“Take him where?”
Fideli frowned. “I thought you understood, Bryn. We’re in the cleanup business. We get Fairview’s contacts and his clients. Mr. Kanakareides has to be brought in and debriefed and we have to decide what’s to be done with him.”
“But you’ll probably let him die, right?”
Fideli looked away this time. “Yeah, probably, unless there’s a real good reason to keep him maintained,” he said. “Look, I’m not wild about any of this, but it’s got to be kept inside the company. That’s what we’re here to do: seal the leak, repair the damage. People will get hurt. Can’t be avoided. The good news is that we’ll have all of them within a few days; they can’t be skipping too many shots in a row, and they’ll be contacting us. This isn’t the hard part.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked softly. “He preyed on people who were scared and desperate, and made them even more scared and desperate. And now we’re going to victimize them all over again. That doesn’t bother you?”
“If it did, I’d be in the wrong line of work. Look, I’m as compassionate as I can be, but there have to be limits. These people weren’t supposed to live. They’re only here because Fairview got greedy, not because God came down from on high and granted them a miracle.”
“And what about me? I’m only here because you had a spasm of conscience, right? Now I’m marking time, because you already told me your mysterious supplier was done with us. I’m surplus goods. After the last one of these … these revived checks in for their shot, I’ll be dealt with, too.”
He didn’t deny it. “Theoretically. But in practice, there may be other ways you can be useful to us.”
She laughed, and it sounded empty. “Forgive me if I don’t feel reassured by that. It’s not very theoretical to me.”
“Bryn.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his. “I’m not going to let you down. Pat’s not going to let you down. You can count on that, okay?”
She didn’t believe him—not that he wasn’t sincere at the moment. She did believe that. But Fideli wasn’t a rogue; it wasn’t in his nature. He’d do what he was ordered, even if he didn’t like it. Sooner or later, Patrick McCallister would order Fideli to walk away while she was put in some sterile little room again, to die. And Fideli would feel bad about it, and probably carry guilt for a while, but his life would go on.
And hers would not.
There was absolutely no point in saying all that, she realized. Nothing was going to change her fate.
So Bryn smiled and said, “It’s okay. What do we do now?”
“We get this place running,” Joe said. He seemed relieved that she’d accepted his reassurances. “So let’s get started.”
Going through the files was empty work, but at least it passed the time, and that was all Bryn was doing now … passing time.
Mr. Kanakareides—Spiro—showed up two hours later. She knew only because she was looking out the window, sipping her coffee; he never made it to the building. Joe Fideli had a car there, and two plainclothes security men, and Spiro was intercepted and put in and driven off without a single ripple of alarm. That was how easy it was to end someone’s life, she realized. All it took was being polite and efficient in public, until you didn’t have to be polite anymore.
The phone rang.
Bryn looked at it with dread and misery, and picked up the receiver. “Fairview Mortuary,” she said. “Bryn Davis speaking.” She fully expected it to be another of the desperate revived, and it made her sick to her soul—if she still had one—to think that she had to lure these people into the trap. But she had no choice, and really, they had no choice. Fate. It was a bitch.
But this time, the call wasn’t from one of those people. There was a silence, and then a strangely modulated voice said, “Now I know your name. Good. I’ll be seeing you, Bryn Davis.”
The call ended. Bryn stared down at the phone, frowning and a little creeped out. It could have been a prank call, but it felt … different.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked up to find Joe standing in the doorway, watching her. Full of concern, just like those men had been down in the parking lot, calming down poor Mr. Kanakareides.
“I had a call,” she said. “Caller ID was blocked.”
“Do you think it was one of our revived friends?”
“It didn’t seem like it.”
“Our supplier?”
“Maybe,” she said. “And now he knows who I am.”
Joe hesitated for a second before he said, “Well, that was bound to happen. And it’s what we want.”
“Maybe what you want!”
“Bryn, we may still have a shot at luring him in. You can still make the case that you went to the meeting to fulfill Fairview’s obligations, since you took over the business. You can convince him that you know everything, and you’re willing to deal with him. It can happen.”
“You’re kidding, right? You shot at him! I’d think that would cancel any deals.”
“Nah, people in this line of work expect to get some return fire when they shoot up a car. So you have a bodyguard. He’d expect that, too. I’ll bet Fairview never met him alone. Fast Freddy was probably his muscle.”
She thought it over, because it did sound logical, and somewhere inside, she was still struggling for hope, any hope. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Wait,” he said. “He’ll call back, or he’ll contact you some other way. Stick to the story. Make sure he believes that you want to deal. He hasn’t got too many moves right now, if he wants ready cash; this guy is too cautious to take it to the street. Fairview Mortuary is a known quantity.”
“He’ll recognize that your goons are in the parking lot!”
“They’re contractors, not Pharmadene employees. Even if he’s watching and makes their faces, he can’t trace them back. We’re good.” He gave her a warm smile. “Relax, Bryn. I’m not taking any chances with your safety. I promise.”
That, Bryn reflected, made her feel both better and worse, because she really didn’t want to like Joe Fideli any more than she already did. But as the day went on, as the two of them found reasons to talk, she couldn’t help it. He was just … likable.
The last call came in as she was gathering up her things to leave, and Mr. French let out a mournful whine as he stood at the door. “I know,” she said. “We’re going, I promise. Hang in there.” She picked up the phone. “Fairview Mortuary, Bryn Davis speaking. Can I help you?”
“Maybe.” It was the modulated voice again. “You surprised me last night. I was expecting my usual contact.”
Bryn put down her purse and sank into a chair. Mr. French came over and flopped down onto the carpet beside her, looking depressed but resigned. She hardly noticed when he laid his warm, heavy head over her feet. “Well,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even, “you have to admit, I think you surprised me a little more, what with the gunfire and all. I was just keeping my uncle’s appointment.”
“Your uncle.” She couldn’t tell if he meant that to sound suspicious; the modulation ironed all expression out of his voice. In fact, she wasn’t even sure it was a him “You’re telling me you’re related to Lincoln Fairview.”
“Yes. And I inherited his property.”
“Let’s pretend I believe you. How did you know where to meet me?”
“Honestly? I didn’t. My uncle’s car had a nav system. I thought it was probably the warehouse, but it was a guess. He didn’t leave me your contact information.”
“He didn’t have it.”
Bryn waited, but he didn’t say anything more. Still, he hadn’t hung up on her. That was something. “So,” she said. “You were supplying him with … a certain drug. And I’m going to need new stock, obviously. Whatever my uncle had on hand burned up with him, and I’ve got clients. Desperate ones. I need something to sell.”
“I don’t trust you,” he said.