Dead Asleep (10 page)

Chapter 16

E
mma stepped onto the porch and watched as Oz strolled down the stairs and toward immigration. He hadn't spotted her and she took advantage of his lack of awareness to take stock.

She'd met Oz the year before, when he was down and out, looking to run a shipment of marijuana from Mexico to the States. Both he and she had gotten caught up in a nightmarish journey with both the shipment and the cartel that controlled it. Oz had nearly lost his life. Now, though, he looked healthy, but still too skinny, she noticed. He had long brown hair to his shoulders and the face of an ascetic; angular, pale, and classic. She knew that he had the mind of a genius, but Oz's intellect was both his savior and his curse. He often struggled to fit in, and though in his late twenties, he was still at times awkward in a large group. His real talent was anything electronic; computers, circuitry, and sound systems. He'd always taken freelance work as an audio engineer, and she supposed that's what he was doing in Terra Cay.

He disappeared into the immigration area, reappearing five minutes later carrying a black duffel bag. Emma made her way across to the parking lot. Oz was looking around, taking in his surroundings. They were fifty yards apart when he spotted her. His face lit up and he dropped the duffel onto the ground. He jogged toward her with his arms out on either side and Emma heard him laugh. When he reached her, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground, holding her tight against him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he said into her hair. Emma squeezed him back. He lowered her to the ground but kept his arms around her waist.

“Working. You?”

“Working. I'm going to set up a studio for the band Rex Rain. They're here on the island.”

“I know. I've met Richard Carrow. Didn't you run sound for him in the past?”

Oz nodded. “Once at a stop on his tour. Carrow's great. When he called and asked if I'd come, I jumped at the chance. The timing's perfect and I can always use some extra cash. Can you walk with me a minute?”

“I can do better than that, I can drive you where you want to go. Where are you being put up?”

“At Carrow's villa. They say he has some outbuildings and a guest house.”

“I have a car over there.” She pointed to her Jeep. “I'll take you.”

“Great. Just let me tell the driver that I've got a ride.”

He returned to snatch the duffel off the ground and held a brief conversation with a man in khaki pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, who stood near a black Range Rover. When he was finished he headed her way, tossing the duffel into the Jeep's backseat. Oz settled into the passenger side.

“You look good,” Emma said when they were on their way.

“Thanks, I feel good. I'm back at MIT and just finished my core classes. Two more years and I'll finally get my bachelor's degree.”

“Yes!” Emma put up her hand and Oz slapped it in a high five.

“Great, isn't it? Money's tight, as usual, but I'm getting a bit of a reputation as a sound engineer and jobs like this are starting to come my way. This one is ideal. I get paid to work on a beautiful tropical island and I'm on break, so it won't interfere with my classes.” Emma shifted into third and continued along the airport road. “The only reason I got the job, though, is because the original plan for recording fell through. What's this I hear about two members of the band getting deathly ill? Do you know anything about that?”

“It's odd. Don't quote me, but they both seemed drug-related.” Oz didn't seem surprised at that bit of information.

“Yeah, well that pretty much comes with the territory. Rex Rain isn't the worst, but they're among the top users, I'd say. Channel Surfeit is the worst. Their lead singer just tanked and they dumped him in rehab and cancelled the rest of the tour.”

“There's something else going on,” Emma said. Oz gave her a sidelong look.

“Mm. When you say that I get nervous. You still taking small projects for Banner?”

“On and off. When he has a job that I can fit into my schedule.”

“Is your business here for Banner? Because if it is you can drive me right back to the airport. I don't need to be around anything that Banner is handling. He only gets hired when the situation is dire. Dire situations scare me.”

Emma smiled. “Guess you're right about that. But don't worry, what I'm doing here is for the lab. It's a lucrative contract, and I don't need to tell you that it's important, given the flat economy.”

“Business tough?”

Emma nodded. “Lots of cosmetic companies are dialing back on research and development, preferring to market their tried-and-true products. It's a prudent strategy for a tight economy, but it means that Pure Chemistry has fewer projects pending. I don't want to have to lay anyone off, so I've been belt tightening everywhere else. This contract came through at just the right moment.”

“So what's going on?”

Emma told him about the bizarre man and voodoo priestess as well as Sumner's call.

“You were with me during my last adventure. Think it could be related?”

Oz seemed to ponder her question a moment, and she remained quiet to let him think. She had shifted into fourth on the main road but was beginning to climb the mountain. Deadman's Curve was ahead, and she prepared to downshift. She flipped on the headlights, because the sun was almost gone and shadows were everywhere.

“I don't think so, but I've followed news of the cartel since then and by all accounts it's disappeared. This sounds like a couple of locals who don't want you muscling in on their action.”

“That's just it, there is no action. No one currently mines the blue holes and the locals won't go near them out of superstitious fear.”

“I'm talking about the mandrake. Maybe they think you'll start selling it directly to the members of Rex Rain and cut them out.”

Oz's suggestion was a revelation to Emma. She hadn't even considered that the voodoo priestess was a drug dealer, but it made perfect sense.

“That is such a smart insight on so many levels that I'm embarrassed I didn't think of it before. She must be dabbling in drugs, because the zombies of voodoo lore are a result of local priestesses who administer scopolamine to their victims. I'll bet the man was under the influence. Oz you're a genius.”

He smiled. “Nope. I've just been around rock and roll bands a lot longer than you have. They have drug dealers lined up in every town on the tour and they contribute mightily to the local economy while they're there. Miss Priestess is probably just trying to scare off the competition.” Emma shifted into second and slowed for the curve. It was full dark and a bug hit the windshield. The night air was still warm but had cooled to a tolerable level.

They heard the pulsing music about a quarter mile from the villa. The heavy bass and rapid guitar wailing floated on the night air. The song was “Requiem for the Dead,” one of Rex Rain's biggest hits and the title of their Grammy winning album. The pounding of the drums grew louder and then softer as Emma drove upward around the curves.

“They're jamming. Isn't it great?” Oz said. “But the volumes are all off.”

“I like the guitar player. Who did they bring in?”

“Ian Porter. He's primarily a studio musician; one of the best in the business. He's a cult figure to guitar players the world over, and half the rock bands have tried to woo him to join them. He's always refused. Says he loves music but not the circus that is stardom. Carrow must be paying him well to fill in like this. Especially when he knows that Porter won't tour.”

“Well, Martin might be recovered by the time the tour begins.”

They reached the stone pillars situated at the beginning of Carrow's driveway and Emma slowly finished the final climb to the front door. She pulled the Jeep next to Carrow's Aston Martin and killed the engine just as the song ended. The sudden silence was startling. They walked along the path on the side of the house, headed to the pool area.

Over thirty people sat on reclining chairs, floated on inflated pool loungers, or milled around the area. The band was set up on a small stage, only one foot off the ground, on the lawn to the right. A second, low platform stabilized the additional equipment. Carrow stood front and center, wearing faded jeans and a black tee shirt emblazoned with the flag of England. His feet were bare and his skin glistened with sweat. His curls were spectacular, wild in the humid air, with ringlets hanging down to his shoulders. He looked a little bit like an untamed Medusa. He reached out to a high stool where a bottle of whiskey sat. He grabbed it and downed a mouthful, holding it out to the bass player, who took a swallow and then passed it back. Carrow offered it to the guitar player, presumably Porter, who shook his head.

Porter's hair was as dark as Carrow's was fair. It curled around his ears but was no longer than that, and he had a soul patch beard on his chin. A diamond stud earring was in his left ear and a small silver peace sign hung from a braided black leather cord around his neck. He wore dark jeans and a white tee shirt that looked like it came from a three-pack in the underwear department. He was taller than Carrow but almost as thin. Emma wondered if all rock stars were genetically programmed to be thin or if their lifestyle didn't leave a lot of room for adequate nutrition. Where Carrow's personality shone from the stage and one could see his lighter side, Porter seemed to be much more serious and introspective.

Two three-foot-high square speakers on a pallet with wheels sat on either side of the stage, and three small, low rise monitors lined the front. Cables ran almost twelve feet from the speakers to a sound station set up on a folding card table.

Oz put down his duffel and walked to the audio equipment. He took in the flat sound board lined with black dials that looked like a series of eraser tips in perfect rows. He started adjusting several, keeping his head down, his concentration focused. His hair hung in front of his face, blotting out his profile. Carrow spotted Emma and smiled. He leaned into the microphone.

“I see that my favorite chemist is here. Or should I say my favorite
legitimate
chemist.” A few people in the audience twittered in laughter. “Let's sing a song about chemicals, shall we?”

Carrow said something to Porter, and a pleased look came over the guitarist's face. He started into the introduction of the next song. It took Emma only a few seconds to recognize the song. It was “Siren,” a song about a woman who pulls a man into her orbit and offers him drugs.

Oz glanced up from the sound board long enough to throw her an amused look. Emma lowered herself into a nearby chaise, knocked her shoes off, pulled her feet up and leaned back. The stars glittered in the sky, and the bluesy, bass song echoed in the night. The warm evening breeze blew across her bare arms. The bold scent of night-blooming jasmine perfumed the air.

After a moment a man Emma didn't know walked over and handed her a small glass. He held up a bottle of red wine as if to ask her if she wanted some and she nodded. He filled it, smiled, and strolled away without having said a word. Moments later the woman in the chair next to her passed her a joint. Emma passed it on without taking a hit. As a chemist, she had access to every type of drug imaginable and at pharmaceutical-grade quality. She knew the physical mechanisms in the body that the different drugs affected. She was well aware that the world's scientists had created wildly effective chemicals that played havoc with the human system. The easy access made her afraid that once she started, she'd spiral down a drain and wouldn't be able to stop. She didn't use any.

Carrow's voice was full and emphatic and he sang with a slight rasp that might have come from a combination of whiskey, cigarettes, and days on the road. As he sang, Emma felt herself being drawn in. She was mesmerized by his face. He was an attractive man, not handsome in a conventional way but when he sang it was as if conventionally attractive men paled in comparison. It was as if he was the only man alive and worth listening to.

He kept his lips close to the microphone and his eyes half closed. His body swayed slightly from side to side and he had a hand on the microphone even though it was on a stand. Emma felt a peace flowing through her that she rarely seemed to have these days. Between the pressure of her ongoing business, the dangerous situations that were often the outcome of working for Banner, and the recent string of events, she'd had precious little time to just relax and be. She felt safe, both because Oz was there, and she knew he would help her if she asked, and because Sumner had called and offered his assistance. It allowed her to lower her guard and enjoy the music as the island's tropical temperatures and ocean breezes served to calm her. She placed the glass on a nearby end table and settled deeper into the chaise. Her lids lowered and she drifted off while Carrow started another quiet ballad.

S
he woke with a start. The moon was straight overhead, as was a man. He hovered over her with his hands on either arm of the chaise. His face was so close to hers that it took a moment to adjust her vision to identify him. It was Carrow.

“It's late. You fell asleep.” He spoke low and soft, as if to avoid startling her. “I was just considering picking you up and carrying you to bed.” His mouth cricked a bit at the edge as he waited to see her reaction. Emma raised an eyebrow.

“How kind of you to be concerned that I get enough rest,” she said in equally soft and low tones. She smiled into his eyes and his own smile grew wider.

“Would you like me to sweep you off your feet?” he said. She held his gaze.

“That sounds
very
nice. But I should warn you, I rarely get swept away.”

“That's a shame, because it's a lovely feeling.”