The cutthroat w-2

by Jason Frost

  Eric had hesitated, but finally agreed. "It would be safer."

  The calmness with which they'd discussed what was obviously the torture of Angel chilled Tracy. Despite the gruesome stories Eric had told her about Angel, Tracy had trouble seeing herself as part of a gang of torturers. Especially of a woman. Her feminist instincts reacted against it. Wasn't she just helping men abuse a woman. Okay, silly in a way, but in another way, maybe not so silly.

  Even sillier, Tracy found herself a little in awe of Angel. The small slender Vietnamese woman seemed so damn confident, so in control. Even if she was doing evil and cruel things, she was doing what she wanted the way she wanted. For the first time she understood a little of how Blackjack must have felt when he'd decided to become a pirate. Like he was shrugging out of a heavy harness of what others expected of you, of what you expected of yourself. Now you could do anything!

  What impressed Tracy most about Angel was that she was not afraid of anything. She crossed all moral boundaries without hesitation. Stealing, mutilation, murder-nothing was too far. Not that Tracy would want to venture in that nether land herself, still it made her jealous that others could so easily.

  Even physically, Angel was superior. Goddamned flips and somersaults and handsprings like some circus acrobat. Eric had warned her that Angel was an accomplished gymnast, but Tracy had thought that meant a few pirouettes on the beam or that she could stand on her head for five minutes. She'd had no idea.

  Tracy stroked the wood of the cane. Once part of an airplane, it had flown through clouds. This wood had learned the ways of lightness; so had Angel. But Tracy was even more earth-bound than ever. Not only would she never do handsprings like Angel-who was at least four years older, damn it-but she wouldn't even be able to walk lightly anymore. She'd drag her shattered hip around after the rest of her body like a shy and distant relative.

  " 'Mmmm mmmm, good,' " Tracy sang, " 'mmmm mmmm, good. That's what Campbell's soup is. Mmmm mmmm, good.' " Where the devil was Eric? When Blackjack had hustled Angel off to The A rgo, Eric had decided to scout around Liar's Cove a bit, see if anybody knew anything about Dirk Fallows.

  So the two men had gone off and left the gimpy woman to tend the home fires while one tortured another woman and the other looked for his kidnapped son.

  And she sang commercials and wondered if she'd ever see television again. Christ.

  A knock on the door made her snap up Eric's loaded crossbow that he'd left with her.

  "Coming through," Eric's voice filtered through the door as he entered. He finished chewing something, swallowed, and said, "Hi."

  "What're you eating?"

  He smiled. "Peanut butter on a Ritz cracker. Some guy is selling them down in the courtyard. Had people lined up around the building like they were buying tickets to the mainland." He offered her one. "Cost me the whole roll of duct tape for three of them."

  Tracy took the offered cracker with its thin smear of peanut butter. She could see the chips of peanuts. "Crunchy," she said appreciatively as she waved it under her nose and inhaled deeply. The smell opened the salivary glands at the back of her tongue. She bit a small corner off. Not too much at once. Make it last. The Ritz cracker was a little stale, but it didn't matter. She chewed slowly, nodding her head. "Oh God, it's almost better than sex."

  "And more fattening."

  Tracy eyed Eric as she finished off the remains of the cracker. "Any luck?"

  "Not yet. Somebody thinks they know somebody who has a friend who may know something if I've got something worth trading for the information. They're just jerking my chain." He settled into a plush chair, a 1920s reproduction of a seventeenth-century French chair to match the beds. He looked pensive as he ran his finger along his scar and stared out the window at the orange tentacles of dawn creeping along the Halo.

  Tracy thought he looked disappointed, hurt, and for a moment she wondered if she'd done something wrong. Or was he just reacting to lack of news about Fallows and Timmy? Her own heart clenched at the sight of his anguish, and she felt good realizing that her involvement with Eric was an acrobatic feat that Angel would never be able to duplicate-one that required more emotional agility and had more danger than any amount of leaping and tumbling.

  Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, Eric stood up, walked over to her, and kissed her on the cheek. Then on the lips. Suddenly Tracy remembered that she, too, knew the ways of lightness, of flying. She kissed him back.

  He sat next to her on the edge of the bed. They were both quiet for a few minutes. Tracy hummed the theme to the McDonald's commercial.

  "What do you think he's doing to her?" she finally asked.

  Eric polished the brass mechanism of his crossbow with the corner of the blanket. "Remind me to find a hunk of wax for the bowstring before we leave this place."

  "You're not answering the question. What do you think he's doing to her?"

  "Whatever it takes."

  "Torture, right?"

  He shrugged. "She won't offer the information for free."

  "Jesus, Eric, what have we become?"

  Eric looked over his shoulder at Tracy, her young face wrinkled with concern and guilt. She was pulling at a piece of skin around her cuticle, studying it as if she were performing brain surgery. Eric spoke in a low, steady voice, lifting her chin up so their eyes were locked. "I told you about Angel. But I spared you some of the details because I thought it better if you didn't know. Maybe I was wrong." He took a deep breath. "You have to remember that she was a self-made woman of great wealth in Vietnam. Nothing stood in her way. I've seen some of the people who tried to resist her, people Angel 'persuaded' to give her information. She personally cut the eyelids off a sixty-eight-year-old woman who wouldn't tell where her son, a business rival of Angel, was hiding. She sewed together the lips of one of her servants because he told his cousin how much she'd spent on a pair of shoes. She didn't like her employees to give anything away about her."

  Tracy swallowed. "I'm not sure that justifies us."

  "Maybe not. But don't worry, she's tough but not stupid. She knows she has no choice but to tell Blackjack everything."

  "I just can't believe Blackjack would do that kind of thing. He's a doctor, for Christ's sake, even if he is playing at being a pirate."

  Eric smiled, smoothed a strand of hair from her forehead. "You underestimate him, Trace, like you sometimes underestimate yourself. People can be hard when they have to. Like that home run swing you cracked against Angel's spine when she dashed for the door. Ever thought you could do that?"

  "I wasn't thinking at the time."

  "Exactly. Your instincts took over when your conscience didn't want to deal with the problem. You're going to find that happening more and more from now on."

  She frowned distastefully. "That's a horrible thought, Eric."

  "Perhaps."

  Another knocking at the door. "It's me," Blackjack said. His voice seemed different. The impish lilt in it was gone. It sounded flat and drained. "Coming through."

  The door opened and he shoved Angel into the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

  "Christ," Tracy gasped, wincing at the sight of Angel.

  Angel stood in the middle of the room, her eyes glaring defiantly. She resembled a small animal that had been chased through thorny thickets until she could run no longer. Her mouth was bracketed by crooked lines of dried blood down her chin that made her look a little like a ventriloquist's dummy. A large blue bruise swelled under her right eye, stretching the skin taut. Her narrow neck was bruised in a pattern of four fingers on one side of the throat and a thumb imprint on the other side.

  "Keep him away from me," she screamed, pointing at Blackjack. Her accent was more pronounced than before. "He is crazy. He tried to kill me." She rubbed the bruises on her throat.

  Blackjack looked away from her. Guiltily, Tracy thought. Flopping down into a chair, he plucked a pen and pad from his pocket and tossed them onto the bed between Eric and Tracy. "Sh
e's ready."

  "Yes, I will draw your map," Angel sneered. "But I will also draw one for Rhino. He will kill all of you."

  Eric handed her the small pad and Bic pen. "Right now, Rhino's the last person you'll want to see. If he finds out you killed Alabaster and stole the map behind his back, he'll do things to you beyond even your imagination."

  She stared at him silently, then opened the note pad and began drawing.

  "I wanted her to do the map in front of all of us," Blackjack said. "That way we can keep everything aboveboard. Okay?"

  Eric gave him a funny smile. "Appreciate the thought."

  "Let's just get it over with and get the hell out of here," Tracy said.

  Angel scribbled away on the pad.

  "One other question," Tracy said, standing. "What do we do with her once we have the map?"

  "I promised her we'd release her," Blackjack said. "Any problems with that?"

  Angel stopped writing, looked up at Eric.

  Eric turned toward Tracy. "You have any problem with that?"

  "I don't know," Tracy answered, avoiding looking in Angel's direction. She could feel the woman's dynamic presence there like a hot wind. "How do we know the map will be accurate? She may be lying."

  "Good point," Eric said.

  "I destroyed the original map," Angel said. "But this is the same. I swear."

  "You'll pardon me," Tracy said, "but your assurances aren't quite enough. I mean, what happens when we go to God knows where and find nothing there but a couple of iguanas sunning themselves on the hood of an Edsel?"

  Blackjack nodded. "There's an element of chance involved, sure. But she also knows that we'll make sure Rhino knows what she'd done with Alabaster. That'll mean he'll be after her as well as us. California just ain't that big anymore. Where's she going to hide?"

  "We can always take her with us?" Eric suggested. He was looking at Tracy in such a way that she felt as if the decision was up to her. She would decide Angel's fate.

  "You promised to let me go if I drew map," Angel hollered. "You made bargain."

  "Did you?" Tracy asked Blackjack.

  Blackjack shrugged.

  "Okay, we'll stick to the deal." Tracy shifted her eyes to meet Angel's. "And we'll rely on her good sense, knowing what will happen to her if she lies."

  Angel bent back over the map, the Bic fine-point pen scratching against the paper.

  Outside the door and window, the constant sound of the unending party continued. Merchants still hawked their wares, visitors guzzled BeBop's Brew.

  When she was done, Angel stood up and threw the pad into Blackjack's face. "You black bastard."

  The wire binding left a slight welt on his cheek, but he ignored that as he studied the map, grinning. "Just a couple days inland from here. No sweat." He held the pad out to Eric. "Wanna see?"

  Eric shook his head. "Let's get started. You go back to the ship and gather the crew. Tracy and I will go into the marketplace and pick up a few things for the trip."

  "Right."

  "What about me?" Angel said.

  Eric pointed at the door. "I'd head south. Rhino's bound to figure it all out sooner or later."

  She started to say something just as the door flew open, banging into the wall. A squad of five armed men crowded around the door, each wearing the Hearst Castle T-shirt that identified them as BeBop's security force. They were pointing an assortment of sharp weapons at Eric and the others in the room.

  Behind them, hovering over their shoulders, Rhino rocked anxiously, thrusting an accusing finger at them. "There they are. There!"

  Angel's movements were explosive, like those of a bat discovered behind a shutter. She ran toward a second-story window, did a handspring onto the floor that propelled her feet-first through the glass and onto the stone terrace. Without hesitation, she vaulted over the side, leaping into the large tree nearby.

  "Get her!" Rhino yelled, his voice trembling with rage.

  Two of the security squad finally shook off their amazement long enough to race across the room and lean out over the balcony. A couple arrows were fired into the rustling tree, but they were swallowed harmlessly by thick branches and leaves.

  Even inside they could hear the slap of Angel's bare feet racing away.

  "Let her go," a bearded member of the squad said, turning back to Tracy, Blackjack, and Eric. "At least we still have these three."

  "Kill them!" Rhino ordered. "Kill them now!"

  17.

  "I warned you," BeBop smiled. "I really did."

  They were standing amidst a crowd of people gathered around the elaborate indoor pool northeast of the Casa Grande. The room housing the giant pool filled with reflected orange light from the high arched windows along the wall. The floor and walls were completely covered in blue glass tiles imported from Murano, Italy, causing the room to shimmer eerily, as if they were all underwater rather than standing next to a pool.

  Spaced around the pool were eight Carrara marble sculptures commissioned of Carlo Fre-ter of Pietrasanta, Italy, just for this room. Each was a reproduction of a famous classical work.

  BeBop was leaning against "Diana and the Deer." Someone with a felt pen had vandalized the statue, drawing nipples where the breasts were covered by the white marble folds of her dress. Black pubic hairs were scribbled between her legs.

  "Didn't I warn them, Tsetse?"

  The young boy sat against the wall, balancing his blow gun on his knees. "Yeah, BeBop, you warned 'em. I heard you."

  BeBop looked at Eric, Tracy, and Blackjack, then sighed like a parent disappointed with his children's behavior. With a grin, he strummed his guitar and began to sing, improvising an off-key tune. "Oh, baby, I warned ya/Tole ya not to be no asshole/ When you visiting Hearst Cas-tle." He laughed. "Not bad, huh? The acoustics in this place are awesome."

  "Let's get on with it," Rhino said, standing with what was left of his crew. His eyes were rimmed with red and his lumpish body trembled, even while standing still. Whatever demons had invaded his system after passing through the Halo seemed to have accelerated until Rhino jittered like a man standing on a live wire. It was as if his entire nervous system were disintegrating. Occasionally he snapped his rubber band, but more out of habit than to control himself. He was past that now. The flesh on the inside of his wrist was bruised and raw, but he didn't feel anything there when he snapped the rubber band and shouted, "I want them executed."

  This brought excited murmurs from the early morning crowd. An execution would be an entertaining way to start the day.

  Eric took a step toward BeBop, saw Tsetse shift his blow gun at the movement. Eric wasn't about to try anything, not with BeBop's security force fanned out around him. One of the T-shirted guards was holding Eric's crossbow, Blackjack's saber and gun, and Tracy's bow.

  "Rhino's right," Eric said. "Let's get on with it. Starting with why we were brought here?"

  "You know why you were fucking brought here!" Rhino shrieked, making a fist of his delicate fingers. "You kidnapped Angel and murdered three members of my crew."

  "How do you plead, gang?" BeBop asked them with a dramatic strum of his guitar.

  Eric shook his head. "I don't know what he's talking about."

  "You know goddamn well what I'm talking about!" Rhino blasted.

  "Except for a brief excursion to our boat and one for some peanut butter on Ritz crackers, we were in our room the whole night."

  "Yeah, I know the place," BeBop nodded. "Gino used to own a pizza parlor in Fresno. Now it's peanut butter on Ritz."

  Rhino reached for the.38 tucked in his waistband.

  "Whoa," BeBop said, holding up his hands. One of the guards with a shotgun stepped forward and nudged Rhino's arm. Rhino shoved the gun back into his waistband. "No violence, Rhino. Not yet."

  "I think I can clear this matter up," Eric said. "Are there any witnesses to the crimes?"

  Laughter from the crowd rattled the windows.

  BeBop explained. "Those wh
o might have seen something, probably can't remember what they saw last night. And those who can remember don't want to get involved and get their throats slit some night."

  "But your own men saw Angel in their room," Rhino sputtered. "She'd been beaten."

  BeBop turned to the head of his security force. "Tony?"

  "Yeah," Tony said. "She was in their room. I only saw a glimpse of her, but she was banged up a bit."

  "I told you," Rhino said. "Now let me have them."

  "Mind if I ask a question?" Eric said.

  BeBop shrugged. "Your witness, Mr. Mason."

  "Tony, was Angel bound in any way. Hand cuffed or tied up?"

  "Nope."

  Eric turned back to BeBop. "The explanation is simple. Angel had a map to a cache of weapons left over from when the government was confiscating them after the first quake. She was trying to make a deal with us behind Rhino's back. He found out, sent his crew up to get her. Angel panicked, killed them, sustaining bruises in the struggle. Then she came to our room to try to sell us the map. That's why she ran when she saw Rhino."

  BeBop's eyes lit up at mention of the weapons cache, knowing what power the owner of that man would have. He nicked out a few notes from "Stairway To Heaven," trying to look casual. "And where is this map now?"

  "She took it with her out the window," Blackjack answered.

  "Pity."

  "It's all bullshit!" Rhino wailed. "She didn't have any map. They kidnapped her and killed my crew."

  "If she didn't have any map," Eric said, "why would we want to kidnap her."

  "Because you wanted-"

  "Enough!" BeBop yelled, banging on the strings of his guitar. "I don't give a rat's ass who's right anymore. This ain't the fucking Supreme Court, Rhino, so don't come bitching to me. All I care about is that this place remains peaceful so business can be conducted so I can get my cut. I got overhead, man." He hooked a thumb at his security squad. "You think these guys follow my orders because they like my music? Hell, no. They get their cut of my cut. See?" He took a deep breath, stared into what was once a luxurious swimming pool. Now the water that filled the pool was rancid with vegetation. So much junk had been thrown into the pool that one could hardly see the water through the broken bicycles, empty cans, newspapers, cartons, and other debris that had been tossed in as if it were a giant garbage can. BeBop pointed at the pool. "That's where you're gonna settle this. In there."