Behind him, Louisa spoke up.
“Problems?”
“No problem,” Cato responded, racking the pins.
“We should have grabbed the keys, no?” She said.
Casting her an annoyed look, Cato reworked the pick. A jittery set of taps emanated from the lock, and the bolt yielded at last. Standing, he put on a triumphant smirk.
“See?” He said. “I am the fucking key.”
He reached for the knob, but Louisa grabbed his arm.
“Wait,” she warned. “There’s no telling who, or what is on the other side of that door.”
Realizing she was right, Cato lurched back.
“Holy shit. Why didn’t I think of that? She could be in there…”
Louisa nodded.
“Yes.”
Drawing the Springfield, Cato thumbed the hammer back, and clicked off the safety.
“I—I guess I’ll go in first and check it out. If anything happens to me, make a run for it, and call the Benefactor.”
He assumed a shooting stance and took a deep breath.
“Open it,” he said.
The door creaked on damaged hinges. Swinging inward, it bumped against the wall with a hollow, empty tap. Cato entered, keeping the .45 leveled before him. Glancing at the door jam, he saw why the lock had been so difficult to dislodge. Splintered where the bolt entered the frame, chunks of wood jutted out at sharp angles. Clearly the door had been forced, or more likely, kicked in.
In the main room, he found a scene reminiscent of the one he and Louisa had created back at the bar. Covered by heavy curtains, the windows emitted a shallow, muted light that played across the scattered remnants of broken furniture. To his left, there was a walk-in closet, its door ajar. To his right, there was a kitchenette, and a large four-poster bed. Ahead, several buckets of paint and a tray of dried stucco were the only items left intact in the whole room.
Leaning against the wall, Cato exhaled. The apartment was empty.
“It’s clear,” he called.
Louisa came inside and closed the door behind her. Going to the windows, she pulled back the curtains so that clean light could billow in. With the sun in the west, and falling toward that horizon, the room took on a mixture of smoky pinks and bleeding oranges.
“Well,” she said, looking around blankly. “It seems Artemis has already been here. What do you think our chances are of finding anything now?”
Struggling to stay positive, Cato shook his head.
“I don’t know. Not good”
“Yeah,” nodded Louisa. “But we better do our own search anyway, don’t you think? You start over there, the dresser—what’s left of it. And get the bed too—pull off the mattress, check the cover sheet. Maybe Leta got creative with her hiding place, who knows.”
Cato grinned despite the situation.
“What?” Asked Louisa, catching the look on his face.
“Nothing,” he shrugged. “It’s just that—I could have used someone like you on a few of the jobs I pulled back home. Maybe things would’ve been different.”
“Jobs?” Said Louisa. “You never did tell me what your career is—outside of this, I mean. What do you even do for a living?”
Cato walked to the dresser.
“I’m a criminal,” he said over his shoulder. “A career criminal.”
Standing the thing up again, he began pulling out the broken drawers.
“A criminal?” Louisa called from the closet.
“Yep,” said Cato. “Does that bother you?”
He came to the top drawer and slid it free. A pack of Nazionali cigarettes, fell onto the floor.
“Leta you queen,” he whispered. “How’d you know?”
Louisa poked her head out from the closet.
“I suppose I don’t care what you do in America,” she called. “We’re working together here, you and I. That’s all that matters to me.”
With barely repressed jitters, Cato pulled a cigarette from the pack and put it between his lips.
“Did you hear me?” Louisa said, stepping out. “Oh good, you’ve found more cigarettes. I was starting to get worried for you.”
Striking a light, Cato leaned in.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Find anything in there?”
“No,” Louisa returned. “The closet has been thoroughly tossed. There’s nothing here.”
Cato took a long drag and held the smoke in his lungs—clean, old friend.
“There’s nothing in the dresser either,” he said, exhaling. “Just these.”
Louisa quit the closet and walked to the bed.
“Help me.”
Together they flipped the mattress on its side, stripped it, and checked all of the various nooks and crannies. In the end, the four-poster frame, box spring, and mattress yielded no secrets.
“Damn,” grunted Cato. “What else?”
“Kitchen,” answered Louisa. “And bathroom.”
They separated once more, Louisa taking to the cabinets and drawers of the kitchenette, while Cato scoured the bathroom. After nearly an hour of hunting, both rejoined in the main room.
“Nothing,” Louisa sighed in exasperation. “Every inch of this place has already been turned over.”
“Nothing in the bathroom either,” Cato echoed. “I even pulled the drain pipe and checked the toilet tank.”
“I don’t know what to say,” said Louisa. “Maybe Artemis really did find what she wanted. Maybe there’s nothing here anymore.”
Cato shuddered at the though and sat down on the floor. Lighting himself another cigarette he closed his eyes.
“Fuck,” he said. “I think you’re right. We’re too late.”
Coming to join him on the floor, Louisa put a hand on his knee.
“We tried, Cato. We’ll just have to find another way to stop her.”
Cato laughed ruefully.
“Do you want to call the Benefactor and tell him that? Because I sure as hell don’t.”
Chuckling, Louisa leaned back and shifted her gaze in the dying light.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll break it to him. He seems to like me anyway…”
Cato laughed again.
“That’s for sure. The way he looks at you—I never heard any stories where he does that, and I’ve heard a lot of stories. I think he’s got a thing for you, Louisa. I can’t really blame him though. You might not know this, but you’re hot as hell.”
Only half joking, Cato glanced over to gauge Louisa’s reaction. And yet, with her eyes fixated, and her brow furrowed, she seemed not to have heard him.
“What?” He asked. “What is it?”
“It’s funny,” said Louisa, looking about. “But these walls have been recently painted. And, the color in here is different than in the closet.”
“So?”
“So, I didn’t see any sign of painters on this floor yet, did you? Who’s been painting in here?”
Cato frowned and stood up. He went to the center of the room and crouched before the cans of paint.
“This here,” he said, tapping a tray. “This is stucco mix—for patching holes in walls and stuff. But, these walls look fine to me—new even. It’s weird…”
He turned and saw a smile spreading itself across Louisa’s face.
“What?” He asked again.
“The walls,” she said.
“The walls?”
“The walls,” Louisa repeated. “Damn it Cato, Leta didn’t hide her information in the room, she hid it in the walls!”
Cato felt a jolt of excitement pass through him.
“The walls!” He shouted. “Holy shit, I think you’re right! That explains the stucco, the paint!”
“Yes!” Laughed Louisa. “Yes!”
“Okay,” Cato said, turning in circles. “Okay this is good. Check all the walls, look for—for a patch, one you could slip something into before sealing it up again.”
Already up and on the move, Louisa was well ahead of him. Cato s
ucked one last time on his cigarette then snubbed it out and got to work. Ironically, he found what he was looking for, some ten minutes later; in the exact spot he’d begun his original search of the room. Partly visible behind the empty dresser, a two-by-three-foot section of wall had been removed and replaced later. With fresh stucco and paint feathering its dimensions into near-obscurity, it was no wonder it had been missed until now.
“Here!” He called out.
Louisa came away from the bathroom and bent to get a better look.
“Oh yes,” she said, straightening and pushing the dresser out of the way. “Have you got a knife?”
Cato shook his head and motioned for her to move aside. Backing up a step, he lifted his right foot, then stomped it through the thin stucco patch. In the hollow behind the wall, he felt an object, something soft and made of cloth. Yanking his foot out, he landed two more kicks, clearing a large enough hole for Louisa to reach inside.
“It’s a bag,” she exclaimed, glancing hopefully at him. “Cato I think we’ve done it!”
Cato held his breath and waited. Dislodging a shower of crumbled plaster, Louisa pulled a bulky military-style backpack free and handed it to him.
“There’s more,” she spoke, peering in the hole again. “It’s another bag.”
She plunged back in, this time withdrawing a brand new gym bag, obviously filled, by their distinctly deadly outlines, with guns.
Gripped by almost blinding excitement, Cato took the backpack and knelt beside the bed. He yanked the zipper open and began hastily rummaging around within. The first thing he removed was an expensive but beat-up looking Canon camera. He dug deeper, coming upon a neatly-folded stack of worn bandanas and headscarves. Pausing here, Cato blinked, sensing something familiar in the scent of Leta’s belongings—something stirring. Like anxiety manifest, his heart thudded sideways in his chest, urging him on. He swallowed and pushed past the fabrics to find a black field journal below. Flipping it open, he saw page after page of complex hand-written characters. Though he himself could not make heads or tales of the coded words, Cato knew at a glance that the Benefactor most certainly could.
He put the journal aside and continued rummaging. There were maps, trinkets, and a paperback novel with no cover. As subtle as a chill, the feeling that he knew these things, that they were in some way familiar to him, crept back in. Unsure if it was it like this between all Orphanus, Cato tried to shake the feeling off, but it only grew stronger. He reached the bottom of the bag and withdrew its final and most unexpected treasure. Catching the last rays of the sinking sun, a leather-bound file folder glittered with gold lettering. Cato read the name, and his face instantly drained of color.
‘Leta Fin,’ it said. ‘Gemina. Twin.’
XXXII
Unaware of Cato’s now-ashen color, Louisa had the gym bag open and was gazing down at a startling collection of firearms and ammunition. She began removing the weapons, checking each one fist to make sure it wasn’t loaded. All in all, there were two Glocks, an Uzi, a pump-action shotgun, a Beretta carbine rifle, and a beautiful .45 caliber Kimber Compact 1911.
When she got to the Kimber, Louisa slid out the clip and found it primed with a run of silvery slugs.
“Adamantine,” she said.
She turned to show Cato.
“Cato look—”
Finally noticing his thousand-yard stare, she faltered.
“Good heavens! What’s—what’s wrong?”
Absently, Cato glanced over but made no response.
“Cato?” Said Louisa. “What is that you have there?”
He stirred, offering her the file folder, clutched in his trembling hands.
“Leta Fin,” read Louisa, accepting it. “Isn’t Fin your name?”
Loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar, Cato nodded.
“Gemina,” Louisa went on. “Twin.”
Here, she looked up, suddenly understanding why Cato was so distraught. Opening the file, she began to skim through a kind of official form on the first page. Printed beside a black and white photo of Leta, were the girl’s full name, birth date, and a list of living relatives. In this section, one name was presented. Cato Fin.
Louisa let out a breath and sat back on the floor. So, it appeared she had not been that far-off earlier when she’d noticed the resemblance between Cato and the photo of Leta. They were brother and sister—twins no less.
“I—” said Cato regaining his voice. “I never knew…”
Prying her eyes from the file, Louisa gently searched his face, needing no policewoman’s intuition to see that this was true. Cato was dumbstruck, baffled, totally blindsided.
She flipped to the next page, and found an arrangement of artfully matted photos that chronicled Leta’s youth and adolescence. The first of the snapshots was a picture of two children, a boy with black hair, and a girl with blonde, awkwardly posed before the steps of an old church. In it, they held hands and their faces were streaked with tears. From there, more photos followed, yet, with the exception of the first, Cato was nowhere to be seen. Like a tumor, he had been cut from Leta’s life, a life they had started together as mere embryos.
“I had a sister,” Cato breathed in disbelief. “A sister.”
Louisa closed the file and handed it back. It felt wrong to keep exploring it, like trespassing on someone else’s memories.
“Cato,” she said earnestly. “I—I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
“A sister,” he repeated. “I had a sister.”
Louisa stood up and began pacing back and forth.
“You really never knew? Corallina never told you?”
Cato’s gaze was empty.
“Why?” Louisa exclaimed. “Why would they keep this from you?”
“Why? Are you kidding? They lied to me my whole life—the training, Corallina—all of it lies.”
“Yes but look at you now Cato,” Louisa pressed. “You’re practically a walking weapon. Don’t you see? There was a reason for those lies. A motive.”
Cato made a harsh sound that Louisa mistook for a laugh.
“Motive?” He choked. “Reason? Who cares what the fucking reasons are! This isn’t some Machiavellian game where the ends justify the means! This is my life!”
Louisa turned away and studied the purple skyline outside.
“I’m not wrong!” Cried Cato. “This is fucked up!”
“You’re right,” Louisa returned. “But maybe there’s something we’re not seeing. You know your Benefactor better than me—you know how he thinks, why would he do this?”
“I don’t have the first fucking clue how he thinks!” Cato shot back. “He’s an inhuman monster from another dimension, or some shit like that.”
He lit a cigarette and took a ragged drag.
“Which is exactly why you need to wake the fuck up, Louisa! You need to open your eyes and see him for what he really is. Secrets, lies, murder! Are you actually onboard with this?”
Louisa glanced over her shoulder, but didn’t reply. Cato was starting to lose control, his face burning, his voice pitching with anger. He struggled to his feet and thrust the file at her like an indictment.
“Lies!” He shouted. “My sister is dead because of him!”
“Artemis killed your sister, Cato,” said Louisa, rounding on him. “Not the Man. Weren’t you paying attention this morning? Didn’t you see what I saw? She incited a world war for Christ’s sake! Killing Leta was nothing to her, just a way to strike at your Benefactor and make him suffer. She’s evil, Cato—deranged! We must stop her.”
Narrowing his eyes—hurt, red eyes, Cato drew back.
“So that’s how it is?” He said. “After everything. Even after this—”
He shook the file again.
“After all of this, you’re still going to side with him. Unbelievable. He must make you pretty fucking wet.”
Hauling-off before she could stop herself, Louisa struck Cato across the mouth with an open palm. Explo
ding in a show of sparks, his cigarette went flying.
“Don’t you ever talk to me like that!” She spat. “Not ever. You don’t know me, Cato Fin. You don’t know anything about me at all.”
As if woken from an unfinished dream, Cato blinked and put a hand to his cheek.
“I—” he stammered.
Louisa pushed past him.
“We came here to find clues, and so we have. Now we must do what we can to stop Artemis before more innocent people die. It is that simple. When this is finished and we aren’t under the constant threat of death, then you can make your case against him—the Man. But until that time has come—hold your fucking tongue.”
Face pale and brittle, Cato took a new cigarette from his pack and lit it. With fresh smoke wreathing his head, he turned slowly and walked to the door.
“Where do you think you are going?” Louisa demanded, following him into the entry hall. “We have to call the Man and tell him what we’ve found.”
“So call him,” replied Cato in a defeated tone. “I—I don’t care what you do. I need some fresh air.”
Watching him fumble with the lock, Louisa pursed her lips.
“Cato wait—” she began.
But the door was already open and Cato was already stepping through it. Left alone in the little hallway, Louisa shook her head and sighed in exasperation. She’d reacted poorly, she knew, yet there was nothing she could do about it now. Hopefully when Cato returned, he would be in a better place and they could find a way to work past their differences. No matter what, the underlying fact was unchanged—Artemis needed to be stopped.
Resettling the mattress atop the box spring, Louisa sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Leta’s backpack between her feet. As she did so, she caught the scent of the dead-girls musk, emanating from her well-worn clothes. She sighed once more and thought of her own dearly departed brother. His death had reshaped her entire life from top to bottom. Not a day went by when she wasn’t affected by it. Now that Cato knew the truth about Leta, wasn’t he in the exact same boat?
The Man From Rome Page 20