Pros and Cons (8 page)

N
INE

What could possibly be
more fun than spending more than three hours at a police station in the wee hours of the morning after having been hauled in from the scene of a gunfight? Paying taxes and having root canal come to mind.

I told my story in careful detail, hoping the police had been able to get hold of Douglas and Heather so I could have some extra corroboration. The video from my surveillance cameras was likely enough to lend an aura of truth to my account of what had happened, as was my status as a licensed private investigator, but you never can be too sure when gunfire enters the picture.

I made it out without being arrested, although I was lectured more than once about how I should have called the police instead of trying to take on Fowler myself. There were even some grumblings that I might be charged with obstruction of justice, but that was just bluster and intimidation.

By the time I left the station, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a week. I was sorely tempted to leave Jack to his own devices. If he really needed me to go wait for him at Fowler's house, then he should have filled me in on his version of the plan
before
he implemented it. It would serve him right if he had to try to find a cab at four in the morning.

I fought off the temptation, and after picking up my car, I drove to Wayne Fowler's house and parked at the curb. I wished I knew exactly what Jack was up to, though I had some pretty good guesses. He was a trickster, after all, and I doubted this would be the first time he had to engineer an escape after one of his escapades. My guess was that he was planning to make an escape and lead the police straight to Fowler's doorstep. How they would explain to themselves that the man had fled the police only to come back to his own home and go to sleep I didn't know. However, with who knows how many officers having seen “Fowler” at the station, with the mug shots that were no doubt taken, and with the fingerprints that were apparently going to match Fowler's, there was no way he'd be able to convince anyone that the man who'd been arrested and had confessed wasn't him.

It was nearing five o'clock—and I wished I'd brought a thermos of coffee to help me stay awake—when the lights in Fowler's house went on. I cursed under my breath, wishing Jack would hurry up. Our carefully concocted story was going to get a hell of a lot weirder and a lot less believable if other people saw Fowler going about his normal business while he was supposed to be in the process of escaping arrest. I didn't know how the police would explain the discrepancy—they'd probably say the witnesses were lying or mistaken, but that explanation would wear thinner and thinner the more witnesses there were.

I kept glancing at my watch and looking out my windows and mirrors, hoping to see Jack, but no dice. Minutes passed, one after another, and I got progressively more worried. I didn't know what Fowler was doing up at this hour, but my gut told me he wasn't going to lounge around his house until it was time to go to work. He was up early because he had somewhere to be, and I couldn't afford to let him get there.

On the theory that safe was better than sorry, I rolled my car forward until I was blocking Fowler's driveway. Then I let the air out of one of my front tires and began the rather convoluted process of changing the tire on a Mini. I had to read the directions just to figure out where the spare
was
. But it gave me a good excuse to sit there blocking the driveway for a good long time.

I had just pried the front tire off when Fowler's garage door opened. I looked over my shoulder in time to see him shoving a suitcase into the trunk of his BMW. He slammed the trunk shut, and that was when he saw me blocking him in. I hoped he wasn't the Good Samaritan type who would try to help the damsel in distress fix her flat, because it would be . . . awkward if Jack made an appearance in his disguise while Fowler was around.

I needn't have worried.

Scowling fiercely, Fowler stomped down his driveway toward me. I tried giving him a sheepish smile over my shoulder, but he didn't look any less pissed off. Knowing what I knew about him, I casually picked up the socket wrench I'd used to free the spare tire and rose to my feet. I didn't really think he would physically assault me, but at least I was ready to defend myself if he did.

“You are blocking my driveway,” he growled at me, as if there were some chance I hadn't noticed.

I gave him the sheepish smile again. “I'm
so
sorry. I tried to make it to the curb.” I bit my lip and batted my eyelashes at him. Maybe if I'd looked like Heather, it would have worked, but Fowler was unmoved.

“I need you to move this car
immediately
! I have a very important meeting, and you're going to make me late.”

An important meeting at five in the morning? On a Saturday? And for which he needed a freaking suitcase? Yeah, right.

“I'll be out of your way as soon as possible,” I assured him.

“Get that damn car out of my way
now
!”

Playing helpless damsel in distress wasn't getting me anywhere, so I dumped the charade and matched his glare with one of my own.

“What do you expect me to do? Pick the car up and move it? If you'd stop yelling at me and leave me alone, I could fix it a lot faster.”

“If you're not out of here in ten minutes, you're going to regret it,” he said, and he actually shook his finger in my face. He looked at his watch pointedly. “Ten minutes. Got it?”

Wow, what a prince. I clamped my jaws shut to keep my retort contained, because engaging him in an argument was not what I needed. Instead, I nodded my acknowledgment and turned back to my car, keeping an eye on him in my peripheral vision. He glared at me for another minute, then marched up the driveway and slammed back into his house, where it was probably warm and toasty.

My fingers were numb with cold, but I was too clumsy with gloves on so I had to continue bare-handed. I wanted to move slowly so that I could keep Fowler trapped as long as possible, but I also wanted to be able to make a quick getaway if and when Jack ever showed up. Fowler had left his garage door open, and I could hear him opening and closing the door to his house as he looked out to check on me every minute or so. I got the spare tire on, but since I didn't want Fowler to know I was basically done, I stayed on the pavement, blocking his view of the wheel with my body as I pretended to be hard at work.

The faint sound of sirens in the distance made my heart beat a little faster. What were the chances those sirens were coming this way, with Jack only a little way ahead of them?

Fairly good, I decided as the sound came steadily closer. I hurried to tighten everything up and put my tools and flat tire away. If Jack
wasn't
just ahead of a posse, then I would be out of excuses to keep Fowler at home, but I had to chance it.

The sirens were coming ever closer. I was just closing my trunk when a car careened around the corner, the engine roaring as the driver poured on the gas. I grabbed my keys and jumped into the driver's seat. It was hard to tell how far away the sirens were, but I knew Jack was cutting it ridiculously close. The car he was driving—stolen, no doubt—pulled to a shrieking stop by the curb behind me, and Jack leapt out, still in his Fowler disguise.

I started the engine and put my car in drive. At that moment, Fowler stuck his head out, either to check on my progress again or to see what the disturbance was. Jack kept his back to the house as he jumped into the car beside me, and I couldn't tell if there was enough light for Fowler to see his double.

“Drive!” Jack hollered unnecessarily, hunkering down in the passenger seat and quickly shifting out of his disguise.

The adrenaline of the moment made me want to shove the gas pedal to the floor, but I knew better. If the police saw me tearing away at top speed, they'd probably assume Fowler had stolen another car and give chase. If I drove away sedately, they probably wouldn't come after me.

I glanced out my rearview mirror as I started down the road at a leisurely pace. Fowler took a moment to frown at Jack's car, parked so haphazardly by the curb, then shrugged and got into his own, no doubt planning to go about his regularly scheduled business. I don't think it occurred to him for a moment that the police who came tearing around the corner with lights flashing and sirens blaring were there for him. Why would it?

I turned at the first corner I came to, getting out of sight as quickly as possible, as Jack started laughing maniacally and slapping the dashboard in glee. I considered taking out my gun and shooting him somewhere it would really hurt.

“You couldn't have told me what you were planning?” I asked between gritted teeth. I knew arguing with him was a pointless effort, but I couldn't help it.

“And spoil the surprise?” he responded in mock horror, then laughed again. “I wish I could be there to see the cops pick Fowler up. The look on his face must be priceless.”

“Were you this much of a dick before you became a
Liberi
?” According to Anderson, the awakening of a
Liberi
's powers could change them over time. I had no idea how old Jack was, but I supposed it was in the realm of possibility he'd been a decent human being once upon a time.

“Hey, I helped you save those two losers from themselves, didn't I? I didn't have to do that.”

For half a second, I almost conceded the point. Then I remembered who I was talking to. “You did it because you thought it would be fun, not because you were being such an upstanding guy.”

Jack's eyes glittered in the light from an oncoming car. “Maybe my life before becoming a
Liberi
wasn't a whole lot of fun,” he murmured. “Maybe I lived through shit that should have destroyed me, should have made it impossible for me ever to laugh again.” He turned to look at me, his face more serious than I had ever seen it. “Maybe I decided that I deserved to enjoy my new life, and maybe you should stop judging me when you know fuck-all about me.”

I felt about two inches tall all of a sudden. I had never made much effort to hide my dislike of Jack and his antics—even if they did occasionally surprise a laugh out of me—and I knew absolutely nothing about his life prior to when we met. I sat in awkward silence, trying to frame an apology, when I felt sure an apology was inadequate.

Suddenly, Jack burst out laughing again, turning to face front and shaking his head. “Man, you are such a sucker! I can't believe you swallowed that crock of shit!”

He sounded genuinely amused, his eyes watery with laughter. I don't know what it was about it that rang false, but something did. He was trying to make it seem like he'd been jerking my chain, but I knew in my gut he hadn't been joking.

“Guess I'm just gullible that way,” I said, knowing that despite the curiosity his words had aroused, I had to let it go. He'd been serious for as long as he could manage it, which was about sixty seconds. I could try some probing questions, but chances were any answers I got would be pure fiction.

T
EN

Jack's plan went off perfectly. Wayne Fowler was in custody, as were Heather and Douglas. The police had video and audio evidence that Fowler had attempted murder, and they had three eyewitnesses who could testify to what Fowler had done. And, most damning of all, they had his signed confession, which Jack told me he “might have embellished a little.” Jack had also considerately started claiming he wasn't the man in the video and hadn't signed the confession even before he made his escape, which I'm sure made Fowler's claim of an impostor sound just that much more ridiculous.

All in all, it was about as satisfactory an ending to the case as I could have hoped for. It was theoretically possible that Fowler could still be a danger to Heather and Douglas even from prison. Evidence certainly suggested he had a long reach, as well as connections in low places. But I figured in his current circumstances, he had many more important things to worry about than getting revenge on two petty crooks. Like how to avoid a lethal injection for the murders he'd “confessed” to. My guess was that he was going to cop some kind of insanity plea, seeing as he had no memory of having made the confession.

But in the end, I underestimated Jack once again.

Three days after his arrest, Wayne Fowler was shot to death by an unknown assailant while returning to prison after his arraignment.

I couldn't help confronting Jack once again.

“What, exactly, did Fowler confess to doing while you were him?” I asked. Sure, it was possible Fowler had lots of enemies who had just happened to get to him after his arrest. Maybe some of his “business associates” were worried about what he might say during his time in the penal system. But the speed with which the murder had occurred screamed of an urgency that formless worry wouldn't explain. Jack had “embellished” more than I'd suspected, and he had gotten Fowler killed.

Jack flashed me a fierce and unrepentant grin. “I might have fingered a few of his best clients for a murder or two. It's true that hit men usually don't like it when their lawyers-cum-clients start pointing a finger at them, but I felt that confession was good for Fowler's soul.”

What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

“I told you, I don't do things by half measures,” Jack continued. “Evidence suggests Fowler has had witnesses killed before. If he thought Douglas or Heather—or you, for that matter—were going to testify against him, he might have had you killed just on principle. That could have been . . . annoying.”

“So you set Fowler up to be murdered to protect me, is that what you're saying?”

“Something like that.”

I swallowed hard. He was lying, and he wasn't making any attempt to hide it. “Oh, man. You told Anderson what we were up to,” I said with a groan. As a general rule, Jack wasn't a big fan of playing by the rules, nor was he fond of being responsible. But he deferred to Anderson in a very un-trickster-like way, and this wasn't the first time he'd tattled on me. I was probably lucky Anderson hadn't yanked me out of bed one night to yell at me for working behind his back.

I shook my head. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“Because that's the deal I have with Anderson. Sticking it to a scumbag like Fowler was fun, but not worth getting kicked out on my ass for.”

“And Anderson told you Fowler had to end up dead before it was all over.” Being a god of death and vengeance, Anderson was definitely a hanging judge, although that wasn't why he'd ordered Fowler's death. “He didn't want there to be a trial,” I said, thinking aloud. “He didn't want Fowler publicly talking about the mysterious, impossible double who showed up at the station in his place. Like that might somehow clue people in to the existence of the
Liberi
. And he didn't want
me
embroiled in a high-profile trial where I would have to testify.”

Jack smirked at me. “Welcome to Andersonville, where the Ten Commandments are . . .” He held up one finger. “Thou shalt not draw attention.” He held up a second finger. “Thou shalt not draw attention.” He held up a third finger. “Thou shalt not—”

“Okay, I got it,” I interrupted, because he probably would sit there and say it all ten times for maximum annoyance value.

“And the last but most important one . . .” Jack continued as though I hadn't said anything. “Thou shalt do as I tell you, or thou shalt be very sorry.”

I heard the warning loud and clear.

I'd used Jack to help me protect Heather and Douglas, but even so, I'd allowed myself to forget the one simple fact I could never forget again: my life was no longer entirely my own. I was one of Anderson's
Liberi,
and I would always be subject to his will. Better than being captured by the Olympians, and better than having to live the rest of my immortal life on the run, but still . . .

This wasn't a job I could simply quit if I didn't like the management style. And Anderson wasn't the kind of boss who would let his employees' free will get in the way of what he wanted.

The day of reckoning was coming, no matter how hard I tried to avoid it. Soon, Anderson was going to corner me and order me to do something my conscience would not allow.

And when I denied him the revenge he'd been dreaming of for years, I would see once and for all just what kind of boss he really was. God help me.