Beluga Fay (Dragon Bone Hill) (20 page)

“I was told Governor Salazar wants him dead.”

“Why does he want me dead?” The kid, back still to the man, shrugged.

“But why would you do this?” Glenna again—voice noncommittal, but behind this Titus sensed anger. Solomon, not appearing to sense this, answered.

“My family has been having trouble—since father died.”

“What kind of trouble?” Glenna seemed to need to understand the particulars.

“Money—we’re having trouble paying the Makati tax. But I was told the tax would be paid for the year if I did this.” There was real shame in the voice, but Titus was certain this had more to do with being caught than it was concerned with the morality. Ethics appeared to have long since lost its grip on most in the city.

“But your family is very old—I’m sure your relatives...”

“They’re all dead, and the Governor took their money and property.”

“Did they do something?”

“No, they died and the money and property were needed to help fight the epidemic—you know how it is now.”

Seeming to, the woman stroked his head and nodded. “He had no choice.” Glenna said looking up at Pym. There seemed a real tenderness there for a moment, until he looked deeper and saw the anger behind the mask.

“Stay there, kid.” Pym growled and walked back behind the car, motioning the woman to follow.

“What?” folding her arms and staring at Solomon. There was, behind the benevolent glance, a deeper, brute purpose.

“First, you need to find out why they want me dead. I’ve a pretty good idea, but we should know for certain.”

Turning back to him, the woman nodded.

“Also, we need to know how serious they are about this. Solomon doesn’t seem very serious—it was lucky he didn’t kill himself with that weapon.”

“Someone gave him a little training; otherwise, he would not have been able to fire it—let alone swap out the clip.”

Titus nodded and continued. “Lastly, we need to find out if they’ve put a hit out on me with the Cartel—or if they’ve broadened this to anyone with an interest in the bounty.”

“Yes,” looking over to Solomon, “but you’ll need to find out what else you can about him,” jutting a chin in the direction of the young man. Solomon was little more than twenty. He appeared well fed but not fat—a bit chubby perhaps. With short black hair—cut in a fashionable style that would pass in what had been the clubs and in the office for the latest up-and-comer—and eyes that were set a little too close for their small size, Solomon probably did not know anything beyond what he was told. If anything, in Pym’s mind, he was a warning salvo. This in itself was almost comical because there was little by way of threat left in the military and their militia shock troops. Even the Cartel was no match for the Beluga anymore—otherwise, they’d have taken back the territories Pym, Bannly, Synon, and Lander had taken through their swelling ranks.

Never took Pym’s thoughts long to return to the Beluga Fay. Now more than ever his life was reliant upon them, rather than Glenna, and if he lost control of the Fay, he’d have nothing to fall back on. Then even Salazar could take him out, but it would be unlikely that it would take that long for the job to get done. Even the Cartel would have to wait in line behind Lander and his crew.

“Did you hear me?” Glenna interrupting the fugue.

“Find out what he knows.”

“Yes,” leaning in, “and then...”

“He’s a threat?”

“And a failure.”

“How is that a problem?” genuine surprise in the voice, which the woman saw right away.

“He’s seen us together—and this place.”

“How do you think Solomon found the apartment?”

“I don’t know—maybe he followed me here, or you?”

“There would have been better places to get us than here. No, he would have known about this place.”

“I’d have been arrested if they knew about the two of us.”

“Yes, that part is interesting.” The woman’s self-possession was crumbling.

“Are you sure they know?” panic brushing the edges of the rounded vowels.

“Not certain of anything, but we will need to find out what they know back in Makati. I cannot, so you will have to.”

“But if they know about us...”

“Your crew?”

She nodded. “Possible, but not certain. They may not even know about me. Solomon could have found us on his own.”

“Not likely.”

“Yes, it is not likely. Doesn’t change the fact that we need to know what the government knows—at least what the Intelligence department knows. If worse comes to worst, tell them you were trading with me. Hell, they might even believe you.” The last was offered with a chuckle which made the woman’s face fall.

“That’s cold.” There was a pout in the voice. He did not respond to this, and Glenna quickly down shifted into self-preservation. Her rapidity of transformation and intensity was so fast and comprehensive he found it difficult to believe that anything he knew of the woman was genuine. “You had best hope they do believe me.”

“Threat?”

“No.” She drew the word out so long it seemed this was just what it had been or had almost been—the drawl made it difficult to determine. “However, they will
interrogate
me, and that will not take much effort. I’m not physically brave.”

“I’ve seen no examples of bravery in any of your lot, but that isn’t the problem for me. For me the problem is how much I can trust any of you.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“Fair? You just threatened me.”

“It wasn’t a threat but a warning. We’re locked in this together—so if Solomon has not told them about us, then we are going to have to make certain he does not have the chance.” Eyebrows up, driving the point home.

“Kill him?” Glenna’s face remained impassive.

Pym was certain this came from years of practice of hiding intention so that later, when it all went sideways, she could say—with a degree of honesty—that she had recommended no course of action. That he had taken it would be all on him. Titus wanted to be angry but could not help but be impressed by the casual way she’d thrown the onus of what needed to be done back on him. This was the sum total of their relationship to date. No matter what happened next, he would have to be very careful.

“But,” she continued, “make certain you have gotten whatever information he has not shared with us out of him.”

“So, now it is torture?”

“How you get the information is your concern, but you will want to be certain about what he tells you.”

A smile broke on the man’s face at the smoothness of the reply. Pym would not be underestimating her in the future, even if he was learning to trust her a little more—so long as he did not get in the way of her plans. “Very well, but you better come by tomorrow with what you find out. If you do not show, I’ll know something is wrong—then you’re on your own.”

She looked hurt but didn’t say anything. Turning, she walked over to her car, without speaking to Solomon who lay moaning in a pool of his own blood, and drove off.

Pym was in the small but functional kitchen waiting for the coffee machine to finish. The thing never made a decent cup, but given most had not had any for the past six months, he wasn’t particularly concerned. This was, however, just one more reason he needed out of town. Survival was the obvious reason, but there were the little things as well. The little things were what made life worth the effort—a cup of coffee, good bottle of wine, single malt, good restaurant, bathed and perfumed women...preferably in summer dresses, the game, museums, art galleries, hookers with health cards. Even if that were to come back; even if he could get off the islands—which now seemed the best idea in a contracting galaxy of choices—there was little chance of getting back to these in the northern hemisphere. He was in the South for a reason. There was, of course, the East—and that’s where he wanted to go—but there wasn’t much of what he wanted—needed—there—still, more than he’d ever get here.

Pouring the coffee, Titus sat the cup on the counter and stared at the reflected light on the black surface as what looked like dust particles broke into hexagonal shapes. The machine needed cleaning. Dropping a half teaspoon of sugar into his cup, another commodity in short supply, he stirred it twice and took a sip. Not because the coffee was hot but because this would be his only cup for the day—maybe longer—and he needed to make it last. There was a mild bitter taste evened out by the cane sugar, and he smiled. If it had been early morning, it would have been the perfect way to begin the day, but it was close on lunch. Pym had waited this long to make any because he had wanted to share it with Glenna, but it seemed less and less likely that she was coming.

Standing before the front window, he stared down at the quiet street and wondered when the militia would be showing up. He was armed and had an exit strategy, but he did not want to need these. Pym was still counting on the woman getting through the gate. There were other possibilities for getting out, but all of these were bloody and had, in his mind, little chance of success. On top of this, they would each require a large body of information to be distributed widely—which meant there was zero chance of controlling the flow of data. The result of this would be the government and the blockade would learn of their plans almost immediately. This would reduce their chance of success to about zero. Privately, Pym was thinking in negative numbers. So Glenna and her Cabal were his best, if not only, chance to get out in a reasonably bloodless manner.

Certainly the Wall guards would have some nasty surprises for them on the other side of the gate, but he was ready for that. After all, he did not expect to get out without the effusion of some blood—just as long as that belonged to the guards or the cabal. Titus was not prepared to risk his own because what lie on the other side of the Wall would be just as difficult and dangerous as life here, but there would be opportunities as well. This was more than could be said for the city where opportunities evaporated daily—along with life expectancy.

With that, a car turned onto the street, and his hand went to the automatic. The man released the butt when he saw it was Glenna’s car. As the woman got out, he breathed again. Seeing him in the window, she waved, throwing a large, bright smile at him against her milk-chocolate skin. “Must have gone well.” Turning from the window, as she disappeared up the walk, Pym opened the door and made another cup of coffee.

“Good news.” Glenna smiled, taking the coffee, while she kissed him on the cheek. With a thumb, she wiped the lipstick away. Even now she managed to find her favorite color, a deep crin gloss. Either that or she’d seen the holocaust a mile off and stocked up. Even as the thought occurred, he recognized how ridiculous it was but wasn’t dissuaded by the notion.

“What?” As he spoke, there was a thump from the washroom. Stopping, she looked toward the hall.

“You didn’t?”

“I’m not finished.”

“You’ve had a day—I
know
you have never needed more than an hour or two.”

“Just want to be certain.”

“Of what?” Suspicion in the voice.

“That we’re in this together.” Glenna’s face went quiet and an icy calm washed over it—icy because there was a world of anger behind it. He was supposed to have taken care of her mess.

“What does that mean?”

“First, what did you find out?”

“No, what does that mean?”

Stepping forward, he took her by a hank of hair behind her ear, the woman’s long hair was down, and gently, but firmly, pulled her toward him.

“What did you find out?” Though quiet and calm, the voice made its point. Recognition opened the woman’s eyes a fraction, but he saw the calculus occurring behind them.

“My father.” The voice was almost a stutter, and he released her, allowing his hand to trace gently down the jawline. A shudder took the woman. Pym supposed it to be the creep factor. For a moment, she halted then raised a hand to the side of her face. “He wants you dead.”

“Why?” There were too many reasons for Titus to hazard a guess.

“You are an embarrassment to him—us.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s generally known I’m seeing a gang member, and that has a social component, but more importantly, for my father, a political one.”

“How so?” but the clouds were parting.

“It reduces his trustworthiness and has brought into question security issues.” Understanding, Pym smiled.

“Now, about Solomon.”

“Your mess.”

“I can’t...”

“You are going to have to, because I will not.”

“But...”

“You need me to prove I’m in this—I need you to prove the same.”

As she hesitated, Pym shifted the conversation to allow the woman time to decide what she wanted to do—or could do. “Your father doesn’t know it’s me?”

The woman shook her head, and Titus thought a moment. Turning to the window, he walked over and rocked back on his heels. He’d done this, as best he could remember, all of his life when trying to sort out a problem, or come to a decision he did not wish to make.

“He doesn’t know you want out of the city, right?”

“Yes, it would cause problems if he did.”

“His position would be forfeit?”