Tell Me No Spies (29 page)

He gave a martyred
sigh and wandered toward the counter. I pulled my hood closer
around my face and slouched while I logged in. I found Spider with
no difficulty this time. Whisper.

“Spider.”

There was a pause
before his response appeared on the screen. “finally. r u
okay?”

“Fine. Sorry, I got
delayed. Any news?”

“nothing good.” My
heart plummeted, and I clenched the mouse until it squeaked. His
text continued to scroll.

“no sign of D or N.
all info on u redacted.” I let out a breath that sounded like a
whimper as Weasel meandered back. I ignored his questioning look
and took a couple of deep breaths. At least they hadn’t found any
bodies.

“Is K all right?”

“yes.”

Small mercies.
“Thanks, over & out,” I typed.

“WAIT!”

I ignored his text and
logged out of the game. As I cleared the cache, I racked my brain.
I had to do
something
.

Weasel offered me
another yellow-toothed smile and drifted closer, and I realized I’d
been staring blankly at him. I averted my eyes from the unedifying
sight as an idea occurred to me. I might not have any family left,
but my dad had lived on the farm most of his life. Maybe he’d
confided in one of his neighbours. Or maybe one of his school
friends from long ago.

As the names occurred
to me, I searched them on the internet, scribbling contact
information on the scrap of paper I’d extracted from my waist
pouch. My heart pounded with tense hope. Thank heaven people of my
dad’s generation rarely bothered with unlisted phone numbers.

A movement at the
doorway caught my eye, and I froze at the sight of the handsome
young man who strode in. There was no mistaking the dimple in his
chin and the thin scar that sliced across his cheekbone, visible
even in the dim light.

Shit, shit, shit!

I dropped my head and
logged off, clearing the cache again with shaking hands as I
mumbled, “Create a distraction.”

“What?” Weasel leaned
closer.

“Create a fucking
distraction. Now!”

There were definite
advantages to associating with criminals. Weasel oozed away with
movements as smooth and unobtrusive as his namesake, and slid into
a seat at a terminal on the opposite side of the cafe. I kept my
head bowed and watched from under my brows.

Suddenly, he smashed
his fist onto the table. “Fuck! Fucking cheater!” he yelled as he
rocketed to his feet. All eyes jerked toward him.

He dealt the table
another vicious blow, shouting obscenities and alternately punching
the air and the table. I moved unhurriedly for the exit, heart
hammering.

Weasel kicked his
chair against the wall, then swung around and grabbed it,
brandishing it above his head as he bellowed. Nice work. He had
everybody’s full attention. I faded out the door and made a beeline
for the car.

The locking system
chirped as I approached it, and I realized with a surge of
gratitude that Weasel was actually thinking. And looking out for
me. I slid into the back seat and wedged myself as close to the
floor as I could manage in the tiny space, wishing the streetlights
weren’t so bright.

About thirty seconds
later, I heard Weasel’s voice approaching the car. “Yeah. Sorry, I
just got carried away. Sorry.”

Another male voice
rumbled, but it didn’t sound like it was getting nearer.

“Yeah, I’ll just go
now. Sorry.” Weasel slid into the driver’s seat and whispered,
“Jane?”

“Go,” I replied.

The stereo blasted out
its thumping beat again, and I felt the car accelerate.

I stayed hunched in my
uncomfortable position for long minutes while the bass mule-kicked
my eardrums and my protesting knees ground into the hard floor. I
leaned forward on my elbows, stuffing my fingers in my ears in a
desperate attempt to preserve some vestiges of my hearing. At last,
the volume dropped from brain-pulverising to merely painful.

“I said, you can sit
up now,” Weasel shouted.

I uncurled, groaning,
and hauled myself up onto the seat. “Thanks,” I yelled over the
music.

“What?”

“Turn down the goddamn
music!”

“What?” The volume
dropped again. “What did you say?”

“I said thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Want
to fuck?”

I couldn’t have heard
that right. Loud music. “What did you say?”

“I said, you want to
fuck? I got a massive boner thinking about you squeezing my balls.
Mmmm.”

Yeah, I’d heard that
right. Unfortunately.

“No.”

“Jeez, why not? I’m
good. You’ll like it.”

“I’ll pass.”

“How about giving me a
blowjob then? As a thank-you?”

My residual adrenaline
morphed into irritation, making a potent cocktail. I kept my voice
flat. “How about I give you a handjob with my knife? Last one
you’ll ever need.”

“Kinky shit. Now I’m
really hard.” He reached to turn up the music again, then caught my
eye in the rearview mirror, grinning as his hand slid into his lap.
His elbow began to jog vigorously, and I developed a sudden keen
fascination with the largely invisible scenery in the darkness
outside the tinted windows.

Back at the industrial
park, I climbed out of the car, resisting the urge to drop to my
knees and kiss the ground. I settled for a couple of deep breaths
of clean, quiet air while we walked across the parking lot.

Weasel sidled over,
and I sprang away as his hands hovered inches from my ass.

“What?” he asked with
pained innocence. “I didn’t even touch you.” He stepped close
again, his face almost skimming my hair. “Damn, you smell crazy
good. Sure you don’t wanna fuck? I’m so hard I could drive
nails.”

My temper snapped as I
dodged away again. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you had the last dick on
earth. You try that again, and you won’t even have a dick. I’ll rip
it off and stuff it down your throat. We clear?”

“What? I didn’t do
anything.” His eyes drifted half-closed, and he cupped his crotch.
“You wanna pull my cock. You wanna squeeze my balls,” he
singsonged. “Goddamn, you’re one crazy hot bitch. I’m gonna jizz in
my pants right now.” He rubbed himself through his jeans,
moaning.

I breathed slowly
through my teeth, wrestling with the fervent desire to pull out my
gun and shoot him. At last, I convinced myself that being slimy and
disgusting was, unfortunately, not an offense worthy of death. I
turned and walked away instead, nerves twitching and sizzling.

The front door was
locked. Of course.

“Sonuva-fucking-bitch!” I pounded violently on the door.

My skin crawled when
Weasel spoke from too close behind me. “I got the key. Want me to
slam my key into your hot, wet keyhole?” His hands appeared in
front of me, tracing the shape of my breasts without actually
touching me. His stale smoker’s breath ruffled my hair. “Yeah,” he
crooned. “Oooh, yeah. Bend over. I wanna see your sweet ass in the
air-”

The world went red and
I spun. My fist made a creditable attempt to reach his backbone
through his solar plexus. The air barked out of him as he doubled
over, presenting a marvellous target for the knee I hammered up
into his face.

He said, “Urmfp,” and
started to fold. I was just winding up for a ball-crushing kick
when powerful arms closed around me from behind and dragged me
away.

I roared with pure
rage, stomping down with one heel while I slammed my head back. The
grip released when I made contact with a foot and a chin
respectively, and I belatedly recognized Hellhound’s yell.

“Darlin’, stop! Ow!
Fuck! Jesus! Fuck!”

I spun around,
reaching for him in horrified remorse, and he took a quick step
backward, his hands flying up defensively.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry!”
I babbled. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry!”

He relaxed and gave me
a lopsided grin, rubbing his chin. “Fine, darlin’. Thought ya were
gonna kick the shit outta me, too, for a minute there.”

“No, I’m sorry.” I
caressed his bruised face with quivering fingertips, panting with
reaction. “I’m so sorry. That must’ve really hurt.”

“It’s okay, darlin’.
What’s goin’ on?” He eyed the groaning heap on the pavement.
“Weasel get outta hand? I’d offer to tune him up for ya, but it
looks like ya got it under control.”

“Yeah.” I turned to
look down at Weasel, my conscience already beginning to niggle at
me. “I… kind of overreacted. He was just coming onto me. Usually I
can laugh that stuff off, but I was really on edge…”

Weasel slowly uncurled
to reveal a bloody nose. He groaned and clutched his stomach, and
guilt suffused me. “He actually saved my butt.”

I stepped forward and
started to kneel beside him, but Hellhound took my arm.
“Don’t.”

I let him pull me
back, alarm trickling into my veins. “Is he going to be really
mad?” I whispered. “Do you think he’ll rat us out?”

“Hell, no, darlin’. Ya
prob’ly made his night. If ya go near him, he’ll just provoke ya
again so you’ll hit him some more. Hold the door an’ I’ll drag him
in.”

Hellhound seized
Weasel by the shirt and hauled him through the door one-handed,
dropping him unceremoniously just inside the office. He stepped
over Weasel’s prostrate body to lock the door before turning to put
an arm around me and guide me into the back bay.

“Was he doin’ that
thing where he almost touches ya?” he asked.

I blew out a long
breath. “Yeah. What the hell is that?”

“Just his way of
pissin’ ya off. Most women take a swing at him sooner or later, an’
that’s just what he’s lookin’ for. He got charged last time,
though, ‘cause the chick jumped the wrong way an’ he accidentally
touched her. I was tryin’ to warn ya, but ya left too fast.”

“You’re kidding me. He
actually likes women to hit him?”

Arnie shrugged. “Yeah.
Come on, darlin’, let’s get ya a beer an’ ya can tell me what
happened.”

I threw a glance back
at Weasel. “Shouldn’t we…”

“Nah. He’ll be okay.”
Arnie placed an ice-cold beer in my hand. “Now, what happened?”

“Mark Richardson
almost caught me.”

Arnie paused
fractionally, and I knew he was accessing his memory banks. “Kane’s
Calgary guy? How the hell would he know where ya were?”

“I don’t know if he
did. It might have been sheer coincidence. I saw him first, and I
got Weasel to cause a ruckus so I could sneak out.” I swallowed
another pang of guilt along with my beer. “He did a really good
job, too. Richardson would’ve seen me for sure if not for him.” I
half-turned back. “Maybe we should-”

Hellhound’s arm
tightened around my shoulders. “Forget it. Trust me, darlin’, the
only way ya coulda made Weasel any happier tonight is if ya screwed
him while ya beat the hell outta him. An’ I’m thinkin’ ya prob’ly
don’t wanna do that.”

I shuddered. “No.”

He guided me back into
the bay, where Dave still snored on the couch. We sank into the
chairs, and he leaned back slowly, holding his cold beer bottle
against the bridge of his nose.

“When are you going to
take the packing out?” I asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“That’s a horrible
first memory you have of James.”

He shrugged.
“Whatever. He’s an asshole. Always was.”

“Do you think he
really always was? Or do you think he got that way because your
dad-”

“I don’t call that
sonuvabitch Dad. All he ever gave me was his fuckin’ shitty genes
an’ a busted-up face. An’ a few other busted bones. Asshole. Doug
Kane’s the only dad I got.”

I shut up and took his
hand. My parents had loved me and protected me. My dad was my hero.
I couldn’t imagine the kind of pain Arnie had lived through.

His voice interrupted
my thoughts. “Did ya find out anythin’ from Webb?”

“Yes and no. Still no
sign of Nichele, and Dante’s disappeared.”

His hand tightened on
mine. “Maybe he went somewhere. A trip or somethin’.”

I swallowed hard.
“Well, they haven’t found any bodies yet.” After a moment, I added,
“At least Kane’s still okay.”

Arnie studied my face.
“Ya still pissed at him?”

“Yeah. I mean, not
that I’d want anything to happen to him or anything, I know he was
just following orders, but… I thought we were friends, you know? I
guess I should’ve known better. Spies don’t have friends.”

I took a long swallow
of beer and slid down lower in my chair. “I’m probably more mad at
myself for believing his bullshit than I am at him for shovelling
it at me. I’ll get over it. If I live.”

“What about your
husband?” Arnie asked carefully. “If it was me, I’d have a hard
time forgivin’ that.”

“Actually, I’m not mad
at Kane for that.”

“Bullshit. Ya don’t
just get over havin’ somebody ya love killed like that.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t
mad. I’m just not mad at Kane. He didn’t know me or Robert at the
time, he was just doing his job.” I gulped some more beer. “I still
can’t believe Robert was a spy. And I can’t believe he’d ever go
rogue. He was so…” I trailed off. “Well, what the hell do I know?
If he was a spy, it was all lies anyway. Nothing but fucking
lies.”

I upended the bottle
and drained the last of the suds down my throat. “I need another.
How about you?”

“I’m gonna quit,
darlin’. Think I’ll take a coupla pills tonight, too.”

“Back in a flash.” I
headed for the dark front office.

I’d just closed the
fridge door, beer in hand, when the sudden motion of a shape in the
semi-darkness made me spring back against the wall.

I recognized the
dirty-ashtray smell immediately, along with a wet sound and an
amorous moan from inches away.

“Fuck off, Weasel,” I
said tiredly, and pushed past him.

“Why didn’t you hit
me?” He sounded disappointed. “That was no fun.”