I forced a smile. “Not yet.”
“You here all alone?”
“I have my sorrows to keep me company at the moment,” I said. “But I’m planning to drown them soon.”
“Aww,” she said. “Do you want some company? Somebody to help hold their little heads under until the bubbles stop?”
That made me laugh. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
“Do you need me to call you a ride?”
“I’m taking care of that right now,” I promised, pulling out my phone.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll be right back with your drink. If your friend doesn’t show up, please don’t go home alone.” She touched my arm and smiled when she said it.
Now, maybe she was being friendly to get a bigger tip, and maybe she was genuinely concerned about me wrapping Vlad the Impala around a tree on the way home and dealing with the guilt or the liability or maybe she was actually pitching me a nice slow one over the plate and seeing what I would do with it. But I just wasn’t interested in finding out.
I should get a ride when I got out of here. I thought for a second. I wasn’t drunk, per se, but I planned on having a few, and Caruthers and Friends knew my car. Easy enough to pose as a cop, pull me over. Then who knew what might happen? Better to leave my car here and get a ride.
I called Nique.
“Hi Sean,” she answered.
“Any chance I can bum a ride?” I asked.
“I’m working until tomorrow morning. Pete’s out later tonight, though.”
“Thanks, I’ll try him.”
“Sorry,” she said. “Is everything OK?”
“Not really, but I’ll survive.”
“Take care of yourself,” she said.
I called Pete. I had hoped Nique would be free, since she was a nice sympathetic ear, and a helpful female perspective, while Pete would never hesitate to help me, but he’d make gay jokes the whole time. Still, he was a friend, and he was reliable so long as you didn’t mind his humor.
“Hey, man,” he answered. “What’s up?”
“You working tonight?” I asked.
“Babysitting the new meat right now, but I’m off in a bit,” he said. “Why?”
“I need a ride home,” I said.
“Car died?”
“No,” I replied. “Just some hopes and dreams. I’m drinking. A lot. And I don’t need to get pulled over.”
“Gotcha,” he said. “Any rush?”
“No. I’m at the Peddler’s Daughter. I’m fine here. Just whenever.”
“OK. Once I’m out of here I’ll head over.”
“Oh,” I remembered. “Just in case, use the challenge.”
“The what?” he asked.
I sighed. “Raquel Welch? Mother, Jugs, and Speed? So I know it’s really you. Or maybe just make a gay joke or say something shockingly sexist.”
“Right, right. Raquel, Mother, Jugs, and Speed. Got it. Sorry. I mean how could I forget? Passwords are just so normal. I don’t think anybody’s ever not been sure I’m me, you know.”
“Try not being offensive for a day and people will start swabbing for your DNA.”
“I may do that one day, just to mess with you. See you soon.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“You owe me a bunch,” he corrected. “But I stopped keeping track.”
He hung up. I ordered another bourbon. I knew this was a bad idea. But I couldn’t think clearly right now. Too much that I couldn’t do anything about was clouding my brain, distracting it from thinking about things I could do something about.
I couldn’t plan my next move against my enemies until I got more information. I hoped Sarah would get some from the captured cell phones. And I couldn’t do much about my job until my meeting.
I was probably fired. They don’t let you threaten co-workers with physical violence any more. Which is bullshit, I reasoned, finishing my drink and ordering another. Choking Armstrong to death would make the company stronger and better. It would remove poor employees, give the good employees something to bond over, and would show the new hire exactly where the important lines are. If anything, it should be a promotable offense.
And, most importantly, I didn’t know what I could do about Sarah. I could survive the whole accidental infidelity thing. That was easy to defend, and I could make my case well enough. But the deeper issue was the fact that I drew danger to her like a magnet. I was trying to neutralize this threat, but even if I did, and the jury was still out on that one, I couldn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be another threat behind it.
How many more relatives did I have? How many knew about me? And were there any who just wanted to borrow my car or crash on my couch or ask me to help them move, like normal relatives?
I could move on. I supposed I’d have to, eventually, if I couldn’t make this work. I hated the idea. Just the waitress’ innocent flirting tonight let me look through a crack at the future, and I was surprisingly depressed by it.
I could find somebody. Hell, I probably could have gone home with the waitress, and probably had a good time. I knew the act. But it would have just been acting. Going through the motions. And I was tired of acting.
With Sarah, I’d actually let her see me. Know my secrets. I didn’t want to go back to hiding, even for a night.
I was well into the maudlin stage when I saw Pete walk into the pub. Despite the warm weather, he had a sweatshirt on. I thought that was strange until I saw he also was wearing his uniform pants. Since we can’t be seen going to bars in uniform, it was common practice to keep a “drinking sweatshirt” in our cars, in case we needed to stop and sand the edges off a shift before we could get home and change.
He must have spotted me at the same time I saw him, because he made a beeline toward me. We exchanged the sign and countersign. He rolled his eyes a little at having to play spy games in a bar in Philips’ Mills.
“Hey man,” he said. “You alright?”
“Not really,” I replied. “But I will be. You need to get going?”
“I can hang and talk for one drink,” he said. “But I’m not waiting for the waitress to notice me. Be right back.”
He went to the bar and returned with a beer and another whisky for me. Excellent timing, as I’d just finished the one I was working on.
“Here you go,” he said. “How many is this?”
I shrugged. “A few. Not enough to be legless, but enough to start to feel warm and ease the pain.”
“My God, you’re a wuss.” He smirked and shook his head. “You trying to drown your sorrows or just get your ex-boyfriend’s taste out of your mouth?”
“Wow,” I said. “Even for you, that’s harsh.”
“Sorry,” he replied. “Just making sure you knew it was me. Finish that one and we’ll go.”
I pushed my empty glass aside, took a sip of the new one. “Hey,” I said. “How’d you know what I was drinking?”
“What? Oh, the bartender remembered. I was surprised. Figured you for an Appletini.”
I shrugged. Finished my drink.
I stood to make my way to the door, but stumbled.
Jesus. I hadn’t had that much to drink, had I?
“Whoa,” said Pete, slipping an arm around my waist. “I guess I’d better get you home.” Except now he sounded like a woman. I looked at him. He looked like a woman. A swimmy, unfocused one, but a woman just the same.
“How did you find me?” I tried to say, but it came out as gibberish.
Two men materialized and offered to help, throwing one of my arms over each of their shoulders. I couldn’t be that legless from a few whiskies and one beer.
Damn! He must have put something in my drink. Or rather, she must have. I could hear Amelia’s voice thanking the men, directing them to help get me into a car.
This, my brain told me. This is why I shouldn’t have been drinking and wallowing in self pity. That whole dangerous, shape shifting enemies thing.
But I’d called
Pete. And he was here, acting like himself. That brash, offensive asshole with the soft, gooey, helpful center.
Acting like himself.
I’d felt something was off. She was playing Pete. A somewhat exaggerated Pete, even.
Damn it. It’s not easy to force yourself to be suspicious when the person you’re talking to looks and sounds exactly like the person you’re supposed to be talking to. You let little things slide. Anybody can be off his game. You can’t suspect every tic.
Probably be a good idea to start, though.
I found myself in the back seat of a car. Somebody patted me down, took my phone, keys, wallet and the Walther John had wanted me to take. The two men got into the front. Pete, now back in the form of Amelia– probably Amelia– at least it was a name to use for now, whom I last saw at the house in Rowley, slipped into the back beside me.
“You know, Sean,” she said, no humor in her voice now, just business, with maybe a touch of irritation. “I’ve never had to work so hard just to get a guy to fuck me.”
I didn’t seem to have an answer for that one, so I just let it go. I could have pointed out that the Pete impression didn’t help, but that was too long a sentence to string together.
“It’s not like I was trying to steal state secrets, or Swiss bank account numbers, or make you betray your country or anything.”
I wondered just how many of those things she had done. How many other people she had tricked into betraying that which they held dearest.
“No,” she continued, “I just wanted your sperm. You men are usually trying to give that away. I tried everything. A little strange from the new co-worker, even boring old committed relationship sex with your girlfriend.”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. I was stunned how completely she had morphed from Amelia to Pete and now back. The sweatshirt hung loose on her now. She reached down and rolled the cuffs of her uniform pants. Where had she gotten those?
Then I remembered. If she’d been Samantha, she would have had a uniform, would have known Pete well enough to imitate him. Who knew how many other people we’d run into had been shapeshifted enemies gathering information?
“And if you had just rolled with it, it would have been no trouble. It could have been fun. You know, it could have been anything you wanted. I could have been Princess Leia in the gold bikini or the girl from the Whitesnake video or anything you asked. But no, you had to fight it. What was that? Never mind, you won’t make any sense until that drug wears off. We can talk conditions then.”
I had actually been trying to give her Pete’s phone number, but my tongue was thick and not following orders at the moment, so I let it go.
“I did research,” she went on, her voice dripping acid. “I watched and planned and tried to come up with something you’d like. And what do I get? Nothing.”
I considered pointing out that tricking somebody into non-consensual sex is more like a felony than it is like picking out the perfect Christmas present, but speech was still too much like work. I wondered just what she had slipped me.
“Oh, and the next time you call for a ride,” she said, “you may want to pick a smarter designated driver. At least tell your idiot friend to make sure he’s out of earshot of anybody when you remind him about the sign and counter over the phone. And him repeating it? That was priceless.”
Yeah, that probably wasn’t very smart. So, did that mean she had just left early and gotten here ahead of Pete, or had she done something to him? Probably just got here early, I hoped. Why risk a fight or leaving a body when you can just do a nice low risk imitation, and shift and escape if things go badly?
“I mean, you knew I was working on the truck under cover, and still you messed that up.”
My head started to clear a little. I didn’t let on, but I felt better. Part of healing faster than a normal man is that my body clears out toxins faster. I didn’t see any reason to let her know that, and she seemed to be enjoying her monologue, so I just let her run with it.
After a short time, the car stopped. A garage door slid up, we drove inside, and the door came back down. The front doors of the car opened and the two men climbed out. The door beside me opened and one of them dragged me out of my seat. I let my body go limp.
The first man wrapped his arms under my armpits, around my chest and dragged me backwards. If he’d been an EMT he’d have known to cross my hands and grab my wrists, but nobody’s perfect. I got a look at the garage door and saw a smaller door beside it, presumably leading to the outside and freedom.
“Brad,” said the first man. “Give me a hand. He’s dead weight.”
Brad came around in front of me and stooped to grab my knees.
This was the best chance I was likely to get. The two men had their guards down, their hands occupied, and the woman was already walking away around the car. She probably had a gun, but it would be tucked in her purse, and it would take a few seconds to get it out. Enough time to get through the door, probably, then I’d be out on the street, and gunning a man down on the sidewalk would cause talk.
I planted my feet and snapped my head back into the first man’s face. I felt a satisfying crack as I broke his nose with the back of my head. Since the other man was bending down in front of me, I brought a knee up into his jaw, then as he staggered back, I drove my heel into his knee as hard as I could. He yelled and dropped as his leg collapsed under him. I twisted out of the first man’s grip, threw a quick jab at his bloody nose, then kicked him in the balls when he covered up.
I made for the door, but Amelia stepped into my way, her hand fishing in her purse. I’d expected that, and I was on her before she could get a weapon out. I grabbed her wrist and slashed my foot at her ankles, sweeping her legs out from under her.
That was the plan, at least. It went pretty well up until my foot hit her leg and just stopped. She yanked her hand out of my grasp.
I’ve met women who could take me in a fight. But they were usually big and strong women, or they were fast and highly skilled. This was a small, pretty, hundred and ten pound woman, and she didn’t do anything to stop my leg sweep except ignore it. Then she twisted and drove a fist into my ribs, harder than she had any right to do.
I gasped and got my hands up in time to stop the next punch she threw at me, wondering just who the hell I was facing.
Mass is mass, I remembered.
It only looked like I was fighting a hundred and ten pound woman. I was really facing two hundred pounds of muscle condensed into the shape of a bikini model.
Ok, I told myself. You’ve done this before. Just a quick feint, a nice solid hit to slow her down and out the door. Don’t give her time to get the gun out. I shifted my weight...
And then I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my back that ran all through my body, as my muscles convulsed and stopped obeying my commands. I twitched and fell over.
A taser. Of course one of the guys I’d hit had a taser. And neither of them was happy with me.
A thing about tasers. While they rob you of muscle control and overload your nervous system, they don’t do anything to prevent you from feeling the kicks to the ribcage that your opponents feel justified in giving you.
So, at least I learned something new. I’d hate to think the whole experience was a waste.
Chapter 20
I CAME AROUND tied to a chair. My hands were zip-tied to the arms of the chair, my ankles to the legs. A belt around my chest held me to the back of it. It was a heavy, strong wooden chair. Nobody had thought to supply a cushion.
I took a deep breath and flexed my hands and feet, taking inventory. My ribs hurt, worse when I breathed, but not horribly. More likely bruised than broken. All my limbs worked nicely. My head throbbed, whether from the drug or the taser or bouncing off the floor or the noses of thugs I didn’t know.
Amelia was sitting in a much more comfortable looking chair behind a big wooden desk, looking at me. There was a laptop computer on the desk, the screen toward her, away from me
, and a phone near it. In front of her, the contents of my wallet were spread out. Licenses, certifications, receipts, my ATM card, some cash. Not much cash. I am employed as a paramedic. I had a feeling somebody was behind me.
I didn’t say anything. I waited. I’d been a prisoner a few times before, and the less you say, the better. Anything I did say would give them more information. Since I really had no idea what they already knew, I couldn’t be sure not to tell them anything they didn’t.
Beyond a quick flex to check the tightness of my bonds, I didn’t struggle. I’d already made one attempt to escape, which meant they weren’t likely to underestimate me again. I’d have to wait and watch for my chance, and remember not to underestimate anybody just because they looked like somebody I could beat.
“I’m running out of patience with you,” she said. “I’m wondering if this stubborn streak is genetic, and if it is, whether this plan is more trouble than it’s worth.”
“You sound like the HR department at FlatLine,” I said.
“You’re not as funny as you think,” she continued. I was starting to think this friendship wasn’t going to work out. “You’re not as smart either. You’re dangerous in a fight, but you’re not the fastest or strongest or even the best trained man I’ve met. What you have going for you is just a stubborn, scrappy, unpredictable rebelliousness. It’s not a very admirable quality.”
“Part of my bad-boy appeal,” I said. “And you forgot about my winning smile.”
“I’m finished trying to seduce you, and I’m not really even interested in bargaining with you at this point. I’m just going to let you know what we can do if you don’t give us what we want.”
She leaned forward aggressively. “While we have you held here, you can be on camera robbing a liquor sore. I’m sure you figured that out, but you can also be seen doing things that won’t put you in jail, but will destroy the confidence of your friends in you. Of your employer. And speaking of friends, think what I could do to them. Your girlfriend is a teacher. What if she were seen publicly drunk? Or buying drugs? Or having an inappropriate relationship with an underage student? What if your partner Monique was seen exchanging medication at the hospital and the security camera caught her slipping a vial of morphine into her pocket?
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