“That’s my boy.” Dad smacked me on the back, launching my hangover into overdrive. I excused myself to clean up a bit. One shower later I was clean. Hungover, but clean.
“Your mum says you aren’t yourself,” Dad said with a grin. “She thinks it’s because of some lady friend in Mongolia.”
“I’m all right,” I managed as I finished my second helping of eggs. The food was giving me a little strength. “It’s nothing.”
My parents looked at each other. They’d always been able to read me. I’d been lucky in that they never once questioned anything I did. They seemed just as proud of my decision to become a carney as they were when I got my Ph.D. from Yale. This prying into my emotional affairs was something new.
“Squidge,” Mum started, “I’m a little worried about you.”
“Why?” I’d given them no reason to worry. How did they know?
Mum handed half an orange to Sartre, who was our living centerpiece, before continuing. “You haven’t killed your vic yet. That’s not like you.”
Oh. This was pretty unusual for a Bombay. There had been rare occasions when one of us would drag a live one home, or there wouldn’t be holding cells on the property. But keeping one alive so I could get relationship advice from him must have seemed a bit strange.
“I saw the surveillance tapes and know you went in there, but we’re having some difficulty with the sound.” Mum frowned. “I don’t know what we were thinking, sending Missi off on assignment. Nothing works here without her.”
“You were spying on me?” I asked.
Dad nodded and my mother shot him a deadly look, causing him to dive into another helping of sausage.
“I was worried about you. Is there something you are trying to get out of him before you take him out?”
That sounded good. “Yes. He has some information I need and he’s not coughing it up.” She would believe that. Obviously a vic wasn’t going to spill his guts before we literally spilled his guts. He’d try to keep any information he had to prolong his life span.
“Oh. Okay.” Mum looked distracted. “So, when will you do it then?”
I sighed and leaned back from the table. “Soon. I promise. I just have to do a little research first. That’s all.”
We finished breakfast and, after kicking my parents out of my rooms, I hit my laptop. There were a couple of things I wanted to look up before I did anything else.
The next two days were a blur. I spent a lot of time online and calling in favors to get some information. My mother made frequent visits to see when I was going to clear my assignment. I didn’t see the other members of the council, but I knew she was getting pressure on this.
The hardest part was forcing myself not to find out who Drew was. It wasn’t easy, but I was so torn up about Veronica’s admission that I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Drew seemed like a nice guy. Who was I to say otherwise? Besides, cyberstalking him would probably just make me mad. And I might find out he’s a better man than me. That would suck big-time.
“So, what do you think?” I said to Dekker on one of my late-night visits to his cell. I made sure to permanently disable the sound on the surveillance cameras. It was just enough to confuse the council but not enough to incur Missi’s wrath when she returned.
Dekker rubbed his face. “Jesus, Cy. Will you just end it already? I swear that your drama is making me want to kill myself.”
“Come on, just one more answer.” He was right: This was beyond weird. I was the first to admit it. But something about these midnight sessions made me feel a little better. I thought that Dekker should be happy he was helping in some minor way. Apparently, he wasn’t.
“Okay, okay. I think you should just confront her.”
“What? You’ve been telling me all this time that I should forget about her! How can you flip-flop like that?”
“You obviously need closure.” He held out his hand. “Now can I please have my cyanide pill?”
“You want to die now?” That was a shock.
“No. But this is beyond annoying. You are keeping me alive to be your analyst. And after all this time, you still haven’t asked me about the truth.”
I shook my head. “Not this again. Everyone on death row says they’re innocent. And more than likely they’re not. Why should I believe you?”
Dekker spread his hands wide. “I’m not going to beg. I’ve done some bad stuff in my career. But you keep accusing me of genocide and torture. And while I’m guilty of many things, those two are not on the list.”
I cocked my head to the side, feeling a little like a spaniel who thought he might have heard the word treat but wasn’t sure. “Look. My evidence is credible. And you admit you’ve committed acts of evil. Why should I believe you?” Seriously, this saw was getting dull.
“Why do you insist on pigeonholing me?” he said quietly, and the words shook me.
“What…what did you say?”
“You heard me, Bombay.” Dekker steepled his fingers. “I have killed a lot of men. Most of them were armed. I’ve given orders for torture to retrieve information. But I’ve never directly participated in it, nor have I ordered the torture of civilians. I’ve been paid handsomely for my work. But I’ve never tolerated the torture or murder of women or children.” He punctuated his monologue with a shrug.
I stared at Arje Dekker for a long time. His words wormed their way through my brain and froze there. They caused just enough doubt…just enough to make me stop and think. Oh, there was no doubt when it came to the fact that Dekker was a gun for hire. There was no doubt that he’d chosen to work for whoever paid him most, good or bad. But the fact that some of what he said made me question my beliefs was important. Dekker might, indeed, be innocent of the gravest offenses-the ones that would make me want to kill him.
“You’re right,” I said finally. “I did pigeonhole you.” His expression did not change as I continued. “And maybe that makes you right about other things too.” I stood, gave him a brief nod, and left Arje Dekker alive.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Dignon: Just hear me out. It’s called Hinckley Cold Storage. Here are just a few of the key ingredients; dynamite, pole-vaulting, laughing gas, choppers-can you see how incredible this is gonna be? Hang gliding, come on!
– BOTTLE ROCKET
I knocked on the door and stepped back to await an answer. Nothing. I rapped a little more firmly. Still nothing. It was two o’clock on a sunny afternoon. I decided to wait it out on the swing on the porch.
A few neighbors gave me odd glances as they came and went, but no one said anything. It was a hot day, but I sat in the shade and there was a slight breeze. My quarry would be home soon enough. And then I would have the answers I needed to send me back to my RV. I might even be able to hook up with a few county fairs before state fair season. The thought of that made me smile.
“Cy?” Ronnie seemed shocked as she came up the sidewalk. She looked around furtively. “What are you doing here?”
I rose from my seat and said nothing as she approached. I didn’t owe her anything more than what I had in my hands. I’d fulfilled my promise. That was all that was important.
What I’d underestimated was the effect seeing her again would have on me. My stomach shrank and my heart skipped several beats, no matter how calm I tried to appear. I hoped she wouldn’t notice.
The sun illuminated her light blonde hair. The pale skin that had made me shiver in Mongolia had been replaced by a bronzed glow. It took everything I had not to scoop her up and carry her up to her bed. Until I remembered that it wasn’t just her bed, but Drew’s as well. The lust was instantly replaced with anger. Anger was good. I could handle anger.