by Logan Ryles
“I don’t feel like Muddy Maggie anymore,” she murmured. “Dirty Maggie, maybe.”
Reed noticed her slumped in the seat. She looked tired. Sure, the remnants of the blast dust she was unable to wipe away didn’t help her general appearance, but deeper than that, there was some level of weariness that saturated her very bones.
To hell with this guy, whoever he was. Whether it was Gambit or Aiden or somebody even worse, this entire organization had sucked the life out of too many good people, starting with his own father, and Banks’s father, and then Holiday. Now Dick Carter and Muddy Maggie and all the nameless, faceless innocents in between.
Whoever he was, and wherever he was hiding, Reed was going to find him. He was going to wrap his hands around this man’s throat and spit in his face as he choked his life away.
Thirty-One
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Another humid night fell over Louisiana’s capital city, shrouding the sidewalks in mist and leaving every bright thing a distorted orb of itself. The Department of Motor Vehicles in downtown Baton Rouge wasn’t called the DMV, it was called the Louisiana Office of Motor Vehicles, which was pretty much the same thing, but Reed noticed that most things in Louisiana were called something unique. Maggie explained that it had to do with the origins of state law. Most states in the US traced their legal system back to the foundations of English Common Law, whereas Louisiana traced theirs back to French and Spanish civil law, which was itself a derivative of ancient Roman law. Maggie seemed to know a lot about the state, how it operated, and what made it special. As they crossed into downtown and the clock slid past eleven p.m., Reed couldn’t help but notice the longing, loving look that she cast toward each passing building, whether it was a library or a sandwich shop.
This is her home. She actually, truly loves this place and these people.
In Reed’s brief experience with politicians, most of them were something worse than the scum of the earth. The kinds of men who sat behind mahogany desks with guts that spilled out over their expensive trousers, pontificating about the needs of poor people and the necessities of a strong military without really understanding or caring about either. The kinds of people who deployed men like himself into faraway countries to do horrible things with no concern about the collateral damage.
But Maggie was different. She did care. She understood her people, their unique problems, and what they needed in a leader. This woman was ready for war, completely unconcerned with the fact that she was putting her entire political career, and maybe her life, on the line to hunt down and destroy the enemies of her people.
He admired that and wondered if he could ever be the same. He wondered if he’d ever live long enough to find out.
They parked the BMW a couple blocks from the DMV, or whatever it was called, and walked together along quiet sidewalks.
“If we were in New Orleans right now,” Maggie said, “there would be music and dancing and plenty of great food.”
Reed grunted. He found little appeal in music or food right now. All he wanted was his father back, to steal away the man who was stolen from him, and then to put his boot on Gambit’s neck until he felt the bones snap.
Across the street from the squat, two-story motor vehicle building was a semi-circular flagstone park with a fountain, some trees, and two park benches.
Maggie stopped Reed next to the fountain and scooped a phone from her pocket.
“What’s your number? I’ll text you if I have problems.”
Reed shook his head and withdrew a burner phone from his coat. “Use this. My number is already programmed inside. You got the VIN?”
Maggie took the phone and unfolded her hand to reveal a scrap of paper with the BMW’s vehicle identification number scratched on it, then she set off toward the darkened building.
Reed settled onto one of the park benches, adjusted his jacket around the Sig handgun in his belt, and studied the building. If Maggie were detected, there would be very little he could do short of an armed assault. It wasn’t like she would be in any danger, but she would almost certainly be recognized, and that would unravel the whole thing.
Moments ticked into minutes, and Reed’s phone buzzed. Maggie texted him.
I’m in.
He closed the phone and leaned forward again, suddenly craving a cigarette. It was a habit he couldn’t shake, although he hadn’t actually tried very hard. The nicotine might be poison, but all things considered, it felt a lot less lethal than his next gunfight.
Reed shook a smoke out of the pack and felt for his lighter. The flame danced under the tip, and his lungs flooded with the relieving glory of the drug.
“Hello, Reed.”
The voice came from behind, barely inches away. Reed bolted out of the bench and jerked the Sig from his belt, already knowing he was too late. The voice was too close, right in his blind spot, already on top of him and ready to kill.
Reed whirled, raising the gun and placing his finger on the trigger as he braced for the searing pain from the bullets that would rip through his body, hot and heavy, shredding flesh and bone.
But they didn’t come. As Reed completed his spin, the sights of the pistol came to rest over a tall, trim man standing a yard behind the bench. He was dark-haired and dressed in a peacoat, with his hands casually jammed into the pockets.
Reed recognized those piercing eyes and that casual smirk immediately. It was Wolfgang Peirce, a.k.a. The Wolf, the killer who had chased him through the mountains of North Carolina, had almost killed both him and Banks during a reckless car chase along the Tail of the Dragon pass near the Tennessee border, and then showed up out of nowhere in Nashville.
The killer who had gunned down Salvador, Reed’s only link to Gambit’s organization at the time.
Reed lowered the muzzle of the gun, his finger still resting on the trigger. Wolfgang displayed no signs of aggression, remaining relaxed with his shoulders slumped, his easy smirk hanging like a ghost at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re edgy, Reed. You should see a therapist.”
Reed licked his lips, suddenly aware that the cigarette was gone, but unconcerned with where it had fallen.
“What do you want?”
Wolfgang tilted his head, holding Reed’s gaze for a long moment, then he lifted his hands out of his pockets. Reed’s trigger finger tensed, but The Wolf’s hands were empty.
“Just to talk. Like we did that time in Chattanooga at dinner. Seems like I snuck up on you then, also.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a habit of doing that, don’t you?”
Wolfgang shrugged. “It’s kind of my job. May I sit?”
Reed hesitated, chewing his lip. Every war-honed instinct in him ordered his finger to press the trigger and blow this guy away. Tonight marked the third occasion that Wolfgang had got the jump on him—fourth if he counted that business in Nashville. Each time, Wolfgang could’ve easily killed him, but thanks to fate, or one of Wolfgang’s bizarre rules, he never had.
“What’s to stop you from popping a bullet into my head?” Reed asked.
Wolfgang checked his watch. “It’s only five minutes to midnight. You know I don’t kill after midnight.”
“So you’ve said. I still don’t know why.”
“My mother used to tell me that nothing good happens after midnight. Words to live by, my friend.”
Reed hesitated, his finger gently massaging the face of the trigger. He lowered the gun and backed up without taking his sight off The Wolf. He sat down on the far edge of the seat and gestured to the adjacent park bench five feet away.
Wolfgang dusted off the bench before sitting down and kept his hands exposed in his lap.
“I guess the governor’s inside?”
Reed squinted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. That was your business in New Orleans. It had your fingerprints all over it. Plus, I saw you on the video when you dashed in to push the governor off the podium, right b
efore the second blast. Mexican C4, right? Smokey stuff. Smokey enough to conceal your movements and make a person think the governor must have gone up with the second blast.”
Reed chewed his lip again, then reached into his pocket for a fresh smoke.
Wolfgang continued to smirk.
“Honestly, Reed, it was a nice piece of work. And it’ll fool most people until the medical examiners find zero biological trace of the governor’s ‘vaporized’ body. Which won’t be long.”
“Get to the point,” Reed snapped. “Why are you here?”
“Don’t you want to know how I found you?”
Reed did, very much, but he wasn’t going to give Wolfgang the benefit of that curiosity.
“I don’t really care. I just want to know why.”
“Always the blunt one, aren’t you? Okay, I’m here because last week somebody left a very valuable item on my doorstep, with a note claiming that you have more of this item. I’m here to collect it.”
Reed’s face twisted into a frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I think you know.”
“What item?”
“A chemical solution designed to promote the organic modification of DNA structure.”
Wolfgang held his gaze, the smirk having melted away like ice on a hot day.
“Whatever you’re talking about, I don’t have it,” Reed said.
Wolfgang rubbed his chin. “Maybe you do and don’t know it yet. What are you doing in Baton Rouge, Reed? Who hired you to kill the governor?”
Reed snorted. “You think I’m going to discuss that with you?”
“I know about your father. I know he went insane in prison and that three days ago he went missing out of his facility in North Alabama. I also know you were there and that you planned to break him out. But something went wrong.”
A cold hand of uncertainty closed around Reed’s stomach. He resisted the urge to swallow and slowly lifted the cigarette to his lips, lighting it with his left hand while the Sig remained clamped in his right.
He took a long puff. There was only one way Wolfgang could know those things. Only one way he could have any idea about what happened at the prison.
“Banks is with you,” Reed said.
Wolfgang nodded. “She is. Along with . . . other people. People who are very concerned about you, Reed. People who want to help you.”
“I don’t need help. And I don’t want Banks dragged into this. I left her in Alabama for a reason.”
Wolfgang laughed. “Don’t be so sexist, Reed. Believe me, she’s the one doing the dragging. Well, her and her squad. Did you know that’s what women call themselves these days? When a group of them go on a power trip, they call it a squad. Scary, right? Like Marines.”
Reed took a drag from his cigarette, holding Wolfgang’s gaze without comment.
Wolfgang leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. “I don’t want her hurt, either. I don’t want anybody hurt. That’s why I’m here. The substance that arrived on my doorstep is incredibly valuable, but in the wrong hands, it could also be incredibly dangerous. You need to work with me.”
Reed finished the smoke and flicked the butt onto the sidewalk. “I can’t help you, Wolf. I’ve got my own problems.”
Wolfgang frowned, then a realization dawned across his face. “They have your father, don’t they?”
Something must have flashed across Reed’s face because Wolfgang’s expression morphed into what looked like genuine compassion.
“Let me help you, Reed. We can get him back, together.”
Reed shook his head. “Not a chance, hotshot. This isn’t your war. If you start bumbling around, they’ll kill him.”
“Give me some credit. If I can sneak up on you, I must be pretty good.”
“It’s not about that. It’s about family. He’s my father, and I’m getting him back.”
Reed regretted the words as soon as they left his lips.
Wolfgang cocked his head and bit his lip, then he sighed.
“I’ve read his medical files, Reed. I’m a doctor, believe it or not. Your father . . . he’s gone. His brain is barely alive.”
Reed sat forward, the gun jerking. “That’s not true!”
Wolfgang didn’t flinch.
“I saw him,” Reed continued. “I saw him in the woods. He recognized me. There was a toy car in his jail cell. It was something he used to own . . . something he remembered.”
“People like your father may occasionally experience flashes of memory, but trust me, you are being manipulated. Whoever is holding your father is playing games.”
Reed locked his jaw and kept the gun pointed at Wolfgang’s gut.
“I think it’s time you left before I change my mind about killing you.”
Wolfgang replaced his hands in his pockets and stood. He stepped to the end of the bench, then turned back.
“She loves you, you know. Banks does. I saw it in her eyes the first time she said your name.”
Reed’s glare blazed, but he said nothing.
“You’re burning down the world in this war of yours. And I get it, Reed. Lines have been crossed. But there’s no reason for you to walk this path alone. I want to help you.”
“You want what you want,” Reed snapped.
Wolfgang nodded. “That’s true, but we can help each other. We need to help each other.”
“You want to help me? Get Banks out of here. She’s an innocent bystander, and you know it. Get her someplace safe, then maybe we’ll talk.”
“Fair enough,” Wolfgang said. “I’ll do what I can.”
Reed stared him down and didn’t answer. Wolfgang turned into the shadows and vanished like the ghost he was, fading into the midnight mist.
A few moments later, Reed heard the familiar growl of the big Mercedes and then the squeal of tires.
He lowered the gun, an overwhelming wave of conflicted emotions passing over him. Fear and pain and loneliness crushed down on him like the weight of the world. He wanted to sob or scream or shoot something.
But he pressed the urges back, shoving every tired and aching emotion deep into his soul, into the darkness, into the place where everything was numb enough to allow him to keep going.
Footsteps clicked against the sidewalk, light and fast. Reed replaced the Sig into his holster and stood as Maggie burst through the mist, her eyes alight in victory.
“I found it!” she said. “I found an address.”
Thirty-Two
New Orleans, Louisiana
The hotel door opened without a sound under Wolfgang’s gentle push. The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of an alarm clock. From the adjoining room, Wolfgang could hear Kelly snoring fitfully, struggling for air through her disfigured face. All else was quiet.
He pressed the door shut and sighed, moving to unbutton his peacoat.
“Hello, Lucy,” he muttered.
Lucy was invisible, but he could feel her presence from the darkened corner of the room.
“Where have you been?” she said.
He slid off the coat and deposited it on the TV stand, then sat down on the edge of the bed and began to untie his shoes.
“I told you. I went for gas.”
“Three hours ago.”
“I took a drive. Cleared my head. I’m allowed to do that, you know.”
She didn’t respond, but the silence hung with suspicion.
He looked into the corner but still couldn’t see her.
“I don’t think you’re being honest with me,” she said. “I hope you remember what happened last time you were dishonest with me.”
Wolfgang couldn’t help but squeeze his legs together. Hell would freeze over before he let any of these crazy women tie him to a chair again.
“I’ve got nothing to discuss with you, shadow woman. It’s past my bedtime.”
A sudden click resulted in a bright flood of light. Banks emerged from the adjoining room, her hair tousled and her eyes blazing.
The snoring faded, and a moment passed before Kelly appeared. She was dressed in her typical black garb, minus the headpiece. Her mutilated features sent a wave of nausea through Wolfgang’s stomach, and he looked away.
“Now that we’re all present,” Lucy said from the chair in the corner, “you should come clean.”
Wolfgang shot her a deadly glare. She sat in the chair, one leather-clad leg crossed over the other, her hands held loosely in her lap. The picture of condescending confidence.
Wolfgang looked away, then sighed.
“Okay, fine. I went downtown to investigate the blast.”
“And?” Banks snapped. “We should’ve gone together.”
Wolfgang laughed. “Sure. A bomb goes off, and then Miss Arabia shows up? I don’t think so.”
“That’s racist,” Lucy said.
“It’s reality. You think these cops wouldn’t flip out if they saw her poking around dressed like that? I had to go alone.”
“What did you find?” Banks demanded.
Wolfgang hesitated. Now was the moment of truth. Did he trust Reed, or did he rely on “the squad”? These women might be tough and smart and resilient, but the path between him and finding the source of whatever was left on his doorstep was a path for a lone wolf—not a pack.
“I think it’s time we left Louisiana,” he said quietly.
“What?” Banks snapped.
“Listen,” he said, “I get it. You want to find Reed. You want answers. I don’t know for sure what’s happening down here, but I do know that Reed set off that bomb today, and I do know that the governor is missing and maybe dead. It’s about to get really hot around here, and we don’t need to get mixed up in that.”
“Damn coward,” Kelly snarled. “You’re trying to save your own skin.”
“No, I’m not. I’m thinking more than one step ahead. And I’m telling you, the path we’re traveling isn’t leading us to Reed.”