The Water Thief

by A M Caturello

  Davy nodded at him. He resisted his internal smirk from manifesting on his lips.

  The four of them reached the compound. It was now pitch-black outside. Davy checked his wristwatch. A couple more hours longer he had to wait; after this time, the Water-Thieves would jump and kill their prey in the desert.

  Two of Solas’ guards welcomed the four of them inside. They immediately tended to Solas’ ass and hand wounds, and Davy’s pierced forearm.

  Treated with bandages, they climbed to the top of the ballroom to the roar of the four torches. Solas sat in a chair in the middle. He sat on one of his butt cheeks, hanging over the chair, as the other still hurt from the slicing of the glass earlier. He took a breather, with Tidewater having never left his grasp. By now, the blood of his hand had stained all the papers.

  The two guards watched over the railing out at the desert.

  Davy and Penelope huddled together, sitting, rifles readied. They sat in silence; Davy checked his watch every second. When it was ten minutes until midnight, he grew antsy.

  The pair sat, shaking from nervousness, rather than from the cold breeze.

  Rodney sat opposite them. His eyes never left Davy’s face. Huffing and rattling, he had a clear feeling of anticipation, too. But his rifle had been lying by his feet.

  Solas spat out, “Ha! These plans are such an embarrassment! How could Vendicatore possibly be organized enough to pull off a heist of my lake? Did you author these plans yourself, Mr. Bight? Absolute nimrod!”

  Rodney said nothing. Solas continued to flick through the plans. “Where is this goddamned secret!”

  Rodney breathed even harder and opened his mouth to speak . . .

  But there was a cry from a radio. The guards whipped out their walkie-talkies . . . and heard the cries of their fellow men.

  They’re everywhere! Help! ——

  The guards yelled back as they jerked their rifles, equipped with lights, to scan the desert. They heard the faint cries in the desert, the same voices which bled out of the walkie-talkies. And Solas’ head jerked upright from the plans in which it was dug.

  There were sounds of raining gunshots in the black desert.

  CHAPTER 19

  And Davy gave Penelope a wink, and jerked to attack Solas to the ground as Tidewater scattered all about.

  Penelope shot the two guards, dead, and held Rodney at gunpoint.

  Rodney rose and put his hands up.

  “No—!” Solas screamed.

  Davy held him down.

  “The plans!”

  Davy beat Solas to bleed to a satisfying bone-crunch of his nose. He took a roll of string from his pack and tied Solas wrists together. “Soon I’ll make you into your very own pancake, you slimy old fool!”

  Solas, from his battering, passed out. Davy spat on his face.

  Penelope got closer to Rodney, who cried, “Don’t shoot! I beg of you!”

  “You both will die,” Penelope said.

  Davy rose. He squinted at the black desert. There were rays of flashlights scanning about. He pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Rafael. Talk to me.”

  Go ahead, boss.

  “What’s the situation?”

  We made quick work of a bunch of guards. All clear it seems . . . but we got other guys still searching. We're waiting at the pipe. Over.

  “I’m coming to see. Wait for me.”

  Davy slipped the walkie-talkie into his pocket. He picked up his rifle. “Stay here, Penelope. Watch over these fools. I’ll meet with the others and kill the rest of the guards if there are any.” He walked off.

  “Davy,” Rodney said.

  “Shut up!” Penelope said.

  “You’re falling right into his trap.” Rodney had never spoken in such a serious tone like this one.

  Davy stopped short of the ladder—he heard this strange tone from Rodney. He turned, arching his eyebrows.

  “Trap? What are you talking about?”

  Rodney chuckled in disbelief. “You still don’t know, do you, kid? Mr. Water Thief, you’re doing exactly what Vendicatore wants. Like clockwork. Like a spinning friggin’ hamster on a wheel.”

  Davy twisted his face. What did he just say?

  “God,” Rodney said with a nervous laugh, “you’re more delusional than Vendicatore supporters. Vendicatore always knew who you were. Wake up. He always knew!”

  Davy kept his shocked face. He exchanged a glance with Penelope, who too was in shock.

  “Tidewater was all a hoax. It wasn’t for water redistribution. It was a plot to have you and Solas murdered. And me, it turns out.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tidewater was a hoax. Listen to me.” There was no hint of deception in his shaky voice.

  Davy gave this a thought. He walked to the other end of the ballroom and peeked over the railing at the black desert. He turned again to Rodney, looked at him with disgust, and aimed his rifle.

  “So you’re still working for him? All along you were trying to fool me?” He raised his rifle. “My father trusted you!”

  “Davy—”

  “Tell me!”

  “Please—at first, yes. I’ll admit it.”

  Davy got closer with the rifle.

  “Please, allow me to finish,” Rodney cried.

  “Speak!”

  “Listen. Vendicatore told me to gather you and Solas over to the palace to steal Tidewater, which is a work of fiction. But after what happened in the palace, with all those guards swamping us, I knew he wanted us all dead, then and there. He betrayed me. I was his pawn to lure you and Solas into a shooting squad of guards just doing their jobs. Little did I know, Vendicatore saw me as disposable, too. But now that that’s failed, and we got away—it’s plan B. And plan B is you stealing Solas’ reservoir for Vendicatore to easily take it off your hands.”

  “Nonsense. My father told me to do this all this. My father even told me I can trust you.”

  Rodney let out a deep breath. The cool breeze, with his sweat-soaked shirt, made him shake violently. “Okay. Okay. I need to tell you the truth. But I beg of you, after what I’m about to say, please don’t shoot—”

  “What truth, Rodney? Spit it out!”

  Rodney gulped. He drowned in sweat. “Your father . . . well, his spirit. It’s Vendicatore.”

  Davy’s eyes twitched. His face tugged. He leered at Rodney.

  “Your father is a hologram, Davy. All along it has been Vendicatore posing as your father, telling you to do all this, to steal water from South Californians.”

  Davy raised his rifle. He aimed at Rodney. The gun shook in his tense hands. He shook, and he breathed hard, and his nose puffed up. About to cry.

  “Shut your mouth, Rodney.”

  “Vendicatore made you steal all that water over the past two years, so he didn’t directly have blood on his hands. He’s doing this to avenge North California, to take back all the water South California stole in the Water War. South Californians killed his family when they invaded. He got his revenge through you.”

  “SHUT UP! LIAR!”

  “Davy. Put the gun down.”

  “Stop with your bullshit!” The spit from his anger-filled delivery flung across the room. “You’re a LIAR!”

  “Listen to me. Even if you steal Solas’ water tonight, you will go home a failure. Tonight, Vendicatore has already stolen all your water. All the water you’ve stolen the past two years . . . it’s been pumped by Vendicatore’s men. Probably not an hour ago.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Listen. I can tell you the coordinates of where you’ve hidden your main stash. Then you must believe me. Okay?”

  “Tell me them. Go on. Get one number wrong, one goddamn decimal, and I’ll blow your brains out.”

  And he told him, without hesitation, as if he knew them by heart.

  Davy dropped his gun in utter shock. He collapsed to the ground, raised by his hands, breathing hard. The sweat of his face gave and dripped onto the ballroom roof.
/>
  “David!” Penelope, still aiming at Rodney, dashed to his side.

  “Davy, I can help you get back your real lake. It’s alive and well, relocated in North California. I’d like nothing more than to destroy Vendicatore after what he did to me. I can help you get revenge. We can get back at ‘em. I can help you take the real lake back.”

  Davy touched his rifle again. He rose with it. He laughed like a madman. “No. I should kill you.”

  Rodney lifted his arms again and froze. He gulped, squinted, and cowered, bracing his body to feel the bullet.

  Davy, never taking his eyes off Rodney, lifted his walkie-talkie back to his face.

  “Rafael.”

  I’m here, boss. What’s taking so long?

  “Send someone to the spot. Immediately.”

  The spot?

  “Tell me what they see there.”

  Why?

  “Do it! Quickly!”

  And Rafael agreed; Davy kept his gun aimed at Rodney.

  Outside of Solas’ compound, a tube was wrapped around the pipe. In a slight downward slope, it stretched endlessly across the desert, into the distant blackness, ready to snap, so tight that the breeze made it vibrate like a guitar string.

  Ten young men in black rags and masks—members of the Water-Thieves—lied prone on a hill, aiming their rifles in all directions. The breeze rolled the sand and small rocks. Rafael was one of the men. He turned his head. He watched as a pickup truck drove off into the desert.

  “Why is he going there?” one of the Thieves said.

  “I don’t know. The boss ordered.”

  “Don’t we already have someone there manning the tube?”

  “No. Solas’ lake is going in other aquifers.”

  Rafael pushed his walkie-talkie. “Boss. We sent Diego. He’ll report back to me. Over.”

  Okay.

  “What is he looking for, exactly?”

  There was no answer.

  Rafael sighed and stuck his radio into the sand. He turned tense; he looked around. “Keep watch, boys.”

  Davy still aimed his rifle at Rodney. He held the walkie-talkie in his hand with his bad arm, close to his face; his other arm had the gun.

  Rodney had calmed a bit, his hands still up.

  Penelope stood idle, watching over Solas, who still lied, tongue out, drooling, knocked out. A sign of life—his bloodied eyes began to twitch.

  “You can kill me,” Rodney said. “You can. At least I’d go out an honest man. I got nothing to gain by saying all of this, other than the grave.”

  “Nothing to gain, other than tricking me not to steal this reservoir? It’s the last thing Vendicatore could want.”

  “Davy, I knew the coordinates to perfection. Only your father’s ghost could have known them. And your father’s ghost is Vendicatore. And I worked closely with the governor; that’s how I know ‘em.” Rodney pointed to the black reservoir below. “Let me blow your mind: what Vendicatore wants . . . is for you to take this reservoir right now. Because that’ll mean it’s his.”

  “We’ll wait until my men report back. Traitor.”

  And they stood in utter silence, save for the whistle of the wind, and the chattering of their teeth.

  Solas’ tried to open his eyes, but his blood had glued his lids shut. He yelled atop his raspy lungs, spitting in the air, only for it to fall back onto his chin. “Help!”

  Penelope kicked his head, and it dropped again, tongue sticking out.

  Boss!

  Before Davy could lift his walkie-talkie to his face and respond—

  There’s a bunch of thugs sucking the stash! I repeat: THERE’S A BUNCH OF THUGS SUCKING THE STASH! DIEGO GOT SHOT! I repeat: Diego got shot!

  Davy’s face dropped.

  Penelope turned her head with widened eyes. “What?”

  Boss! What do we do? What!

  Davy had no words. Rafael yelled over the radio more; but it slipped in Davy’s hand and fell, along with his rifle. Rafael continued to scream through it, so loud that his voice from the desert overlapped with his from the walkie-talkie.

  Rodney, vindicated, lowered his hands.

  “And Vendicatore knew the spots you were gonna store Solas’ reservoir, too. Well, that’s because he told you where to put it! If you stole it, he would’ve pumped it by dawn while you slept.”

  Davy fell to the ground again. He rolled on his back and held his hands before his eyes. They trembled. His body entered shock as though his blood pressure halved. He laughed like a madman, without control, and his teeth chattered. He rolled in a ball, rubbing his body warm from the lack of blood flow. The cold of the night did not help. The sweat on his face, in an instant, ceased to produce, and dried over; but his clothes were still soaked in it.

  Penelope had dropped with him, screaming, touching him. But he didn’t feel anything; he felt numb. And his ears rang, drowning out her voice.

  His heart beat in long intervals; his body palpitated. A demon possessed his body as it twitched on the floor.

  And now—only now—had he begun to feel the sharp pain of his skin-pierced forearm.

  He couldn't speak, nor could he think straight. His thoughts were incoherent. He tried to imagine his father's face—but his mind could only envision the blurry figure of the “spirit.” He'd seen the spirit for two years now; this was the new image he had of his father. The only image he could recollect of his real father was that frown he made, the last moment Davy saw him.

  He could only think of the hologram standing at a distance from him, with such indistinct, blurred features. In plain sight. The green light of it, flickering in-and-out. He thought, how could he have been so stupid? All this time . . . ALL THIS TIME!

  He had forgotten what his father’s real voice sounded like. He could only hear the voice of the hologram—damn it, it must have been from a speaker planted somewhere!—in its piercing thunder-cracking; it echoed in Davy’s mind, and he finally heard the disgusting, hidden shade of Vendicatore’s hoarse voice, and his fading cackle, through the amplified distortion.

  It finally hit him: he had slaughtered South California, all at the direction not of his father, but of Vendicatore.

  Now he saw everything. All those fantasies he had conjured from the edge of death, on the dock—they were never meant to come true; they were mere mirages of the hot desert.

  He said with shaking words, “What have I done?”

  Penelope laid herself over him, and took his face with her hands, trying to stop his head from shaking.

  “Penelope . . . all this time . . .”

  “David—”

  “All this time . . . we k-killed . . . th-th-thousands . . . w-we created the drought . . .”

  Penelope shook her head. “No, honey. We had to.”

  “Innocent people, all for a bloody lake . . . a lake that my father never even asked for. My father has always been dead! I’ve been talking to V-V—”

  Penelope fought back tears.

  Davy breathed hard. He exploded. “Vendicatore! We did it for VENDICATORE!”

  Penelope, too in hysterics, looked up at Rodney. Her face angered from his. She jumped for her gun and aimed it at him.

  “You did this to us!”

  “No,” Davy said. He raised his weak voice. “No, Penelope.”

  He mustered the strength to rise, and jumped on her. He took the rifle and threw it over the railing; it slid down the great hill, stopping clutched in a bush.

  “No more death, no more blood. I can’t stomach it anymore.”

  “David! He betrayed us!”

  “Now he told us the truth.”

  “To be fair, my lovely Penelope,” Rodney said, “you betrayed yourself being such a fool. The sun must’ve made you beautiful with your tan but not without frying your brains. And you, Davy. You were Vendicatore’s brainchild; you had no idea he was grooming you this whole time. I still can’t believe Vendicatore got this far with you. It was hard for me to contain my laughter when we met, wh
en I told you the story of your father’s ghost.”

  “Don’t you mock him, you fat slob!”

  “Penelope, please. It’s over.” Davy, still rattling like a naked man in Antarctica, crawled over to the unconscious Solas. It took him a long time, given his shaking hands, but he managed to untie the old man’s hands from the string.

  Solas, bloodied eyes trying to open, murmured some gibberish, guzzling saliva. “Nimrods . . . nimrods . . .”

  “Appears you’ll live for another day, old man. Best hide your water now before Vendicatore decides to invade. That is if he finds the balls to do it himself without me as his pawn.” Davy looked out at the distance. He said to himself, “I need to return home to Namiane. She was right all along.”

  Rodney bit his lip. He wanted to speak, but resisted.

  Penelope’s heart, upon hearing Namiane’s name, fluttered through her shirt. She looked at Rodney. “David, he’s lying. He must be!”

  “He can’t be, Penelope. He can’t be.”

  “He created you, Davy,” Rodney said. “He had observed you over the years. Your loyalty to your father. How you’d kill for your father. So, he saw your father’s death as an opportunity. It was a long shot, but in the end, it worked like a charm. You were his little puppet.”

  Davy couldn’t speak any longer. He lied on the ballroom roof.

  “I’ll be right by your side if you choose to go after him,” Rodney said. “With or without you, I’ll be settling my score with the governor. I’ll gather my own gang to join with yours.”

  And with this, Davy lied on the rooftop for a good half hour, the four torches yet blazing, until he regained his strength and his body stopped shaking.

  By this time, Solas awakened, screaming. The three of them ignored him, and let him be.

  They climbed down the ballroom ladder. They headed for the stairs and climbed down, Penelope helping Davy walk. Before pushing through the gates to the desert, Davy limped into the dark woodlands. He returned with a posy of yellow flowers between his hands.