing their coins and bills into the slots, braving the tables, losing their money, looking hypnotized and satisfied.

Drew played a slot once in a while, just for fun, but he didn’t understand why people would throw away all their money this way, and some did. Sad for them, but Tahoe was what it was. One of a kind, too. Vegas, over in Rocky, had been burned down by godders long ago, and Reno had shriveled to nothing but a bandit-camp.

But Tahoe was still here. Still beautiful and open for business. He would do anything to protect it from people like Ky. Maybe someday again, if Mother and Jo and Samm had things the way they wanted, Tahoe would be like it was long ago. Elevators rising a dozen floors and more, carrying hundreds of people. The lots full of big cars. It made him feel better to think of the long range. Little mistakes like today, they’d just fade away.

He glanced at Lizzie. She was worried about what Mother would say, but he could tell she didn’t really feel bad about what had happened.

They walked slowly, both of them reluctant to reach Mother’s office. Through the bell-clanging, the laughter, the intensity of customers focused entirely on the machines or the cards or the table in front of them, up the stairs to the mezzanine.

Drew knocked, and they walked in. Jo was sitting on the couch drinking something from a cup. Probably some of Mother’s imported tea. Mother, holding a glass of beer, sat behind her ten-foot desk, squeezed into her oversized chair, big and round and powerful in a purple dress.

“Look at them, Jo. Bad news, I’d guess. You didn’t lose the treaty, did you?”

“No,” Lizzie said. “We delivered it.” Drew waited for her to go on. She didn’t. It had to be obvious to his mother and Aunt Jo that something uncomfortable hung between them. They stood there, in front of Mother’s desk. They didn’t sit and she didn’t invite them to.

Jo laughed, brushing a speck of lint off the front of her blue brocade vest, crossing one strong velvet-knickered leg over the other. “You delivered it, that’s good. Whatever else happened probably won’t matter in the end, kids. But we need to know.”

Lizzie glanced at Drew. He glared at her. She glared back, but capitulated. “It was my fault, I guess. Go ahead, Drew, tell them. You probably remember it better than I do.” He probably did. After all, he’d only been crazy for a minute or two.

He reached under his shirt, pulled the gun out of his waistband and laid it on his mother’s desk. Her eyes widened. Jo jumped to her feet, strode the three steps to the desk, picked it up and turned it over in her hands.

“Nice,” she said. “Fairly new. Where’d you find the weapon?” She took it back to the couch and sat again, looking at it.

Her appreciation for his trophy made telling the story a little easier. Leaving out exactly what Ky had said, he told them there was an insult that started the fight, and explained how they’d defended themselves against the Scorsis’ weapons. He didn’t leave out the part about smashing Ky’s head, even though he really wanted to.

Mother was scowling. “And what exactly was the insult that started this off?”

“He called us names.” Drew hoped she’d leave it at that, but of course he knew she wouldn’t.

“Names? What names?” She would push to the very end. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Lizzie spoke up, finally. “He said you were old and fat, that Jo is a slut and I’m a whore and that Samm is hostel dirt.”

Mother’s mouth twitched, the way it did when she stopped a smile. She shook her big head, the gray curls bobbing, the amethyst earrings dancing and flashing, and shot a glare at Liz.

“Well, Damn, Lizzie, I am old and fat.” She hesitated. “Maybe not so old. And the rest is just words. There’s no place for a fast temper when you’re delivering a peace proposal.” She let the irony of the situation shine from her eyes, but Drew noticed his mother was studying Lizzie’s face, maybe thinking what he’d been thinking about her new quickness to violence.

“I know. I’m sorry. But I thought Ky was going to do something besides just act stupid and I could see him bashing Drew on the arm or, I don’t know… something.”

“But there wasn’t any bashing until you bashed, isn’t that what you’re saying?” Mother didn’t look angry any more. She didn’t look amused, either. Just thoughtful.

Lizzie nodded, looking at her feet. “That’s right. I bashed first.”

Jo was studying Drew’s arm. He followed her gaze. The blood on his sling was obvious, a quarter-real-sized spot of deep red on the white cloth.

“Looks like you popped a stitch, Drew. Better show it to the doc.”

Drew nodded, relieved that she was so calm about it.

Mother was still glaring at Lizzie. “I’m glad you can take care of yourself, Liz. But next time think before you swing.” She ran a thick finger over the smooth surface of a snow globe and her face relaxed.

“Now tell me this. In the heat of battle, you didn’t let slip any information, did you? Didn’t give them any reason to think that maybe we weren’t serious about the treaty?”

“No, Mother!” Lizzie looked indignant.

“Well, fine then. And Ky took the treaty with him?”

“He stuck it in his pocket,” Drew said.

“Good. I’ll message Newt and make sure he got it.”

“And next time…” Jo began. Mother held up her big hand. Drew wondered what she thought Jo was planning to say. Next time take prisoners? He suppressed a smile.

“Next time, children,” she said, “just deliver the damned message. You’re not emissaries, you know. You’re not negotiating the damned treaties. You’re not fighting any wars for my honor or anyone else’s. You’re just—”

“Couriers,” Lizzie said.

Which, Drew thought, was a very good segué to something he’d been wanting to talk to her about. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to bring it up, standing there in semi-disgrace. But she’d brought it up, in a way. He was nineteen. And he was old enough to do more than carry pieces of paper.

“Mom, can we talk about some more—” his eyes slid toward his sister and away again. She’d be jealous. She might ruin everything by making some demands herself. “—adult assignments for me? I know Samm would have me in—”

“I know. You want to train with Samm’s army. Starting tomorrow.” He knew she didn’t really want him to, not yet.

“Yes. Starting tomorrow.”

She sighed, glanced at Jo, who shrugged, leaving it to her. “Okay, Drew. Now go get your dinner.”

“But not me?” Lizzie interjected. “Can I go tomorrow, too?”
Crap
, Drew thought.
She’s just a kid. She’s got no business even asking. What if Mother changed her mind about him
?

“No, Lizzie. We’ll talk about it, but it’s too soon.”

Drew shot a look at his sister. She was scowling at him, her lips tight. He knew one of these days he’d be the target of a tirade— I’m a better fighter, I’ve proved myself, if you’re in the army I should be, too— but for now, she was silent.

Drew and Lizzie left their mother’s office. He headed for the restaurant to do his half-shift, and Lizzie— well, he never knew where she was going unless she was going with him.

You’re a fixer? I’m impressed

No question about it, I didn’t like Newt Scorsi. But I’d certainly worked for people I didn’t like before. Chiefs were often corrupt or stupid. Private citizens who hired mercenaries or instigated the hiring were not always the most upstanding. But then, neither was I.

There were his decidedly unattractive personal qualities— I hoped I’d never have to watch him eat again— but my skin-scratchy dislike went beyond that. The more I thought about it the more sure I was that he was so devious as to be dangerous.

Although only the change guy Bernard had exposed himself to me as a Scorsi spy, or at least someone who did odd jobs for Scorsi, Newt had said that he had “people” in the Coleman camp. Either he was bragging and turning one man into many, or he was hiding people from me. I doubted it was, as he’d said, to protect them. Just as likely it was so that someone I didn’t suspect could kill me if he decided I had to go. In any case I had this ugly picture of a dozen amateur mercenaries floating around Blackjack crashing into each other, none of them knowing the other was a spy, none of them trusted or trusting, making my job tougher than it should have been.

Even if Scorsi was not a fool, he was the type who sometimes thought “smart” involved elaborate, unnecessary, and convoluted schemes and secrets.

I wondered if I shouldn’t spend some time shadowing Newt and finding out what he was really up to, but the prospect was not nearly as appealing as getting to know Samm better and I would certainly have to do that to get some idea of what this supposed army was all about. If it even existed.

A couple of hours before my shift was due to start I headed for the casino. Sure enough, Samm was working the center table, second of three. I stationed myself behind the railing, not playing, just watching, pretending I was getting some pointers on the great game of poker. Not that I couldn’t use pointers. I lean more toward the slots than the tables. I get enough conflict in my work. Enough bluffing, too.

I’d first noticed Samm’s height and physical power during the merc raid. Watching him now, I could see that even his dealing had a casual strength about it. Nothing sloppy or indecisive in his movements. The man in charge of the military. The General. That was what Newt Scorsi had called him. A pretentious title, considering the probable size of the well-hidden and possibly mythical army. Then again, for all I knew, half the people in Tahoe were secret Coleman foot soldiers. And the other half? What were they? Neutral? Scorsi fans? Unaware of any rivalry at all?

Samm smiled and nodded to me. “Sit down, Rica. Plenty of room tonight.”

“I don’t want to play, just watch.”

“Sit down anyway.” He patted the empty chair beside him. His smile was sweet, his dark eyes warm. If I hadn’t seen him fighting off mercs I’d have wondered if he was a soldier at all.

A scrawny black-haired man with a day’s growth of dirty-looking beard that didn’t hide the smallpox pits, wearing a too-big rusty black jacket, watched me take the seat between him and Samm.

He grinned. Dirty teeth. “Yeah. Sit down and be my luck.”

The slightly less used-up greasy blond specimen sitting next to him on the other side laughed. “Forget it, Willy. She’s house luck. She works here.” He leered at me. “Noticed you in the restaurant the other night, Miss. And now I see your picture’s up outside the lounge. Pretty. Word is you sing real good. Is that true?”

I hadn’t realized the poster was up. I’d have to take a look. And word? Already? Jo wasn’t wasting any time in pumping up business.

“Thanks. I guess it’s true. But I’ll leave that up to the audience to decide, once I actually give a performance.”

Samm was dealing seven stud. An orange-haired woman of about 35 was showing a pair of aces, the potbellied man next to her three on a straight. He raised her bet by $20. Willy and his friend folded.

“Wonder if I could learn to do that,” I said, watching Samm’s strong, graceful brown hands dole out the last up cards. I wasn’t really interested in being a dealer, but I was looking to spend time with the General, and I also wanted to get a feel for when he was around and when he might be out doing things I needed to track. From what I’d been able to observe, Samm worked the tables between five and midnight, same as my hours, which gave him a lot of free daylight to do other things. And if Newt wasn’t entirely full of shit, what he had to be doing some of the time was meeting with his troops, training and recruiting, or supervising the training and recruiting.