I took hold of Sonia’s elbow and eased her out into the corridor. “Come on. We better go back to your room. There are some things I need to tell you.”
Chapter 27
Sonia took the chair. She perched at the front of it. Her whole body was rigid. She was wound up tight. I could tell she was a hairsbreadth away from fight-or-flight. I sat on the edge of the bed and faced her. I kept one foot on the floor near her purse. Her gun was still inside it. There’s a reason the expression don’t shoot the messenger is a thing.
I said, “I want to start with good news. There was nothing between Michael and Renée. That’s for certain.”
“Was nothing?”
“I’m getting to that. First we need to back the truck up a little.”
I talked her through the whole story. All the way from Fenton receiving Michael’s message to her botched attempt at snatching Dendoncker. Including the part where Dendoncker’s guy told Fenton Michael was dead. Sonia was silent for a moment when I got to the end. Her eyes flickered from side to side as she joined the dots. Then she said, “Michael got caught with the note from his sister? That’s how everything turned to shit?”
“That’s the way I see it.”
“So Dendoncker had Michael killed?”
I nodded.
“No. I don’t believe it.”
I said nothing.
“And Renée?”
“I think she saw it coming. I think she got away.”
“But not Michael? Are you sure?” Sonia’s voice was on the edge of cracking up. “Like, totally beyond any doubt? No matter how tiny?”
“I didn’t see his body. But I heard one of Dendoncker’s goons swear that Dendoncker had killed Michael. And he had nothing to gain by lying.”
Sonia got up and crossed to the window. She turned her back and pulled the curtain around her. “I don’t know what to do with this. I can’t believe he’s gone. This must be a mistake.”
I didn’t know what else I could say.
Sonia disentangled herself from the curtain and spun around to face me. “If you knew Michael was dead, why didn’t you tell me right away?” Her eyes were damp and red. “Why string me along? Why all that bullshit about wanting help finding him?”
“I didn’t know what your deal was then.” I held up my hands. “I might not be able to help Michael. But I can still help his sister. Maybe. If I can find her.”
“You still bullshitted me.” Sonia shuffled back to the chair and slumped down. “I just can’t deal with this. What should I do now?”
“Leave town would be my advice. Now I have to get going. But first I need to ask you a question. It’s going to sound insensitive. The timing’s awful. But it could be important.”
“What is it?”
“In the message Michael sent his sister, along with the card from the Red Roan there was something else. A condom. That seems weird to me. Does it mean anything to you?”
“No. Michael wouldn’t have a condom. We didn’t use them. And he would never send one to his sister. That’s gross.”
“It got in there somehow.”
“Someone else must have put it in.”
“I don’t think so.”
Sonia shrugged. “Maybe Michael was trying to tell her something. Like, to be careful. To take precautions. He did love cryptic messages. He was always leaving them for me. I generally didn’t understand them, to be honest. I had to ask him to explain.”
A condom as a warning to take precautions? It was possible. In the sense that it couldn’t be positively ruled out. But it didn’t seem likely. And as an explanation it didn’t feel right. The voice at the back of my brain still wasn’t satisfied.
Chapter 28
I guess the guy with the worn-out boots wasn’t as heavy a sleeper as he’d made himself out to be.
His feet were no longer up on the reception counter when I got to the foyer. He was no longer lounging back in his chair. There was no sign of him at all. But two other guys were hanging around. Two of the guys from the previous night. The only two still able to walk. They were waiting for me this time. That was clear. They both puffed up a little when they saw me. Then they moved. The guy who’d been driving stepped in front of the double exit doors, which were closed. And locked, presumably. The guy I’d hit with the ax handle slunk around in the opposite direction. He wound up blocking the way back to the corridor. He needn’t have bothered. I had no intention of going that way.
The men were wearing the same kind of clothes as before. Black T-shirts. Black jeans. Black combat boots. But now the driver’s left arm was in a sling. And they each had a small backpack slung over one shoulder. Both packs were made out of ballistic nylon. Desert sand color, scuffed and stained and well used. And weighed down with something bulky.
The driver said, “Down on the floor. On your front. Hands behind you.”
“Again?” I said. “Really?”
“Get down. Do it now.”
I didn’t move. “Were you dropped on your head when you were a baby? Was your boss? Because honestly, I’m worried. Virtually every creature on the planet has the ability to learn from experience. But not you, apparently. What happened last time you tried this? When you had three buddies to help out. Not just one.”
“Oh, we learn.” The driver nodded. The other guy swung his pack off his shoulder. He pulled back its flap and took out its contents. A full-face respirator. It was black with a butyl rubber coating; drooping, doleful triangular eyepieces; and a round filter case mounted on the left side. It looked like an M40 field protective mask. The kind that had been used by the US Army and the Marine Corps since the 1990s. Not the newest design in the world. Not the most comfortable. But effective. The guy pulled it over his head and tugged on one of the straps.
The driver held his pack between his knees, opened it, and took out an identical mask. He fumbled to put it on with one hand then stood still for a moment. It made him look like a depressed insect. Then he took out another item. A silver canister. It was about the size of a can of baked beans, and it had a ring and a lever sticking out of the top.
“Ever heard of CS gas?” The guy’s words sounded muffled and tinny through the voice emitter at the front of the mask.
I’d more than heard of CS gas. I’d experienced it. Years ago, on the final day of a training module. A dozen of us were locked in a room with an instructor. The instructor placed a CS canister on a metal table in the center of the space. He pulled the pin and tossed it in the air. He was already wearing his mask. An older model. An M17, which was the standard in those days. We had to wait until the pin hit the ground. Then we had twenty seconds to get our masks on. We all made it. That part of the exercise was fine. The next part wasn’t. We had to remove our mask and shout out our name, rank, and number. One at a time. And we could only put our mask back on when the instructor nodded. That was bad. Really bad. But it was even worse if the instructor didn’t like you. If he pretended he couldn’t hear you. If he made you repeat your information. He made one guy repeat his three times. Between each attempt he left a pause. Each one felt like an hour. To us. They must have felt like a year to the poor guy. The front of his smock was soaked with tears and snot and drool by the time we staggered out into the fresh air. He quit the program about ten minutes later.