Dead Mann Running (9781101596494) (26 page)

Up some marble stairs, the two Stonehenge-sized slabs being used for doors swung in. A short fellow greeted me with a curt nod and a nervous rubbing of his gloved hands. His face was covered with white pancake, giving him more than a passing resemblance to the emcee from
Cabaret
. I remembered him from last time, too, but didn’t remember him this anxious.

“Nice night for it,” he said.

For what? The lights in the House of Gaudy were dim, the place so quiet only the air was echoing. The usual bacchanal wasn’t taking place. Cancelled on account of insurgency? Sure. Even if they didn’t take the danger seriously, it wouldn’t do for a congressman or chief of police to be found away from their desks engaged in necrophilia.

Wordless, I followed the agitated emcee. Green’s security dogs, all in black with thin ties and white shirts, dotted our trip, but it seemed like there were a lot fewer than I remembered, and some weren’t exactly in shape. His standards were slipping.

Last I’d met Colby Green, we’d spoken in a small office, the only normal-sized thing in the joint. I guess this time he wanted to make a different impression, because I was led to the dining room, which was anything but normal.

Green, fifty-something with bat-black eyes, sat at the head of what would’ve looked like an aircraft carrier if it hadn’t been made of wood and covered with linen and dishes. Behind him, a series of marble busts sat on a mantel. Among them, I recognized Dionysus and Epicurus, natural favorites for any hedonist.

He wore a white robe over T-shirt and sweats. On
someone else the outfit would’ve looked informal, but it made him look like an ancient king. He reminded me of a Tarot card, the two of something or other. It shows a lone figure, Alexander the Great, looking out at the world he’s conquered, filled with an existential sadness at having finished everything in life he considered possible, or desirable.

Only this king wasn’t alone. Nell Parker stood behind him, wearing a revealing gown whose green color matched her eyes as closely as the folds of fabric matched her white curves. Her eye color was a present from Green’s more modest chak-experiments. Now she had another gift from him: a golden collar around her neck, with a chain leading to a latch on an arm of Green’s chair.

I got the point. It wasn’t exactly subtle.

“And they say you can’t tell a thing from chak-eyes,” he said. He didn’t move much, almost like a chak. His darting pupils did all the work.

Seeing as he didn’t get up to shake hands, and Nell wasn’t in any position to move very far without ruining her chain, I stayed at the far end of the table.

“And what do you see in mine, Mr. Green?”

“Hatred.”

I flipped my palms in a noncommittal gesture. “You know chakz don’t feel anything that deeply. Nice collar, Nell.”

“Thanks,” she said, touching it with her fingers. “It was a real surprise. Matter of fact, the whole night’s been a real surprise. I’m usually at work.”

Green held up his hand like a cop directing traffic. “At first I didn’t believe you still had the vials, but your
ghost-ninja followed you halfway here before my driver lost him.”

Good. That meant it was less likely she’d double back to recheck the warehouse.

“Sure you lost him?”

“Reasonably.”

He grimaced as if recalling something unpleasant. “I’d be lying to say I’ve lost sleep over it, but again, let me express my regrets at what happened to the officer and your assistant.”

“Then, at least you’re well rested.”

“I average about three hours a night. Never needed more.”

“It’s true,” Nell put in. “He’s a regular night owl.”

“Just like Caligula. As I recall things didn’t work out too well for him. Assassinated by his guard, wasn’t he?”

Green leaned forward like he’d spotted a brand-new bug. “You remember the name of a Roman emperor and how he died. I sometimes wonder if your memory really is bad or simply convenient.”

“I’m good at Beatles trivia, too, but mostly it seems pretty random. Otherwise I’d have recognized your smell in this a long time ago.”

He idly played with Nell’s chain. “Could be old, scattered patterns in your nervous system. Engaging in patter with me, for instance, or looking at Nell, and your brain tries to comply with the situation, dancing without being really aware of the tune. I’m an amateur compared to Rebecca Maruta, but I’d love to run some tests on you. Nonintrusive. We both might learn something.”

“No thanks, I stopped taking tests when I graduated from school.”

“Except the chak-test, no? I helped ChemBet design it, you know. We do cooperate when our interests coincide.”

“Well, there’s another reason to hate you, isn’t there? If I did hate anyone, that is.”

He narrowed his gaze. “This could’ve been over days ago. I told you, the man who kidnapped your assistant was a bad hire. I thought he may have been one of Rebecca’s moles, we’re always spying on each other, but he was too stupid for that, an addict who lacked basic impulse control. What’s the use of a sadist who has no control? It’s so hard to get a good S and M man these days.” He shook his head. “Do you realize how little research has been done on sadism beyond guessing at possible causes: parental condemnation and shaming leading to a desire for superiority; a response to feeling disgust for anything sexual; acting out from a hidden fear of castration. What does that tell you? Nothing.”

“Is there a point hiding in there somewhere that’s afraid to come out?”

He smiled a little. “Perhaps. Given your history, I know your propensity for violence is triggered by a sense of righteous betrayal, probably some childhood trauma. I’ve been trying to figure out if Rebecca Maruta is simply a sadist, or something else entirely.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s an easy one. Trust me. She’s something else.”

“Then consider the possibility that
Project Birthday
would be in better hands with me.”

I shook my head. “You’re also something else.”

He rapped his fingers on the table. “I could’ve stopped you from finding your wife’s killer, but I didn’t.”

“It didn’t suit you.”

“I could’ve let you rot in jail, but I secured your release.”

“To get Nell back.”

He put his palms up. “Nevertheless, like my work with ChemBet, our interests have coincided in the past. They could again, if you’d let them. I want the vials. What do you want in exchange? I destroyed the body of the man you murdered, so there’s no evidence of your crime.”

“Forget it, I already confessed to the head of homicide. Aside from erasing the last week the only thing I want is that shit safely destroyed.”

He acted like he hadn’t heard me. No, he acted like he shouldn’t
have
to hear me. He tugged on Nell’s chain. “You miss having company? Helping Misty isn’t enough? I’ll give you Nell. I’ll even see to it she keeps her broadcast career. She could support you both.”

She stiffened. I wasn’t sure if that meant she liked or didn’t like the idea.

I shook my head. “I don’t buy and sell human beings.”

He grinned. “Isn’t that a line from
Casablanca
? Marvelous. What are you afraid I’ll do with it if I get it?”

“Use it.”

“I’d take every precaution. And if it works, if it really brings the dead back to life, I wouldn’t keep it for myself. You want assurances? Give me one vial, keep the other. If the testing pans out, use it on yourself. You’d be alive again. Think about that.
Really
alive. Depending on the efficacy, O’Donnell could be brought back, too, maybe even your
wife
. We’re talking about immortality. We’d be
gods.
”

I’d seen red when Jonesey or Misty suggested bringing back Chester, but Green was smart, and a better
talker. I admit I imagined seeing my flesh pink again, Misty happy with Chester, seeing Lenore rise from the grave, everyone singing that old song based on the Book of Ezekiel,
Them bones, them bones, them dry bones…

But the pretty pictures ended with Dad, scotch balanced in his remaining fingers, giving me one of his snippets of advice: “If it sounds like it’s too good to be true, it
is
too good to be true.”

I nodded at the busts on the mantel. “Gods, right, like the ones who killed their father, sometimes ate their children, and had a habit of turning people into animals.”

“This is all semantics. Tell me what choice you think you have. The rumor is,
Project Birthday
is some kind of virus that can spread airborne, meaning you can’t safely destroy it even if you wanted to. If it turns out to be dangerous, I can.”

I pointed at him like he was a pair of car keys I’d been looking for. “See, that’s it, Mr. Green.
That’s
what I don’t trust. You say you’ll let Nell go, I believe you. You say you’ll find Misty and get her into rehab, I believe you. Destroy Kyua? No, I don’t think so. If something grosser than chakz came crawling out of those vials, you’d name it, dress it up, train it, and add it to your collection. I don’t care how much money you…”

Money. The lack of guards, the flatulent limo driver, even his hired goons. They were all second rate, like he was cutting corners. On the phone he’d been bitching about how much the assassins and the drone cost him. It hit me.

“You’re strapped for cash, aren’t you? With the chak-camps scooping everyone up, you’ve been losing money and influence. Now you think you can get it back with
whatever’s in the vials. If it works, you keep it. If it doesn’t you sell it back to ChemBet.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “I tried the nice way…”

CLUNK!

Colby Green went forward, he forehead-smashed the plate in front of him, cracking the expensive china right down the middle.

Nell stood behind him, holding the small marble pedestal she’d grabbed from the mantel. One white edge marred with a bit of blood.

She turned her green eyes on me. “He’s got some new drug he thinks will prevent a chak from going feral temporarily. If you didn’t cooperate, he was going to shoot you full of it and cut you up into little pieces until you talked. I want to get out of here. You wanna help or what?”

U
nlike whatever made me and Booth ankle buddies, Nell’s chain was for show. I was going to snap it off, but she stopped me, stuck her hand in the pocket of Green’s robe, and pulled out the key.

Before she could use it, he moaned. A welt was growing on the back of his head, but even so, he had a way of moaning that made unconsciousness seem dirty. The collar unlocked, she pulled it off and tossed it at his groin, like she was hoping it would do some damage.

Then we stood there a second, face-to-face in the quiet.

“So, you gonna kiss me again?” she asked.

“You want me to?”

“I…don’t know. Yeah.”

We gave it a go. It was a little longer than last time, she making more of an effort. Prepubescent kids press lips sometimes to see what all the fuss is about. This wasn’t exactly like that, but it didn’t feel the way it did when I
was alive, either. There was a lot less moisture. I wouldn’t say it felt bad. I liked the sense of approval, and something else stirred…

…until Colby Green moaned again, long and low. His eyes were open. I was afraid he was enjoying watching us, but the pupils were vacant. Still, it ruined the moment.

I pulled back from Nell. “What’s the best way out of here?”

“Didn’t work out that part,” she said. “Kitchen leads to the basement, from there we can get to the garage.”

“How much security, you think?”

She gave me a little smile. “You were right. I don’t know the details, but he’s been cutting back on expenses. Between here and the garage there may be five at most.”

“Better than fifty, but we’ll still need some insurance in case we run into them.” I pulled a groggy Green to standing. “Do you know where any weapons are? A knife? Something we can threaten their paycheck with?”

She pulled open a drawer and pulled out a Walther P99, one of the few guns I can fire without risking my hand. “This do?”

“Geez, marry me. Point it at him.”

“No, you take it,” she said, shoving it in my pocket. “I’m afraid I’ll shoot him for the hell of it.”

I eyed her hand in my pocket. “I appreciate the attention, but you either have to hold the gun or Green.”

She pulled it back out. Before I could ask if she knew how to use it, she had the safety off. “Fine.”

Holding his arms behind his back, I aimed Green at the door. His head lolled. I don’t know how aware he was, but somewhere in that overheated head, a very
smart, very angry man was fighting his way back to consciousness. I wanted to be far away when he won.

The kitchen staff backed off at the sight of Nell’s Walther. A maid in a skimpy outfit even held the basement door for us. The stairs were tricky. A quarter of the way down, I lost my grip and Green skittered down to the poured-concrete floor. I was surprised that didn’t snap him out of it. When we yanked him to his feet, he was still disoriented.

The basement was a cinder-block labyrinth, but Nell knew the way. The only thing I recognized was the open door to the chak pens. Last time I was here it was standing room only. Now, they were empty. A sign of the times.

Green rustled and opened his eyes. I motioned for Nell to aim the gun at him, but he took one look at her and started
sobbing
. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Thin mucus poured from his nose.

“Nell…Nell…Nell…” he said.

“Now you feel guilty, you son of a bitch?” Nell said.

I grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. His eyes rolled in the sockets.

“It might not be his conscience talking. You whacked him pretty good. I think the bawling is a symptom of concussion. Inappropriate emotion.”

She sneered. “You can’t get more inappropriate than tears from Colby Green. He gonna die?”

“How the hell should I know? How much farther to the garage?”

“Down that way and to the left.”

I expected some guards in the carport, but the only one there was my chubby limo driver. When we came in, he was balanced in a chair, sitting in the middle of six
stylish rides. Coat open and flopping along his sides, he was reading his e-book again.