Wildcard (17 page)

She wondered if Karl was still part of her
team - wanted him safe, but knew that was impossible.

She found out RJ had worked with the General
recently, and knew Karl had. The two men had met, and she wondered
what this RJ had thought of Karl. Well, that was the reason for
finding him, wasn’t it? Better news of Karl.

She arranged a meeting.

He picked the place, she chose the time, a
park bench, noon. Martha walked up from behind, to study him. She
liked his style. He wore a black greatcoat, longer in the back,
cowboy boots, probably a pencil thin villain moustache.

He turned and rose partially, a gentleman’s
gesture.

“I expect you must be Martha. RJ Sublime, at
your service.” He was a little too polished.

“RJ Sublime.” She walked over, sat down,
waited for him to follow suit. “Are you from Atlanta?”

“Near enough.” His Southern panache was
overwhelming, almost a caricature.

They sat without speaking, playing a game of
silence and who would break it.

“Mister Sublime-”

“Call me RJ, I insist. You don’t have a last
name that I know of, so it’s not entirely fair.”

“RJ, then.”

She didn’t trust him, but she did find him
agreeable. She wondered what his lovers thought of him, if he had
ever made love to a man. Strange thoughts.

He looked at her like a bet he wanted to
place. “Pardon me, Martha, but I have been waiting for you for a
spell, and I need to visit the little boy’s room.”

She watched him walk toward the generic
structure. Cocky, a little, and he was probably a good dancer.
Someone slipped onto the bench behind her, a man. If he wanted her
dead, he would have killed her before moving in. She pretended not
to notice. He sat, unmoving. She could feel the eyes on her
back.

“LuvRay Chose.” She turned after saying
it.

“Martha. Karl mother.”

“Both times correct. I suppose.”

He closed his eyes, flared his nostrils, and
smelled her in a long slow pull.

“You suppose?”

“I was imprisoned for years and forced to
give birth to Karl, but he may not be my biological child.” She
looked at the small pond in front of the bench.

“Sentence too long. No understand.”

Wow. She explained it more slowly. “Now I
have to deal with this Dartagnan.”

He sat inhumanly still. “I am not care.”

“Pretty direct, aren’t you?”

“Tell to me reason I let you live.”

“Why would you kill me?”

He looked through her.

“You aren’t here to kill me and you know
it.”

“No. I am no here kill you. Unless you cause
me think you die is good thing.”

“I won’t, trust me.” She relaxed. She had
been pretty certain he had not wanted to, but he was very wild in
his even way, and his motivations were hidden from her. Power. Sex.
Almost all men responded to one of these. She could read it in
their walk and the speech. Not this man. He might be more dangerous
than an M-E. But that was absurd.

“Does the General want you to kill me?”

“Not know. He no can force. He wanted for I
find you. He know I no kill you.”

“Have you met the General?”

LuvRay nodded his strange and slow nod.

“What is his plan?”

LuvRay looked perplexed. “Ask to a Juniper
brother. They know more.”

“Not the details. His motivation…his driving
force. He hides it from them. He is a master at misdirection.”

“From me, too. I know thing you speak. I no
can see General’s. He likes to war, but is not highest.”

“I suppose he would.” Sublime had left a bag
of breadcrumbs to feed the pigeons. She picked it up, threw a few
bits on the ground. Pigeons flew in.

“He kill Juniper.”

“Old news. What about the Sergeant? Can you
tell me something to save my life if he tries to kill me?”

“No fight him. There is nothing I know for
win him. Stay away him if you think this thing. He wait for you
now.”

“What? He’s here?”

“He will no kill. I am know.”

“Why did you tell me to avoid him if he is
here?”

“Future.”

That made a kind of sense.

“Will that happen? Will he try to kill me
later?”

“I am not know.”

“Why do they want me now?”

LuvRay somehow looked at her and at the
space around her simultaneously. He didn’t respond.

“LuvRay?”

“I am no answers. That is no me. Everyone
think it, but is no true.”

Rodney O’Nilah was well liked even though he
never would have believed it. Not that he had some kind of
inferiority complex, he simply knew he was a goof. He had been
called that too many times to deny the relative truth. Rodney had
the odd heritage of an Irish father and a black mother and had been
born in Harlem, New York City. He had pale skin, almost a light
tan, really, freckles, and red hair.

He had always been dorky, although, or
partially because, he was tall. Six foot-three, not a giant in that
part of the world, but tall. Rodney had always wanted to play
basketball. Unfortunately, when he tried he managed to get his own
elbow in his eye or wind up face flat on the tarmac. He got hurt
easily, wasn’t really tough like some of those guys. Rodney went on
a road trip once, with some other dork buddies, to Atlantic City.
He met an Indian who dealt blackjack.

“You’re a Shaman.”

The way the Indian said it, simple. Just the
way it was. Rodney laughed too loud out of fear of the truth of
what the man had said, not out of genuine hilarity. Rodney heard
the words and knew he was a Shaman. He slept that night better than
he had ever slept, though excited when he lay down. He had his
first dream experience. A talking pig who told him to watch TV,
listen to the radio, read billboards, get truth from anywhere.
Messages would be there.

Since that time Rodney hadn’t worked in
dreams very much. He studied with a Shaman and tried to do the
Shaman thing, taking potions and drugs. Nothing ever happened. He
thought the Shaman was a fraud and went to say so, but before he
could, the Shaman looked at him, and said “I am not a fraud,
Rodney, but I am not your teacher.”

Impressed, he had gone looking for his
teacher. He looked for two years, finally gave up. That’s when he
met him. A bum stared at Rodney as he passed by on the street. The
man was not drunk, far gone, or on drugs. He was just sitting there
in the street, not begging. Rodney felt it. Felt the tug in his
guts that told him here was truth, reality near him. The bum stood
up, leaning over, slouching. He crossed in front of Rodney and
pushed right into his face, smiled and said, “I’ve been waiting for
you.” He had white hair, and Hispanic features.

Rodney was paralyzed with fear. He could
only ask why.

“Well,” said the old man, “I probably have
been waiting all my life because I think you are the reason I am
here on this earth.”

His name was Alvaro Jaime Ramirez. He was
from the jungles of Chile and learned shamanism from the tribe of
his birth. He told Rodney that he needed to find his own way. The
traditional paths had the proper meaning for only those who grew up
with them, and if Rodney tried those ways, he would block his
talent.

“And you, my friend, are a very powerful
shaman.” He had a heavy Spanish accent.

“The most simple thing es le muy profundo.
You only need tune into your message. How do you make yourself the
sensitivo?”

“I don’t gets it. Sensitivo?”

“Si. When you know the, for me, the gods,
for you, I do not know. When it is ready to speak to you.”

“Basketball. I loosen up, get the blood
moving. Basketball.”

“Excellente. You know. You savez. This a
very good thing. How do you get messages?”

“In a dream, a pig told me to watch tv.”

“A pig? No so good. But no so bad. We can
believe this pig, I think. Although message from the farm animal,
she is no so good.”

“It was a wild pig. With tusks.” Rodney held
up his fingers to simulate tusks.

“This much better. You play the basketball
when you wishes, then watch tv.”

“He also said listen to radio and music,
find it wherever I can.”

“Then do so. But especially listen after the
basketball. See me again one time, when you are ready.”

Rodney did. A friend asked his advice about
whether or not to ask a certain girl for a date. Rodney thought
about it, and after basketball, he heard Daffy Duck tell Elmer
Fudd, Suffering succotash, you’ll like a fool, man. He told his
friend not to, but he asked the girl anyway. She humiliated him in
front of a group of people. He told Rodney, thanking him for trying
to save him, and Rodney knew he had struck gold. He told Jaime.

“We are done then. I was only needed
teaching you heart. Other what I know does not help you. Here, for
you.” Jaime gave him a carved wooden boar, very similar to the one
in the dream.

“Where did you get this?”

“I carve this week. Goodbye, Rodney the
shaman.”

“Goodbye.” Rodney wanted to buy him a bottle
of alcohol as a present.

“I no drink.”

He gave him $200 instead.

His friend began asking for more advice.
Rodney offered excellent suggestions from Erkel, Martha Brady, or
the weatherman. His friend told people and soon enough Rodney
O’Nilah was the neighborhood fortune-teller. Old ladies loved him.
He wondered what he could do with the gift. After basketball one
day, Big Bird let him know.

“Something immense is going to happen. Can
you say immense?”

The Sergeant appeared in front of Martha,
pointed a device at her. “Are you going to go without a fight, or
do I use this kooky thing? I don’t even know what it does, to tell
you the truth.” He grinned stupidly.

“I’ll be good.”

After they exited the park, he dropped the
device into a mailbox. As he turned back towards her, she brought
her hand up, drawing a fingernail across his wrist. A thin line of
blood leaked out.

“Nice trick.”

She got inside his guard,
a signal,
don’t count me
out
.

“I’ve heard some intriguing things about
you. You’re a player. I like meeting the Named. They’re
interesting, they make my life interesting.”

The Sergeant opened the door to a black
Maserati.

“Where are we headed?”

“Headquarters. Absolute priority from the
G-dog.”

“How far?”

“1200 kilometers.”

“Why not fly or take the train?”

“Gotta keep it on the down low. The M-E’s
might deal in and I need high security, low visibility. I control
all the variables in this car. Off their radar.”

“You can do that?”

“Right now I can. I need Trident and
Juniperland combined to pull it, but I can do it - for now.
Juniper’s death made them roll back. They probably have some
picture of my movement, but they don’t know what I’m doing, really.
Or why.”

“You don’t think me, or RJ, or even LuvRay
would be tracked by them? They could know we’re here, now.”

“Good point. Let’s go.” The Maserati took
off.

“Why did you tell me that back there? That
you can hide from them?”

“Won’t matter by the time we’re done with
you whether you know that or not.”

“What does that mean? LuvRay said you
wouldn’t kill me. I presume torture is out as well.”

“No. I mean yes it is out. By us. On you.
They just know it already. They went defense.”

“How long will it last?”

“Trident? What do you think?”

“Not much longer. You took Martha.”

“’The Deeply Named comes forth.’” He glanced
at her and gave her a quick double nod.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Your Wildcard name? Everybody knows that.”
He slipped onto the freeway and started moving fast. 350 kilometers
per hour. He was shifting lanes frequently as the cars knifed past
in reverse at 250.

“You’re really playing with the power, huh?
Going to war with the M-E’s?”

He laughed. “Hell, yeah. Kind of fun, isn’t
it, taking on the gods?”

She had expected him to be more uptight and
close-lipped. He seemed almost playful. He was a boy, physically,
and that might explain it.

“I thought you would be pretty straight,
some soldier’s hard edge.”

“Hmm, maybe. Sometimes. I feel pretty good,
right now. To be honest, I find you very attractive. My hormones
are in overdrive.”

She knew already. His fourteen or fifteen
year old body probably wanted anything in a dress. It was an
interesting way to diminish her advantage there, by stating it.
Still…

“Could I use that against you?”

“I can’t tell you that, but if you could,
you’ll know before I will. If I see a way it could be used against
me, I would prevent it.”

He turned to her, sped up a bit. “Unless I
fall in love with you.” He made comic moony eyes at her, then
looked back to the road.

The sexual power was almost nullified by his
acknowledgment. She was glad of it, had never liked using it. It
made her feel sleazy afterwards, even when it seemed necessary,
even when it was used to protect. She had other tools, better
ones.

“Still,” he said, “I am fourteen, in some
sense, and get a hard-on if I see if I see cats screwing.”

“Interesting betrayal of a weakness.”

“Sure. Know your weaknesses. Let your
opponent know you know and aren’t afraid to show the weaknesses
openly. It’s a powerful message. ‘Here is the hole in my armour,
try to hit it. I am not afraid.’ Why not?”

“Somebody could use it to kill you?”

He laughed. “Big deal.”

“Big deal if you die?”

“Yeah, who cares? I don’t care if I
die.”

“What? I don’t believe that. That’s
impossible.”

“Not at all. You have to die sometime.
Probably soon in my position. I was gene-modified to not care. I
care more about accomplishing the mission than living through it.
Although I do want to live to accomplish the succeeding mission as
well.”