Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits (10 page)

There were three of them in the room, besides Zoey and Andre, all of whom were already standing when she entered. She spotted the silver suit and lacquered black hair of Will Blackwater right away, holding a glass of scotch because, of course, he was that kind of man.

Next to him was the beautiful but annoyed-looking Chinese woman Zoey had seen on the platform with him earlier, wearing a pitch-black outfit that straddled the line between smart business suit and business-themed sex fetish costume. Hair pulled back to show off her neck. Pearls, brazenly short skirt, calf muscles, heels.

Leaning against the far corner with an empty scotch glass was the guy who earlier Zoey thought looked like he'd stepped out of a cartoon—jowly face with grin lines between a white cowboy hat and a suit that had been tailored to not fit quite right. His body language said that corner was his leaning spot, that he'd spent many a long meeting or brainstorming session there, always with a glass in his hand. A spot where he could see the whole room and take it in, while listening to the fireplace crackle and pop to his left.

Zoey, on the other hand, had arrived there wearing a pair of muddy tennis shoes, the left one ruined by wet cement that was rapidly drying to a crust. She wore too-long jeans that were frayed at the bottom, which were also too tight in the hips even though they hadn't been when she had bought them last summer. She was carrying her denim jacket and wearing a black cardigan she inherited from her mother over an orange T-shirt bearing the logo for a band called Awesome Possum. A gray wool stocking cap was hiding a rats' nest of black and blue hair. She was clutching an angry, smelly cat and was wearing half a pound of its shed fur all over her torso. Fortunately, no one in the room knew she was also wearing a pair of pink underwear that said “
BUTT SHIRT
” across the back.

The moment Andre stepped through the door, soft music faded in—a wokka-wokka guitar that Zoey somehow recognized as the theme from
Shaft
. Like it was Andre's personal theme song.

Will looked annoyed and waited for the music to fade before he said, “Zoey, glad you could make it. This here is Echo Ling, in the corner back there is Budd Billingsley. You've met Andre. We all worked closely with your father and—I'm sorry, please have a seat.”

Zoey let Stench Machine down and shuffled over to sit in a vast leather armchair that probably claimed the lives of twenty cows in its creation. But no one else sat, so she was now seated with her hands knotted in her lap like a nervous little girl, while the four suits loomed over her. She saw Andre had acquired a scotch on the rocks. She wondered if there was a chute somewhere that just fired them into your hand the moment you walked in. She stared down at her ruined tennis shoes. These were the only shoes she had brought and, in fact, were the only tennis shoes she owned. Her nose started dripping again and she sniffed and wished everyone would turn their backs so she could wipe it.

The butler, Carlton, said, “Can I get you anything, Ms. Ashe?”

“Could you get me a new pair of shoes?” She tried to laugh but everyone just pursed their lips and shared their quick sidelong glances. In the distance, a wolf howled.

Finally Carlton asked, “Is there anything else?”

“No, I'm fine. Or, maybe some water.” She felt like she needed to ask for
something
, and that was the only thing that occurred to her.

“Very well.”

Carlton exited. Zoey tried to remind herself to breathe.

Andre said, “Look, we made a terrible first impression. Specifically,
Will
made a terrible first impression. We all owe you an apology, your departed daddy included. So let me say it, for everybody here—it was good of you to come down and help us take care of this, and we'll make sure you're compensated for every terrible thing that has happened today. More than compensated. Right, Will?”

“Absolutely.”

“Nobody should have to go through what you went through back in Fort Drayton, and on the train earlier—”

“What
was
that? Who was that guy? I mean, I know he was after me because of, well, all this, but what
was
he? He could … summon electricity or something.”

More glances. A silent decision was made to let Will explain. Or rather, to decide what
not
to explain.

“We don't know. That's actually the issue at hand. Would you mind if we asked you some questions about that?”

“I doubt I know anything useful.”

“Did you see any kind of device hidden on him? Even something small, like something that could fit on his belt?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“How many times would you say he did it? Made the electrical current arc between his fingers like that?”

“I don't know. He liked to do it, to show it off. I'd say at least five times.”

He shot a glance at the Chinese woman, Echo. This was important, apparently.

“So?” Zoey asked. “Who was he?
What
was he?”

“Just a man, with some kind of gadget, a weapon, we think he had it augmented into his hand.” He shrugged, as if this was an unimportant oddity that was worth no further thought. “All of that—don't concern yourself with it. He's certainly not going to bother you anymore, and this room, right now, is the safest spot in the city for you. Maybe the safest spot in the whole world. Your father had enemies, as you know, but he spared no expense in protecting his home. The moment a foot bends a blade of grass anywhere on the grounds, a dozen armed guards spring into action. You will not be disturbed.”

Carlton emerged from behind her and placed onto an end table a sterling silver tray on which was arranged a pitcher of ice water, a glass, a bowl of lemon wedges, some sprigs of mint, a candy cane, and a box of Kleenex. He poured her a glass of water. The ice cubes were perfect spheres.

Will continued, “So, you know what you're here to do.”

“There's a vault and only I can open it. It scans my brain or something.”

“That's correct. There is no way to fake it, it has to be you.”

“And once I open the vault, it's all over, right? All the contracts and bounties and stuff disappear? I'm just a regular person again?”

There was a pause—ever so slight—from Will before he said, “Absolutely.”

He was lying. Zoey knew she wasn't going to get the truth by just asking, so instead she said, “And we have no idea why he designated my brain as the key instead of yours, or hers, or … literally
anyone
else's??”

Will shook his head and said, “Trust me, no one is more surprised than we are. In fact, as far as we know this is your first visit, so we're not even clear how the vault can be set with your brain's imprint if he never brought you in to let it scan you.”

Zoey started to say, “I have no idea…” but trailed off halfway through, when a memory suddenly popped into her head. “In the fall my mom made a doctor's appointment for me, she said it was something they had to do for the life insurance. But it was weird, they put me in something like an MRI machine and I was in there for a solid hour. They told me they were checking for early Alzheimer's or something, but … I don't know. It seemed fishy. Like they wouldn't answer direct questions. Could Arthur have arranged that?”

Echo glanced at Will and said, “Well, there's one mystery solved.”

Will asked, “And
how
long ago was this?”

“September, early October, around there.”

Glances. Traces of confusion and alarm. This was a bombshell, apparently. Zoey tried to think of why, then it occurred to her that this meant she wasn't here due to some drunken last-minute decision or a mix up with the vault's programming. Her father had planned all of this months in advance—in other words,
he had known he was going to die.
Or at least, he was making preparations for the eventuality. And no one in this room had known.

Echo shook her head and muttered to Will, “I keep imagining him up there, laughing at us while we scrambled around the country trying to figure out exactly which trailer park he spilled his DNA in.”

Budd adjusted his cowboy hat and said, “‘Up there'? Echo, I don't know exactly what religion you believe in that has Arthur Livingston makin' it to Heaven, but I reckon I wanna join.”

Andre said, “Eh, probably just bribed his way in.”

Will, raising his voice to cut off the banter, said, “It doesn't matter. The daughter's here, let's get this over with.”

The daughter
. Zoey realized he had already forgotten her name. She sniffed, wiped her nose with her sleeve and took a drink from her water glass. She glanced around the room—a wreath on every wall. The stuffed and mounted buffalo, wearing its stupid Santa hat and beard. Yet another Christmas tree in the corner. Zoey and her mom had a plastic artificial tree they put together every year. It had a bare spot where two of the branches had broken off, so they had to keep that part facing the corner. Her estranged father, she observed, apparently had a real tree in every room. Zoey suddenly realized that her yearly salary would not even pay to decorate this place for Christmas, and that her entire trailer wasn't big enough to serve as off-season storage for all of the ornaments, lights, and holiday tchotchkes that encrusted the walls of this place.

Once, as a teenager, she had spent all of Thanksgiving and Christmas with a cracked tooth. She endured the throbbing molar for six weeks, due to the wait list to get into a dentist that accepted Medicaid. Every day at work with this pain stabbing like a shard of glass when she bit down on anything harder than pudding. The cost of one bottle of whatever scotch these people were drinking would have paid for her appointment. And now, here were Arthur Livingston's people, in suits that could probably put her through college, looking at her like she was a muddy dog running through their wedding reception. Her ears were getting hot. She pulled off her cap and shook her bangs out of her eyes.

Zoey let out a breath and said, “And then what?”

Will answered, “Then for us begins a very long and tedious task of sorting out the contents of the vault, whatever they are. But that's our problem, not yours. We will release the fifty thousand dollars from escrow, and send you back home in whatever mode of transportation you prefer. Hell, we'll rent you a private plane. Or let you take the company helicopter, if you like. After that, we will never bother you again.”

“And what if I see something in that vault I'm not supposed to see?”

Glances. Will clenched his jaw a little tighter. Echo pressed her lips together. The oilman in the corner—Budd—grabbed a bottle from a nearby cart and poured himself another glass of single malt or bourbon or whatever it was. He seemed to be trying to suppress a laugh.

Will, who was trying very hard to hide the fact that he clearly wanted to strangle Zoey, said, “‘See something'? Like what?”

“Arthur Livingston was a mob boss. You're the mob. Maybe the rumors were right. Maybe there's bodies in there, or stolen stuff, or drugs. Maybe
just knowing the vault is here
is dangerous information.”

“Don't let your imagination get away from—”

“
Bzzzt!
Stop. Don't play the ‘hysterical woman' card here. I've been through three attempted kidnappings in the last five hours. I mean, I'm the vault key, right? Well, why are you any different from all the other crazies that keep coming after me? Because you're wearing Armani? Maybe you don't want the key to your vault just walking around out there.”

Andre said, “Come on, now. It's not like that…”

“And despite the fact that you people all supposedly worked with my father, I still can't get over the fact that he didn't make any of
you
the key. Why not, if you're so trustworthy? Hey, for all I know, you're the ones he was specifically trying to keep
out
of the vault. For all I know,
you're the ones who had him killed
.”

She wanted to see what Will's reaction would be to this. The reaction was barely suppressed rage.

“Maybe,” said Will, “all of this is the result of nothing more than the fact that your father, despite extreme wealth and power, had a history of making terrible decisions.”

Echo smirked at the inference that Will was in fact looking at one of Arthur's terrible decisions right now. Zoey literally bit her tongue, and took a moment to gather herself.

“So,” she said, evenly, “my question is, how do I know that after I'm done, the sedan I climb into isn't going to take me out in the woods where Tex over there will pull out a little gun and shoot me in the back of the head? See, I know for a fact you won't do that
right now
, because I haven't opened your vault yet, and as you said, it doesn't open for a corpse. As long as it stays closed and you want what's inside, I'm safe. But the moment it opens, the value of my life drops to zero. And I, unlike you, care nothing whatsoever about what's in there. So. Mr. Blackwater. I need you to sit down and explain to Arthur Livingston's
bad decision
how you're going to make it worth my while to open that vault for you, and how you can guarantee my safety after.”

Silence. Something popped in the fireplace.

In the corner, Budd laughed from around his drink and said, “I like her!”

Echo Ling, on the other hand, made an expression that could suck the laughter out of a child's birthday party. She turned on her heels and said, “Well, she's definitely Arthur's daughter.”

Zoey stared into Echo's back and said, “If I hear anybody say that again, I'm
never
opening that vault.”

Zoey grabbed a tissue from the tray and loudly blew her nose.

Will gathered himself and said, “I understand your concerns completely—”