Just Cause: Revised & Expanded Edition
Page 10
Stone sighed. “No one has ever been able to find any connection to him. And the Feds did look into it.”
“Even so, I can’t help but wonder what his next move will be.” Echevarria sat back in her chair and drank some more wine. “You don’t have any idea about that, do you, Salena?”
“No, ma’am,” said Sally. “At least, nothing I think I’m at liberty to talk about.”
Sparks danced in Echevarria’s eyes, but for only a moment. “I understand, Salena. I know I’m out of the loop now that I’m at the Academy, but perhaps you’ll let me know what happened when it’s all over? If you can take him down for good, I’d like to hear about it. It would help me to finally know my sister can rest in peace.”
Sally swallowed a nervous lump. “I’ll do my best,” she said at last. “I should probably get going. Thank you so much for talking with me today, Mr. Stone and Ms. Echevarria.”
“It was my pleasure, Sally,” said Stone. “I hope we were able to shed some light on Destroyer for you.”
“Yes, I’m glad you joined us tonight,” said Echevarria. “Please do so again.”
“I will,” said Sally. “And I’ll let you know what happens with Destroyer, so long as I’m still… I mean, if I can.”
“We understand.” Stone smiled at her.
Echevarria’s expression wasn’t quite so pleasant. “Be careful, Salena. Harlan Washington is a killer, and he won’t hesitate to kill again. I haven’t had any of my graduates die at his hands and I don’t want you to be the first.”
Sally shivered. “I won’t.”
Chapter Ten
It is a man’s own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.
-Gautama Siddharta Buddha
January, 2004
Denver, Colorado
“I never realized just how much he hated everyone.” Sally sounded as glum as she felt. She’d just recounted to Sondra the tales told to her by Stone and Echevarria.
“Yeah, he’s really full of anger,” said Sondra.
Sally set down a report and picked up one of the recent pictures taken in Guatemala. “I wonder who the other guy in this picture is?” Sally took a sip from her lukewarm hot chocolate. She and Sondra had been perusing the Archives all morning, looking into the life and times of Harlan Washington, a.k.a. Destroyer.
They’d begun with the CIA report which placed Destroyer in Guatemala and worked backwards, tracing his appearances for the past five years. The slow progress tested even Sally’s stamina and she felt the beginnings of a headache. Finally, Sondra had leaned back from her terminal, squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples. “I need a break, kiddo.” She sucked down the last dregs of the black tar she called coffee. “I’m going to go stretch my wings. You keep plugging away if you want to and I’ll be back in awhile to help.”
Sally gave an absent nod as she paged through the hard copy of the CIA file. It contained four pictures of Harlan Washington. He was engaged in conversation with a tall, muscular man of indeterminate age by a shipping container in Port San José, Guatemala. The stranger was Caucasian, with hair so light in the bright sun Sally couldn’t tell if it was merely blonde or white. Inwardly she cursed the CIA stringer who’d shot the pictures for not getting better quality. She could see, for example, the corner of a vehicle in two of the pictures but nothing detailed. The writing on the shipping container was legible and therefore traceable, but not likely related to either of the men. Sally planned to research it only if she had no other leads to follow.
She set aside the picture, the face of the mysterious blond man almost mocking her with his anonymity. Instead, she selected an evaluation of Harlan Washington performed by the psychologist at the juvenile hall where he’d been consigned after his short reign of destruction upon Harlem in ’77. She began to read, careful not to skip over anything, and was so engrossed in the details she jumped when Sondra appeared next to her with foot-long sandwiches from the cafeteria.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” said her winged friend. “It’s been hours. I thought you might be getting hungry.”
Sally’s stomach rumbled as she caught a whiff of the toasted bread and tangy mustard. “Oh my, yes.” She took one of the sandwiches and took a huge bite. “Ooo are an an-hel,” she said around the mass of turkey, bacon, and provolone.
“I know. I’ve even got the wings to match.” Sondra fluttered hers for emphasis. “How’s it going?”
Sally chewed a moment, swallowed, and wiped her mouth with the paper napkin. Her stomach clenched around the food with glee. “Pretty good. Did you know my mom wrote the first report on Destroyer?” She turned the monitor so Sondra could get a closer look.
“Wow, no kidding. I was only five when this happened. You should call her up, get her personal take on the whole thing.”
“What, you mean talk to her? About this?”
“Yes, Sally. It’s all right to talk to your mother. I call mine a couple of times a week.”
“Oh.” Sally felt guilty about her reticence. She didn’t always see eye-to-eye with her mother. She supposed it was normal teenage angst and had always figured she’d get over it sooner or later. If only the woman wasn’t so unreasonable about the smallest things! “She’s never really wanted to talk about Destroyer.”
“Maybe that will change now that we’re investigating him. Surely she doesn’t want a repeat of any of his past escapades.”
“You think there’s more than what’s just in the file?”
“Look, nobody ever puts everything into a report. You’d go crazy trying to put in every little detail. Trust me, when you have to write your first, you’ll gloss over all kinds of things and forget others. But a lot of times, just rereading your words will help you remember important things that you didn’t include before.”
“I suppose,” said Sally. The notion of calling her mother appealed to her far less than the sandwich she was inhaling. She decided to change the subject and picked up one of the pictures with the mysterious blond man in it. “I’m curious who this guy is that Washington is meeting with, but I don’t have the slightest idea where to begin.”
Sondra studied the picture, and then examined all four side by side. She selected one and discarded the others. “This is the best of the bunch,” she decided. “We’ll put Research on it and see what they can turn up.”
“Research?”
“Sure.” Sondra took a bite of her own sandwich. “You’re in the big leagues now, Sally. Big government. We’ve got an entire agency at our disposal if we need it.”
“Okay.” Sally felt her ears redden. She felt like she could trust Sondra with anything, and had a burning need to ask a question. “Sondra, did you ever… date someone you worked with?”
Sondra leaned back from the table, flexed and refolded her wings. “Yes. You?”
“Uh, not yet. But…”
“Jason?” Sondra’s eyes sparkled.
Sally nodded. “How’d you know?”
Sondra ticked off each point on her fingers. “You can’t look him in the eye. Every time he speaks to you, you blush. When you don’t think he’s looking, you watch him all the time. Should I go on?”
Sally hunched down miserably into her chair. “Is it that obvious?”
“Painfully so,” confirmed Sondra. “But don’t be upset. I’ve yet to meet a speedster who understood the art of subtlety. Did he ask you out?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Just today.”
Sondra hit a few keys on her terminal and smiled. “Hm. Jack wins.”
“Wins what?”
“We had a pool going. He picked today.”
Sally stood up, embarrassed.
“Relax, Sally. We’re not making fun of you. Jason’s a good kid, and so are you. If I wasn’t almost old enough to be his mother, I’d have my eye on him myself. For what it’s worth, I think it’s perfectly all right for you to go out with him. For being such a huge guy, he’s real
ly more of a puppy dog than anything else. Go for it.” Sondra winked at her and made Sally feel much better.
“I will,” said Sally.
Friday afternoon arrived. Stacey returned from her stay in the medical center and was placed on light duty for one week. The team’s request for permission to work outside of the U.S. bogged down in bureaucratic red tape at Homeland Security. Juice reminded everyone about full-team training in the Bunker the next day.
Sally tried on everything in her wardrobe twice and decided she didn’t have a thing to wear. In spite doing everything else at top speed, she still didn’t find enough time to go shopping. As the seconds ticked away, she dressed frantically in a pair of tight jeans and a sleeveless button-down blouse that she hoped was suitable wear for a club.
Jason picked her up at her door at six o’clock and escorted her down to the parking lot. Sally was a little surprised to discover he had a car, or rather, a beat-up old Bronco. She had hung around with so many people in her life that could fly, levitate, or otherwise transport themselves that she forgot some folks still depended on internal combustion to get around.
The previous night’s snowstorm was over but for the occasional lonely flake. A slushy mixture of slush, sand, and magnesium chloride covered the roads. Sally buckled her seatbelt, uncertain as Jason headed downtown. “Is this really safe?”
He laughed. “If you take corners slowly and don’t jam on the brakes, you’ll be fine. It’s the other cars you have to watch out for. Chances are the person driving it will be from California.”
“Huh?”
“Local joke. The natives say that most people who move here come from California.” Jason negotiated the big truck through an icy intersection with exaggerated care. “Besides, I’ve got precious cargo tonight.”
“Your guitar?”
“Well, that too.” He grinned sidelong at her, half-joking but half-serious in a way that made Sally’s knees watery. She determined a lightning-quick change of subject was needed.
“Do a lot of people come out to hear you play in this weather?”
“This?” Jason waved at the snow outside. “This is nothing. People around here don’t even notice snow until there’s more than a few inches. Half the time it melts the next day anyway. But I’m forgetting that you were at the Academy—you’ve seen the freaky weather here for the past couple years.”
They stopped in front of the club. A neon sign spelled out Bart’s Basement in sharp red and yellow lights. A burgundy minivan sat in the loading zone. A skinny young man in an oversized parka unloaded large black drum cases from it. “Hey, Chris,” called Jason.
“’Sup, Jase.”
“Chris is the drummer. He’s thirty.” Jason opened the back of the Bronco and lifted out an amplifier so big Sally could have crouched inside it. He handed her a microphone stand. “Do you mind?”
“Oh, sure, no problem,” she said.
“Chris, this is Sally. She’s on the team with me,” said Jason.
“Pleasameechoo,” mumbled Chris. He shook her hand then grabbed another handful of gear from the van.
Sally followed Jason into the dark club. She’d never been in a place like it before. Tall, narrow tables, each with ashtrays and a decades’ worth of beverage stains, dotted a wooden floor with stools around them in a haphazard arrangement. The stage was a large, raised platform, bathed in light with a ratty black curtain for a backdrop. A long bar ran down one side of the room, replete with cracked leather, tarnished brass, and two white-shirted bartenders.
“Am I allowed to be in here?” she asked. “I’m just eighteen.”
“I’m twenty,” said Jason. “But this is an all-ages show. You have to show an ID to buy booze but they’ll let anyone in the door—even him.” He pointed to the stage.
Another young man was setting up his gear there. He had striking black hair that stood up in random spots and the slanted eyes of Asian ancestry. “Hey, Jason.” He opened a black case and removed a large blue guitar.
“Hiya, Matt,” Jason replied. “Sally, this is Matt. He plays the bass. Matt, Sally.” Matt appraised her body with appreciative eyes. After Chris had just about ignored her, Matt’s interest made her shiver a little.
“Nice to meet you.” Matt slung the bass strap over his shoulder and adjusted it to hang low.
Jason bent down and whispered in Sally’s ear. “Watch yourself around him. He’ll try to pick you up, and you don’t want to be part of his bedroom parade.”
Chris stumbled in, wrestling with an armful of cymbals. “I need a roadie,” he grumbled. “Jason, quit fooling with your date and help move my gear.”
Jason smiled and shrugged at Sally. “I’ll be back. If you want a cola or something, just tell the bartender you’re with me. We get a drink allowance, but all I ever have is water.” He followed Chris back out to the street.
Matt walked to the edge of the stage, looked down at her, and smiled. “Haven’t seen you around before.”
“I’m new to the team,” she said.
“So you’re a para, huh? What can you do?”
“Run, mostly.” Sally glanced around to see if Jason had noticed the uncomfortable attention from Matt, but he was nowhere in sight.
“Cool,” he said, and ran his fingers over the strings of his instrument. A wallop of solid sound blasted out of the speakers that hung from the club’s roof.
Sally stepped out of the way as Jason and Chris brought in the rest of the drum kit. In a few minutes, the three-piece band completed their set-up and began their sound checks. Sally picked a small table at one side of the stage where she’d be able to see, but wouldn’t garner much attention. The club filled up with people during the sound check and before long, there wasn’t an empty seat in the house. Sally squirmed with a bit of nervous anticipation. She hadn’t realized Jason’s band was so popular; they must be pretty good.
A thin man with a trucker hat and horn-rim glasses sidled up to a microphone and mumbled into it to introduce Velma’s Glasses to the crowd. A cheer went up as they launched into their first number, a tune with a powerful, driving beat.
For the next ninety minutes, Velma’s Glasses churned out a sonic explosion of hard-rocking tunes. Jason and Matt cavorted about the stage, chased each other between verses, and mugged at the crowd. Behind them, Chris thrashed away at the drums, doing his best Keith Moon impression. They alternated crooning ballads with screaming anthems. By the end of their set, they had worked the crowd into a frenzy, and the audience formed an impromptu mosh pit at the front of the stage. Sally pressed her back to a support beam so she wouldn’t be sucked into the mass of flailing bodies. Her adrenaline flowed as if attached to a fire hose, and it took all her will to keep from snapping into slow-time perceptions.
They finished their last tune. All three musicians stood triumphant with guitars and sticks raised over their heads, their heads back, and their eyes shut as they drank in the adulation of the fans. Almost as one, the crowd raised a hundred arms with lighters extended to light up the entire bar like a star field.
“Well, I guess we could do one more,” said Jason into the microphone. He winked sidelong at Sally. The crowd renewed its enthusiasm and the band launched into an encore—a suitably loud rendition of The Who’s Baba O’Reilly.
They finished and took their bows. The crowd cheered and whistled. The stage lights dimmed and the three men broke down their gear and carried it offstage. Just as quick, another band began to set up. Sally watched as many appreciative fans mobbed Jason with handshakes and hearty slaps on the back. He laughed and joked with them. Matt and Chris likewise basked in the attention. At one point, the dark-haired bass player looked casually in her direction and locked eyes with her.
Sally felt a presence at her side and looked up to see Jason’s gigantic frame next to her, his face split in a wide grin like a kid at Christmas. “So what’d you think?”
“You guys are really good.” She tried not to wince at how trite her words sounded.
Sally caught Matt’s eyes on her again. It gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t know,” she hedged. “Can we take a break, get away from the people here, and then decide?”
“Sure,” replied Jason. “I’m burning up right now as it is. A little snow and freezing wind would just hit the spot.” He swept her coat off the chair beside her and held it for her in the best southern gentleman tradition. He took her hand and guided her through the crowd. Sally thrilled at the simple, casual contact of his skin on hers. They went up the iron stairs to the street. Clouds hung low over the city, pink and orange reflected from the lights below, with a promise of more snow before morning.
Sally shivered inside her parka. Her mom had bought her the heaviest coat she could find and for once Sally didn’t mind it one bit. “Aren’t you cold?” Her teeth chattered.
“Not too much,” Jason said. “Cold doesn’t bother me unless it’s arctic. Besides, it feels pretty good after being under the lights. It’s not too late yet. You want to go get a piece of pie?”
Sally glanced down the staircase at the club entrance. She wasn’t ready to go back in, especially if it meant she’d have to talk to the bass player with the rotating door in his bedroom. “Sure,” she said with a smile. “I like pie.”
“Everybody likes pie,” confided Jason. “Mind a walk? There’s a place a few blocks from here, called Lazzarino’s. Best peach pie I’ve had since my grandma’s back home.”
“Sounds nice.” Sally relished the feel of his large hand wrapped around her own small one. For a few moments, they walked in silence as plumes of breath rose in their wakes. “So how long have you been playing in the band?”
“Year and a half,” said Jason. “Chris and Matt have been together longer, but they lost their last guitarist to a tragic accident.”