“Heh. Well, yeah. You’re probably right about that.”
She took a moment to think. She knew a part of it was revenge-she and Danny had gotten away from Gary before, and that wouldn’t sit well with him. But the trouble he’d gone to, the money he was willing to spend… there had to be more to this particular op than just that.
“You seem really anxious to have me look after this woman,” she said. “What’s so important about Caitlin O’Connor, Gary? And why me?”
A chuckle.
“Well, you know how it is, Michelle. It’s really hard to find a reliable babysitter these days.”
I give up, she thought.
She flopped back down on the bed.
“So, Porter. What does he know? What can I tell him that’s safe?”
A pause. “You’ve been recommended by several major donors. Porter’s inclined to look positively on you.”
“And are you considered one of the donors? If I drop your name, is he going to recognize it?”
A longer pause.
“He’ll recognize my name,” Gary said. “But not as a donor. I’m just… an intermediary. You know, a go-between.”
“Right.”
“Expect a call from Porter tomorrow.”
After he disconnected, Michelle lay on the bed for a while without moving.
“Major donors” who used Gary as “a go-between.”
This could not be good.
There were a lot of things that she didn’t know about Gary. But there were a few things that she did know. He was one of the Boys.
“Not everyone in the Company’s dirty,” Danny had said. “Most of them aren’t. It’s mainly that group, and they’ve been fucking the rest of us over since World War Two.”
Them, along with several generations of very rich men. The Boys were their provocateurs, their shock troops. The ones who helped pave the way, who cleared the road of inconvenient obstacles.
The Boys did what they wanted, regardless of who was officially “in charge.”
“It’s the Deep State,” he’d explained. “Finance and dirty energy. Oil, mostly. Defense stuff, like ordinance and high-tech weapons systems, private contractors. The drug money keeps things running, especially the black ops that are off the books.”
Michelle hadn’t wanted to believe any of this. Why not just bring on the UN black helicopters and the tinfoil hats? That was how crazy it had all seemed.
But you get smacked in the head with the crazy hard enough, and what else were you supposed to believe?
The Boys liked to keep some separation from the guys who did a lot of their dirty work. Danny had been a contractor, an “asset.” Gary, a few steps up the food chain from Danny-“Not exactly an asset. Not exactly official,” Danny had said. The “major donors” Gary worked for…
What did they want with Safer America?
“Welcome aboard.”
Porter extended his hand across his expensive walnut desk. Michelle took it. He squeezed a little too hard. She’d never understood that, why some men felt the necessity to show their dominance through grip strength.
“I’m really happy to be here,” she said.
“We’d like you to start as soon as possible. Today, if you’d like. But if you need a little time to wind down your other obligations…”
What had Gary told him?
“I do have a few things I need to deal with.” She kept her voice cheerful. Reminded herself to smile. “If I could have a week, that would be great.”
“That’s fine.” Porter seemed distracted, maybe by something on his computer screen. “Make sure you talk to Carla in personnel so you can fill out the W-4.”
“Will do.” Great, she thought. Didn’t you need an address for a W-4? What was she supposed to put down? She couldn’t exactly use Emily’s address in Arcata.
Her sister’s condo, maybe. Where the credit cards Gary had given her called home.
“Do you have ideas about a place to live, here in Houston?” Porter asked suddenly. As if he’d read her mind.
“Not really.”
“Well, I’ve got a line on some corporate housing, if you’re interested. Semi-furnished. Not too far from here. Convenient, especially with all the travel you’ll be doing.”
Michelle smiled at him. “Thank you. I’m very interested.”
She needed to see Danny one more time, before it got any more complicated. Better to go as Emily-that’s how she’d gone before. Explaining Michelle’s presence there would be more than problematic. And if she was accompanying Caitlin on her media events and availabilities, to her high-profile charity events, her parties…
How easy was it to get known here?
On Tuesdays, you could visit between 4 and 9 p.m.
She waited in various lines. Put on a thin knit silk cardigan she’d brought for the refrigerated air. Avoided the horror that was the bathroom for the sixth floor visitors near Danny’s pod. Gave the guard the white slip of paper with his information. Sat on a cement stool with no padding, and rubbed down the speaker grate with a wet wipe, the shouting and laughing and crying of everyone around her blending into something like a human version of an orchestral warm-up.
They brought him out. He wasn’t cuffed this time, which was a relief. He looked okay, she thought. Tired, mostly. Managed his half-smile when he saw her.
“Hey,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”
“How are you doing?”
He shrugged. Stood up and spoke into the grate: “The food sucks, the place stinks and there’s a large contingent of assholes.”
“Other than that?”
He grinned. At least she could still make him smile.
“Are you still… are you having any problems?”
That look again, the fractional headshake. Don’t ask.
This time, she gave him a look back. The hint of a glare. Tell me.
“One-time thing,” he said. “Just to let me know… what the situation was.”
That he was vulnerable here. That they could get to him, any time they wanted.
She’d suspected that. She’d known it, really. But still, it felt like a gut punch.
“Shit.” She sat back and closed her eyes. It was all too much, this whole thing. How was she supposed to handle it?
“Hey.”
She opened her eyes. She had to look at him. To face this. He gestured toward the speaker grate. She put her ear back up to it.
“Don’t… don’t worry. Just take care of yourself. I know you can do that.” His voice sounded warm, and urgent. She nodded.
“Did you call Sam?” he asked.
Her heart beat a little harder. She didn’t want to have this conversation. Couldn’t have it, more accurately. Not here.
“Not yet.”
He pulled away from the speaker, his expression once again weary. Studied her.
“Look,” he finally said. “I get it if you’re done. I don’t blame you. But I need you to make that call for me.”
“That’s not it,” she said, “That’s not it at all. It’s just that… Derek can’t?”
He shook his head. “These aren’t people he talks to. It’s better if you do it. You can probably explain things better.”
Things like Gary? she wondered.
She leaned forward. Spoke into the grate. “I’m just a little worried. Because of the job. I’m not sure if…” How to put it? That she didn’t know if Sam was trustworthy? That she didn’t know what might happen if she exposed one of Gary’s operations to someone else? If Sam was working with Gary, then telling him was a problem. Gary hated it when people talked, and he’d punish her, or someone around her, if he found out. If Sam was on their side, could he get Danny out, or would he just make things worse? If he compromised her with Gary and didn’t have the juice to get her away from him…
“Gary’s job?”
She nodded.
“I’m telling you, don’t do it.”
She felt suddenly, irrationally angry.
“You know, coming from a guy who…”
She couldn’t finish. Because the rest of the sentence was, “Got busted for flying hundreds of pounds of pot to Texas and never paid much attention to my opinions on taking those kinds of gigs.”