Torch Song: A Kickass Heroine, A Post-Apocalyptic World: Book One Of The Blackjack Trilogy (26 page)

She sighed. Drew read through her sketchy notes and skimmed the chapter she was working on. Lizzie sighed even louder, and spoke suddenly:

“Something funny is going on with Billy.”

He didn’t raise his eyes from the book. “Like what?”

“Well, you know how he was saying he was going to off Hannah?”

Drew nodded.

“Well, he isn’t saying that any more. Not only is he not bragging about doing it, he’s denying he ever said it and going around looking all secretive and wise. What an asshole!”

“What do you think it’s about?”

“I don’t know.”

Neither did Drew. If the Scorsis had been planning to kill Hannah, it made a certain amount of sense, since she was the Colemans’ candidate. If they’d changed their minds, what did that mean?

“I think I want to find out,” Lizzie said.

Drew studied his sister’s face. She was getting that flushed, excited look again. “How you going to do that?”

“I’ll beat it out of him. He’s made of dog shit.”

He knew he’d never talk her out of going after Billy. She’d been muttering about those Scorsi boys since their fight over the treaty. And she wasn’t wrong. There might be something they needed to know hidden under Billy’s craziness. But she was looking for trouble and he didn’t want her finding it alone.

“I’ll go with you. Is there some way you can isolate him? Lure him off where I could meet you. A couple of threats… he’s not real brave. Probably won’t even have to hit him.” He hoped they wouldn’t. He didn’t want violence if a peaceful way could be found.

“Lure him?” Lizzie laughed. “That sounds slimy. But probably easy enough. I’ll catch him outside of school tomorrow and snare him in my evil web. Heh heh heh.” She wiggled her eyebrows evilly.

He scowled at her. “We’ll make a plan. I’ll be there to cover you.”

“Okay, Drew. Just don’t tell Mom— or anyone else, okay?”

He didn’t think he would.

* * *

Driving back from the meeting with Newt, I noticed an unusual sight at Stateline and Highway 50: right there at the corner, four new-looking floaters, including an open truck, had pulled up in a line at the curb. A dozen people, six men, six women, all young and all dressed in khaki, were milling around the cars. A party of rich tourists from California? Unlikely. People from Los Angeles didn’t tend to wear khaki, and were even less likely to all wear the same color. The outfits looked almost, but not quite, like uniforms: neatly creased pants and soft-looking shirts, open at the neck. Shiny black shoes.

I pulled over, on the other side of the street, to watch.

Three of the men were hauling lengths of something out of the back of the truck. Lumber. Pieces of a framework. They laid them down on the sidewalk and began fitting them together. Two women and another man unloaded plyboard of some sort and brought it to the men snapping the framework together. A few bangs with a hammer and the platform, a small stage, one step up, was finished. They stuck a folding table in one corner of it. Like a medicine show, but the outfits were all wrong.

They didn’t keep me waiting long for an answer. Next to the table, they added a large sandwich board sign that read:

“Money! Land! Homes! We’ll pay you! Come to Rocky and raise a family! Sign Up now!”

Rocky had sent this strange little army to Tahoe to buy Sierrans. I’d never seen anything like this before and it scared me to see it now.

Two men and one woman jumped up on the platform. They had bundles of papers under their arms, which they set on the table. By now, a few curious people were crowding around. One of the men began to shout at the spectators.

“Tired of never having enough money? Tired of having to earn your way with hard work in a country where there’s never enough work to find?

“Have you heard of the richer place on the other side of these mountains, ladies and gentlemen?”

By now the little soldiers from Rocky had put up more sandwich boards with the word “Money!” printed on them. The crowd was growing. A dozen. Two dozen.

“Rockymountain is a rich country, but it’s more than rich, it’s a true land of opportunity. Rockymountain wants you. It wants you badly enough to pay you to come, to pay your way, to give you land and homes and nest eggs. Security! Financial stability! Plenty of work, plenty of money to go around. Why waste your lives here?

“Rocky is looking for people to settle and raise children and build families and towns. We have the money to pay you to have children, pay for their education, their food, their family homes.” Worse and worse.

“We have the
money
, the land, the will, the drive, and the government to take care of you for the rest of your lives!” Nobody had that much money. I wondered what the new citizens would have to do to pay the government back.

The crowd had grown. A couple of dozen people were listening intently and more were drifting up to the table, some of them looking hypnotized, their mouths dropping open whenever he shouted “
money
!”

A street show where the actors were both selling and buying. Selling an idea. Buying people for the great land of Rocky. It looked like a few Sierrans were seriously considering selling themselves.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Several more of the khaki-clads jumped up onto the stage— how many would it hold? One of them was carrying something white. He wrapped it around his shoulders. A robe of sorts. Uh-oh. He aimed a fierce eye at first one and then another member of the audience, roaring in a thunderous baritone that “Rocky is where God lives! Come to the light!” I felt a shiver up my spine. Soldiers, breeders and godders— together? Not good. I was surprised that the weight of their self-righteousness alone didn’t collapse the stage.

A sheriff’s car pulled up alongside the floaters. Frank. He got out of his car and sauntered around it to the platform. The robed godder, his white holiness floating around his military khaki, jumped down to meet him, smiling. Frank wasn’t smiling. They talked for a moment, Frank went back to his car, sat with his legs sticking out the open door, and pulled out a sys. He called someone. Nodding, shaking his head, looking confused, doubtful. Nodding again, shrugging. What was that about? Who had he called? Then he sat for a moment, watching the recruiters, before he called someone else. During all this, the Rockies were cheerfully waving contracts around and chatting up the citizens, several of whom were signing on. Most of the others, though, had stepped back again, eyeing Frank, waiting to see what happened.

A few minutes later, Frank’s deputy, Marty, showed up with a closed truck. They both drew their guns. Frank approached the recruiters and barked some orders. They didn’t move. Their odds were good at a dozen to two. I was on the edge of helping, my door half open. I’d rather liked the deputy’s style when she’d arrested the drunk driver. And these people made my flesh crawl.

Then one of the khakis pulled a laser pistol from inside his shirt. He didn’t have a chance to use it. The deputy shot him first. After that— maybe none of the others had weapons— they lined up and let the two cops pat them down. No, no more weapons. Frank and his helper began herding the Rockies into the back of the truck.

* * *

Jo was thinking about the spy report she’d gotten the night before. The Scorsi brats had gone to the tree where the mayor had been hung, done a lot of laughing, and messed with a piece of rope which they stuck under a nearby bush. Was the threat to Hannah just a game or were the boys rehearsing and preparing for her murder? She sent a message, telling Hannah what her man had seen.

She’d just stuck her sys in her pocket when it began to vibrate.

“Jo, this is Frank.”

“Yes, Frank?” As if she wouldn’t recognize that voice, oily and gravelly all at the same time. Like wet rocks.

He told her a team of Rockies was running a recruitment on Stateline. “For people who’ll go there and have babies or some damned thing. They’re paying them to go. Khakis, but they’ve got godders with them. Thought I’d check with you, let you know I’m about to roust them.”

Jo wondered if this was the mixed group that had caused the ruckus at the border a few days ago. Supposedly, that bunch had been turned back, but they could have found another way in. And there was also the gang of godders someone had seen more recently. These recruiters could be any or all of those. Too damned many Rockies. But she didn’t want them hustled out of town so quickly.

She thought for no more than a few seconds. “No. Arrest them. Call your deputy and take them in.”

“Huh? What charge?”

“I don’t know. Slavery. Baby-buying. Terrorism. And after you lock them up, tell Iggy Santos that you’ve arrested a band of Rocky spies and recruiters and you’re questioning them. Tell him you’ll have more information by his Friday deadline.”

“What questions should I ask them?”

“I don’t care. What’s their favorite color? Hold them for a couple of days, I’ll write out what you should tell Santos then. He can blog it if he wants to try, but that won’t reach enough people. Needs to be in the paper, too. I want everyone to know about this.”

This was perfect. Rocky crossing the border into Sierra, coming right into their town, offering a dubious deal— they were here to buy people! And godders in the group. This was a first, all the way around. She laughed. Judith was going to love it.

She pulled out her office sys and began to compose what the sheriff would tell Iggy.

“The spies from Rockymountain admitted they were here to recruit or kidnap citizens of Sierra and to gather information for a future military invasion that would include terrorist acts by godders…” Maybe not strictly true, but true enough at its core. Godders with military connections would kill people.

The problem was, what should they do with them? She couldn’t just kill them outright. Even Samm might balk at slaughter and it wouldn’t look good if someone found out. She couldn’t keep them jailed or execute them as spies without a trial. She knew things like that happened in other countries, but not in Sierra. And a trial without proof would blunt the drama, cast doubt, and drag on until after the election.

She added another line. “They were deported on Friday, escorted to the border and told to take a message back to Rocky: Sierra is strong, alert, and ready to defend itself.”

Her sys vibrated again. It was Frank.

“One of them, a khaki godder, he pulled a gun and we killed him!”

Even better. “Tell Santos a godder terrorist was killed trying to shoot you.”

The nerve of those people

Drew was getting antsy. School had been out for twenty minutes. He was waiting in the copse behind The Winner’s Tavern, just like they’d decided. Neutral territory, pretty much on Billy’s way home but far enough from both Scorsi’s Luck and the school. The place could always be relied on for loud music, and its patrons tended to be both noisy and oblivious. He was standing behind a fir tree. His nerves were going right to his bladder, but he was sure the minute he opened his pants they’d show up. He did it anyway. They didn’t show up.

Where was she? Maybe Billy was smarter than they thought and had figured out Lizzie couldn’t possibly want anything from him he’d want to give her, no matter how she acted. The whole idea was nauseating anyway. His sister, wiggling and jiggling for Billy. He felt his face flush, then, and like a nasty little burr, a thought of Rica and Jo stabbed at him. He’d felt like a real asshole for doing it, but he’d followed them, seen them kissing. He hadn’t watched the whole thing, just the start. He both did and did not want to see more and he was afraid if he stood there longer, they’d spot him. He had dashed back into the casino, his stomach burning, his groin alive, his mind spinning in anger and misery. The memory today brought back both the pain in his gut and the arousal. He bit his lip, willing it all away, out of his mind and his body.

Then he heard voices, one of them Lizzie’s.

“Ky? I don’t think so, Billy. It’s pretty obvious you’re the real leader. You knew when to end that fight the other day.” Was Billy really dumb enough to swallow this crap? Just a couple of days ago, she’d kicked him in the balls. Now she was drooling all over him. But yeah, Billy was dumb enough, and horny enough, to believe anything she said.

“Well, Ky’s mumble mumble mumble…”

She giggled. He couldn’t believe he was hearing his sister giggle. “Come on, I think it’s kind of exciting that our folks wouldn’t like… Like Romeo and Juliet or something…”

Billy snorted. Just as he strutted past the fir tree, Drew slung his arm around the boy’s neck and pulled him backwards behind the tree, deeper into the copse. Yelling as loud as he could with Drew’s forearm choking him, fighting with both hands and both feet, Billy was spitting and growling like a feral orange tomcat. Drew didn’t let go. The heavy beat of the music from inside the tavern bounced off the trees. Drew swore he could see the leaves shaking.

Lizzie punched Billy in his puffy stomach. He grunted and tears shot from his eyes. He sagged, but Drew held tight, knowing Billy could start up again any time.

Lizzie waved her fist under Billy’s nose and spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the yells and shrieks and drumbeats coming from the tavern. “Okay, what’s the story, scroop? A couple days ago you were going to get Hannah Karlow. Now you’re not. What’s going on? You better talk. Now.”

“We’ll make you guys pay for this. Lizzie, you’re gonna be really sorry. You’re gonna put out for all of us when—” He strained forward.

Blam! Her fist hit his nose and blood gushed. He screamed and sagged again.

“Easy, Liz.” Drew didn’t want them to use up all their best stuff, certainly didn’t want the disgusting little shit to pass out. “Just tell us, Billy. What changed your mind?”

“Nothing changed anything.” He was mumbling, barely opening his mouth. It must have hurt to move any part of his face. “I was just kidding around, before. About the killing.”

Lizzie hit him in the ear. His head snapped to the side. “You’re lying.”

He glared at her, coughed, and whimpered, “You’ll never hear it from me.”