Half Life (Russell's Attic Book 2) (11 page)

“Miri, are you okay?” said Checker. “Cas, what the hell are you doing?”

The smart thing.
Just because my assumptions had been wrong didn’t mean the call hadn’t been right.

“You must be the psycho ex,” croaked the woman.

“What?” I said.

Checker winced. “No, no, she’s just a friend. A psycho friend. Cas, meet Miri. Miri, meet Cas. This is, uh, her place. I thought you weren’t going to be home,” he said to Miri, an apology in his voice.

“I stopped by to pick up a few things,” Miri said.

“Wait, ‘psycho’?” I cut in. “For Christ’s sake, Checker, people are trying to ki—”

“Let’s have this conversation inside,” said Checker hastily.

Miri picked up her scattered belongings—her bag had spilled clothes and keys and a towel across the hallway, no weapons—and we stepped into her apartment, two cats winding around our feet and mewling as we entered.

“The white one’s friendly. The tabby will nip if you try to pick him up,” Checker informed me. I shied away from both cats. I try to avoid animals; they’re even more unpredictable than humans.

The apartment was bright and clean but excessively cluttered, with books and knickknacks and exercise paraphernalia strewn across every surface, and an absurd number of houseplants that made me feel as if we were trapped in an arboretum. I also disapprovingly noted the lack of security options. The door had an additional heavy bar installed, which Checker had reset once we were inside, but if nothing else the place had a truly godawful number of windows, even with the vertical blinds slatted shut. And if Checker knew the woman who lived here, that made the location at least theoretically traceable.

Of course, given that it was
Checker,
maybe the list of women who would lend him a bed was prohibitively long. I moved a stack of magazines to sit grumpily on the dark red couch, spider plant fronds dangling in my face from up above. “Doesn’t it seem like an unwise solution to solve one problem with a girl by running and shacking up with another one?”

Checker put a hand to his face, and I got the distinct impression he was resisting banging his forehead against something. Miri’s jaw dropped open and she let out a throaty laugh.

“First of all,” said Checker, “that is an incredibly rude thing to say; second of all, despite what you may think, I am perfectly capable of being friends with women; and third of all, Miri is very generously letting me stay here-slash-housesit while she does a show down in Long Beach, where she is living for the time being with
her girlfriend.”

Oh.

“Miri’s my dance partner,” said Checker. “I was already watering her plants and feeding the cats so she doesn’t have to drive up here every day. I told her I was having psycho ex-girlfriend stalker problems and she said I could stay for a while.”

Well, that was one way of describing the situation. “Wait. Your dance partner? You dance?”

“Hey,” said Miri. “Don’t sound so surprised. That’s not on.”

“It’s okay,” said Checker. “Yes, people in chairs can dance, let’s all move past that, and the fact that you’re a horrible friend for not knowing this about me, and—”

“That’s not what I—” I could feel my face flushing hot. I tended to forget Checker used a wheelchair unless I thought about it—the mathematical model of a person’s movement was what it was, and that was it. “I meant it’s
you.
I’m just shocked you have anything approaching grace.”

Checker shrugged. “I’m not claiming to be any good, mind you.”

“Liar,” said Miri. “He’s quite good. You should come see us compete sometime.”

“Well, that’s all you,” Checker told her. “Miri’s a real dancer. Like, professional level. Like, it’s what she went to school for.”

Now that I took a good look, Miri did have a pleasing sort of mathematical fluidity to her, a lift to her posture and an elegance to the equations most people lacked. I wished she was ex-military or something instead.

“Staying here doesn’t seem very secure,” I complained.

Checker grinned. “Oh, not that you can
see.
Miri had a break-in about eight months ago. I might have helped her upgrade a tad based on my own new security system, the stuff I installed at my place after the whole Pithica thing. Possibly, uh, without consulting her landlord.”

“It’s pretty rad,” Miri put in cheerfully. “Cameras and sensors everywhere, and if I want my vandals extra-crispy, I can electrify the—”

“Hey! Ixnay on the apping-zay when your neighbors might hear,” interrupted Checker. “Anyway, none of it’s lethal or anything of course, but it’s better than nothing and they won’t be expecting it. Oh, Miri, speaking of—I temporarily switched the panic button to Cas instead of the police.”

Miri shrugged. “Sure, whatever you want.”

Okay, that was all a little more mollifying. I knew how creative Checker could be when he set his mind to it.

“Hey, I just came from rehearsal, so I’m going to grab a quick shower while I’m here,” Miri said. She turned to me. “Cas, right? Make yourself at home, but do me a favor and don’t choke out my cats.”

“I’m really sorry about that,” said Checker. “Cas is…well…” He gave up. “Are you okay?”

Miri winked at him over her shoulder as she disappeared into the hallway. “Fine. My girlfriend’s given me worse.”

“Too much information!” Checker yelled after her.

A minute later we heard the shower turn on.

“You don’t think I have to worry about the Lorenzos coming after her for letting me stay, do you?” asked Checker, his forehead knitting. “I can get a motel…”

I thought for a minute and shook my head. “Mama Lorenzo’s too civilized. She’s strung up enforcers who’ve gotten innocent people caught in the crossfire.” Come to think of it, her boys putting Cheryl in danger was one more piece I could use for blackmail. I wondered if Mama Lorenzo would be making reparations to Grealy’s, too—Cheryl might come out ahead on this. “If Miri’s all the way down in Long Beach, she should be well out of the way anyway. Besides, I told you, I bought us some time.”

Checker crossed his arms. “About that. What did you mean when you said they were supposed to go after you first?”

Oops. “Nothing.”

“Cas!”

“I’m still working on it, okay?” I snapped. “You are in deep trouble! She wouldn’t back off—nice work with the whole ‘shagging a student’ thing, by the way, bang up job there—and the only way I could buy time was to threaten her, which, as you might guess, is only a temporary solution when it comes to the Mafia! I’m working on something more permanent, but she’s hell bent on taking down both you and your and Arthur’s business, so a little gratitude here would be nice.” I leaned back in a huff and blew spider plant babies out of my face.

Checker had gone pale. “Cas,” he said. “I swear I had no idea—you should have told me it was this serious—”

“You knew the
Mob
was gunning for you and you didn’t think it was
serious?”

“But before, when you said you bought some time—I thought it was—I thought we were—this is going too far. I’m so sorry I got you into this.” He pulled out a laptop and opened it with the force of a man on a mission. “I’m going to drag Isabella out of her retreat if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Who?”

“The niece. The, uh, young woman in question.”

“Wait, you didn’t talk to her
already?”

“It’s not like I didn’t try! She made it very clear that our arrangement was to be no-strings-attached, which, awesome, that was what I wanted, too, but when I tried to get back in touch with her she sent me a very polite email that made it sound like she’d be very angry if I insisted on contacting her and that she’d delete all future communications unread because our relationship had been a commitment-free one, and I know how she hates having all her family baggage brought up, but I don’t think she knows what’s going on—and now she’s on some school retreat up in the mountains—”

“Tell me where she is; I’ll go talk to her in person.”

“Don’t you dare! If Gabrielle Lorenzo hears you went near her niece, she will alter the space-time continuum to see you dead! I’ll figure out a way to get in touch or get them to send her back to LA. I don’t care if I have to tell them her grandmother died.” His fingers were already drumming across the keys.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” I said. “All Mama Lorenzo needs is another excuse to come after you. She might not wait.”

“Fine, then I’ll figure out a way to get a message up to her. Or something. Hey, answer me this, why would anyone voluntarily go to a place with no computers and no cell phone coverage? Not to mention no electricity or indoor plumbing? I swear, I absolutely do not get why people would ever camp out of their own free will. It’s like they
want
to go back to the stone ages. Modern technology is part of what makes living today
better
than living a few millennia ago; you might as well write off every advancement from internal combustion to RSA as a total waste of time if you’re going to—”

“You do that,” I cut into the flow of words. “Where’s my computer?”

“Oh, right.” He twisted to grab another laptop from behind him and handed it to me. “Don’t break this one, okay? I set the password to the last twenty digits of Graham’s number; reset it to one of your own after you log in.”

The water in the bathroom shut off, reminding me Miri was still in the apartment. I’d continuously been on the alert to make sure I’d catch anyone trying to follow me, but still…I was the one who had a target painted on her right now. The faster I was gone, the safer Checker and Miri would be.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll head, then. See you later.”

“Yeah,” said Checker, buried in his laptop again.

I tucked the computer under my arm and started for the door. Checker’s voice stopped me.

“Hey. Cas.”

“Yeah?” I turned.

His hands had stilled on the keys, and his thin face was pinched behind his glasses. “I really am sorry I got you into this. I didn’t think—I didn’t mean to put you in any danger.”

“Oh. Uh, I know.” My temper had cooled, and him dwelling on it was making me feel wrong-footed. After all, I’d successfully escaped all the hitmen so far, albeit with a few hitches. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yes,” he contradicted with a sigh, “it is a big deal. You just don’t think so because you’re weird and scary. I’ll get Isabella back here and fix this; I promise.”

“Good,” I said. “That’s good. Hey, thanks for this.” I hefted the laptop. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Promise you’ll be careful?” said Checker.

“Sure,” I answered. For some definitions of
careful,
at least.

C
HAPTER 11

I
STUCK
the laptop in my trunk and tried to decide where to go next. I could see if Denise Rayal was home, but I wanted to check out her hard drive first, now that I had a working computer. I’d see about chasing down more information on the Lorenzos once night rolled around—who knew, by then Checker might have gotten in touch with Isabella and the whole thing might’ve blown over. It would be nice only to have to dodge Mafia assassins for another day or so.

That left Arkacite. Specifically, one Albert Lau, who had definitely known more than he was saying. He’d be at work right now. I texted Checker to check whether he lived alone, and when I got an answer in the affirmative I hit the 405 and drove back to Venice.

The address for Albert Lau’s condo turned out to be on a crowded street with no parking at all. I didn’t want my new computer to get towed and didn’t fancy bringing it in with me, so I drove around for twenty minutes until I found a tiny stretch of empty curb. Not that I wouldn’t have a problem if parking enforcement drove by with a license plate scanner—this was still the final car I’d jacked after the escape from Grealy’s the night before—but that hardly ever happened.

Lau’s condo was on the second floor, through a tall, locked gate in a hedge and up an outside flight of stairs. I’d forgotten to bring lockpicks again, but mathematics was an easy substitute for the appropriate tools, and I’d found a couple of paper clips and hairpins in the detritus on the floor of my stolen car. I worked the makeshift picks into first the lock on the gate and then the lock on the condo door and walked into an excessively neat apartment that looked like it belonged in a furniture catalogue, all horrendously stiff white couches and granite countertops and steel appliances. The only thing even approaching clutter was a few artfully placed magazines on the glass coffee table that were far too glossy and crisp-looking ever to have been read.

Well. At least the place would be easy to search.

I pushed through a door into a large bedroom. Lau wasn’t a secret slob—the bed was made with the precision of a hotel maid, and blandly impersonal art prints hung on the wall. Even the closet was neatly ordered, his suits all facing the same freakin’ direction. The pristine bathroom had a second toothbrush, a box of tampons under the sink, and a profusion of brightly-colored women’s bath products lining the edge of the tub, but apparently Lau was very particular about his girlfriend leaving anything else around the apartment.

I wandered back out to the living room. The only thing that appeared promising was a closed white laptop that looked like it had been chosen to match the decor. I started to step over to it when a key scraped in the lock.

The sparse apartment had nowhere to hide, but I crouched down behind the arm of the sofa where I was at least not advertising my presence. The door swung open, and Albert Lau appeared, briefcase in one hand, eyes on a folded newspaper in his other hand as he walked in.

Apparently he’d come home for a late lunch break. Oops.

I stood up and crossed the living room as he shut the door, and when he turned back he ran straight into me. He stopped in his tracks and stumbled back a step. The paper flopped to the floor.

“Hi,” I said. “Remember me?”

He tried to bolt for the landline. I whipped my arm around and clotheslined him.