Deadout (23 page)

Moose looked confused. “What do the Renfrews have to do with Thompson Company?”

I didn't realize he didn't know. “Teddy's family owns it.”

“The Renfrews might be part of the one percent,” Annalisa continued, “but Archibald Pearce is part of the one percent's one percent.”

Moose was stunned. “The Renfrews own Thompson Company? They're just as horrible and corrupt as Stoma. They're more into the toxic chemicals than untested GMOs, although they do have some new lines of GMO corn they're pushing. Still, I don't think they're big league enough for something like ASSP.”

“There seems to be some personal animosity between Renfrew and Pearce,” I said.

Annalisa nodded. “I've heard that, too.”

Moose laughed. “I don't like Renfrew's chances in that fight.”

“Renfrew had a big to-do at his compound today,” I said. “Lots of security, African diplomatic plates, and some senators: Wilden, Burlholme, and another one—”

Moose stopped. “Wilson Deveaux?”

“That's it.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“ASSP is up for reauthorization this month,” Annalisa said quietly.

“Renfrew has totally leveraged himself, consolidating Thompson Company stock.” They both looked at me. “Just what I heard,” I said. “But it makes sense if he's trying to steal that program away from Stoma.”

We stood there on the side of the road, long enough that the sun crept visibly lower, the shadows rising out of the ground, growing next to every little ripple of sand or bump in the road.

Moose turned to look at me again. “So do you think
that
could have anything to do with people shooting at you?”

I didn't want to talk about Renfrew hiring me, or me following Teddy. “I guess,” I conceded. “But I don't know how.”

Annalisa pointed a finger at me. “You are not going back to that hotel tonight. It's not safe.”

I shrugged, but Moose shook his head. “She's right.”

I laughed. “Well…”

“No,” she said forcefully.

I laughed again. Nervously, I guess.

“It's not funny,” she said, a quaver in her voice.

“I'll be fine,” I said. Then I looked at my watch. “Look, I have to go take care of something, but I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Where are you going?” Moose asked, the two of them looking at me, waiting for an answer.

“Nowhere,” I said, stepping toward the Jeep. “I have to see somebody. I'll call you later, okay?”

Neither of them said anything, and I got the impression I was in trouble with them both. I waved as I drove away, but they just watched me go, their faces stern and worried.

 

38

Most of the security contingent was gone from Renfrew's house, replaced by a series of deep tire tracks in the grass. The sky was still light, but on the east side of West Chop it felt like night had already fallen.

Two black SUVs remained parked out front. One had a massive guy who looked to be of Viking descent sitting in the driver's seat. The other had two guys leaning against it, looking out on the water and smoking. I hoped they weren't getting combat pay.

The same guy who had led me in before came down the driveway, shaking his head. “You're relentless.”

I considered relenting, just to confuse him. “Is he here?”

“Yeah, all right. Come on.” He turned, and I followed him. He gave me a look over his shoulder. “He's enjoying his post-party glow.”

A cool breeze was picking up. Renfrew was standing out on his front lawn amid the semi-disassembled jumble of tents and furniture and temporary flooring. He had what looked like a Manhattan in one hand, and he was looking out over the harbor. Archibald Pearce's yacht was still there but farther out, hazy in the distance, like a ghost ship. The
Mary Celeste
, I thought. Renfrew didn't seem all that perturbed by it.

“Carrick,” he said without turning around. He gestured with his glass out at the harbor, the yacht in the distance. “Looks like I have him on the run, wouldn't you say?”

If anything, shrouded in mist, the boat looked even more sinister. “Did you have a nice party?” I asked.

He turned and gave me a smirk, his eyes slightly bloodshot, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I did indeed,” he said, turning to look back at the yacht. “And thanks in part to you, I believe.”

“How's that?”

“I'm pretty sure Teddy and his hippie trickster friends were planning to disrupt it. I don't know what he was going to pull to disrupt the motorcade, but you foiled it.” He winked at me as he said it, but quickly turned back away.

“Well, I think you're right that his friends are up to something, but from what I saw, they weren't tricky hipsters, or whatever. They looked like serious trouble to me.”

He smiled indulgently. “Well, they were no match for you, were they, Carrick?”

The lights on Pearce's yacht were just visible in the gathering darkness.

“I wouldn't be so sure they're finished trying whatever it is they have in mind.”

“Well, if they try anything else, I'm sure you'll alert me to it and help me prevent it.” He seemed almost giddy, and I thought I detected a slur in his voice.

“I'm alerting you to it now. But I won't be around to help prevent anything. I'm out.”

“Really, Mr. Carrick?” He seemed genuinely surprised, his eyes staying on me for a good three seconds before turning back to look out over the water. “Easy money, an outmatched foe, a chance to keep an eye on your girlfriend as she gallivants around on our lovely island with my good-for-nothing son. I would have thought this was an ideal arrangement for you.”

I could feel my mood souring. He flashed me a smug smile. “I'm surprised. I thought you'd be tougher than this.” He shrugged. “Maybe your experiences in Dunston took more of a toll on you than I had realized.”

I could feel the calm smile tightening on my face.

“Maybe that's got nothing to do with it,” he said, waving his hands away. “Look, Carrick, obviously it's up to you. My offer is generous enough, so I'm not going to sweeten it. But this company is on the brink of something big. There could be a very lucrative place in it for a man like you.”

“Not for a man like me.”

“Suit yourself, Mr. Carrick.”

I turned to go and he looked back at me, one eyebrow raised. “Last chance.”

*   *   *

There wasn't anyone around to show me out. The security types were gone and the place seemed somehow vulnerable. I briefly thought how easy it would be to walk back up the driveway and kill Mr. Renfrew. I wondered how many people were out there who would want to.

I thought about the money I was giving up by not getting in deeper with him, and what I had taken already, what I had hoped to do with it. The vivid pictures I'd had of my future, Nola and me, our little house, they were fuzzy now, like Mungo's ghost ship out there in the mist.

I didn't know what Renfrew was up to, and I didn't want to know. He seemed pretty happy with the way things were going, but I had the strong sense they were not actually going the way he'd planned.

All I knew was that I couldn't put enough distance between me and him, between me and the fact that I had taken his money. Between me and whatever shit storm was about to break over him. I was glad to be rid of Darren Renfrew and his douchebag son. As the road curved and Renfrew's house disappeared behind the trees, I felt an odd sense of lightness, and I realized I was happy.

When my phone buzzed, I felt even better, because it was Nola.

“Hi,” I said, trying hard not to sound surprised or happy or angry or pissy or relieved or anything else.

“Doyle, I need to see you. Can you come over?”

Everything seemed to be coming together. “I'll be there in ten minutes.”

 

39

“I'm concerned about Teddy,” she said when I arrived. I must have succeeded at keeping my face expressionless, because Nola didn't seem to pick up on what I was thinking. Or maybe she didn't care.

She'd been sitting on the front steps of the cabin when I drove up, looking scared and vulnerable, but at the same time strong and resolute. She stood as I walked up to her, but there was no tentative step forward, no, “How are you?”

“I think you were right, Doyle,” she said. “I think Teddy's involved in something over his head. I want you to talk him out of it.”

“I tried talking with him, Nola. After you told me you wanted me to leave. I knew it wouldn't do any good, and it didn't.”

She looked up at me, almost defiant. “I want you to try again,” she said. “For me.”

The situation between us was tense, maybe even past tense, but “for me” still counted. I wondered what that meant about me and her, about us. I'd have to think about it. In the meantime, all I could do was sigh and say “okay,” instead of “I told you so.”

“I asked him about it after you left,” she said. We were inside the cabin now, sitting on the bed. I'd been reluctant to sit on it, afraid of what it wouldn't mean, but she had sat down and patted the space next to her. And there was nowhere else to sit.

“He was already pretty worked up after talking to you,” she said, her eyes flickering up at me.

I shrugged. I'd been pretty worked up, too.

“But when I asked him if he was up to something, he went off. He seemed manic, talking about making a statement, then saying it would be more than a statement. Saying he was going to strike a blow, and it would be just the beginning. Actually, he said ‘we' are going to strike a blow.”

“‘We' meaning who?”

“I don't know. I asked him who he meant, and he said I'd see soon enough.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“He said Stoma was planning on moving their GMO bees. Hiding them or something.”

“Anything else?”

“He said a bunch of things about what to do if something ‘happened to him.' Just logistical stuff to do with the farm, the chickens, that sort of thing.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

She stood up. “I want you to stop him before he does something incredibly stupid.”

“What makes you think he's going to listen to me?”

“So don't talk to him. Just stop him.”

I looked up at her. “I wouldn't even know where to look.”

“I don't know what he's doing there, but he said he was going to the old Thompson Company place. It's a tiny place on Edgartown Road, just off Barnes. It's where the family business started, back when it was a farm supply company and not a chemical corporation.”

“Okay.”

“But you need to leave right now.”

Her eyes looked into mine.
For me,
they said.
This is important to me
. And as much as it bothered me that what was important to her was Teddy, I knew I wasn't going to refuse her.

I nodded and as I turned to go she said, “Doyle,” stepping up close enough that I could smell her—lemon verbena and lavender and whatever else it was, maybe her DNA. It felt like weeks since we'd been this close, and I almost staggered from the sudden sense of longing.

But I didn't. I kept my chin up and my lip stiff, even as she looked into my eyes, placed her hand softly on my cheek, and said, “Be careful.”

I left in a hurry.

We hadn't made up, that much was clear. But we were back on the table, and that threw me. The way things had been going, I'd started to think that by Independence Day, I'd be, well, independent. I'd almost grown used to the idea. I needed to clear my head. I needed to think. My brain was stalling out, and I didn't want any other parts stepping up and making decisions that my brain might regret once it was back up and running.

Plus, I had to find Teddy. And stop him. I smiled at the thought that I didn't have to talk to him.

It was fully dark by the time my headlights splashed across the yellow “Thompson Farm Supply” sign, with its cartoon logo of a smiling farmer sitting on a tractor. It was at the entrance to a narrow driveway with small buildings and huts on either side, and even smaller roads crossing it. I eased down the middle, slowing at each crossing. The place seemed deserted, and I was approaching the fence at the back when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

I turned toward it, and saw Teddy Renfrew kneeling on the ground next to a corrugated steel shack, between a beat-up old pickup truck and a shiny black van. He jumped when my headlights passed over him, dropping a set of keys and what looked like a black plastic lid. The pickup said Thompson Farm Supply across the side. A big white plastic tank with a Thompson Chemical Company logo took up most of the bed. It had a large black spigot and a thick hose attached to it, half-unfurled, looping onto the ground at Teddy's feet, then curling up, into a smaller tank, like a five-gallon water container.

To his credit, Teddy quickly regained enough of his composure to roll his eyes and shake his head in that superior way that made me so want to hit him.

“Hey, whatcha doing?” I asked in an innocent, singsong voice as I got out of the Jeep.

“Carrick, go away,” he said wearily. “Can't you take a hint? Nola doesn't want you here. No one wants you here.” He laughed, a shrill, staccato burst. “Have a little self-respect and just go home.”

His eyes were wide, and his skin was shiny. I wondered if he was on something, or if he was in the midst of an anxiety attack.

“Well, you might be right about Nola not wanting me here on the island, but she does want me here in this industrial park. She told me this is where you'd be.”

That got his attention.

“She was afraid you were about to do something stupid.” I laughed, loud. “What are the chances of that, right?”