by Jamie Quaid
I couldn’t help checking my watch. Traffic had been bad driving to the outskirts of town. I needed to be at the school in downtown Baltimore in a little less than two hours. I needed my Harley to zip between lanes. Damn. I glanced longingly at the doors, but the hand on my elbow was firm. We took the elevators up to another private suite, one less impressive than the one I’d visited earlier.
I gulped and hoped Andre wasn’t too far behind. I’d damned the senator to hell less than twenty-four hours ago. I didn’t know if I feared my anger or arrest more.
The man in the bed had a burn shaped like a sideways V above his nose where the open compact had hit him. Despite the huge bandages padding his chest and shoulder and straining at the tailored linen nightshirt some underling must have brought for him, he’d managed to shave. He would have looked almost distinguished if it hadn’t been for that dab of shaving soap left by his right ear.
An icicle replaced my backbone.
Max had always left soap in that same spot on his face. He claimed it was because he was right-brained and his left brain didn’t see his right ear.
The expensively styled dark hair was Dane’s. The cleft chin, square jaw, and slim basketball-player build were the senator’s.
The lively, knowing eyes were not.
And the laughing smile on his lips—way not Vanderventer’s.
I didn’t know whether to upchuck or throw myself in his arms.
“Lookin’ good, Justy,” the patient said in a polished voice that was sooo not Max’s gravelly drawl.
I may have shrieked. I may have fainted. I’m not entirely certain. I woke up with my head shoved between my knees while I sat on the edge of a hospital recliner.
“Give us some peace, guys,” Dane’s voice said when I struggled against the hand holding me down. “We’ve been through a lot.”
The men in suits looked dubious, but they backed out at an imperious wave from the man in the bed. I was pretty certain Dane Vanderventer had never called the Secret Service “guys,” just like he would never have known Max’s private name for me. I gulped air and pushed upright again. I didn’t know what to call him. Maybe the drugs I’d taken yesterday had permanently altered my brain, and I was hallucinating. Maybe Vanderventer had control over my mind. Maybe he was the devil.
Once the door closed, Max/Dane gestured for me to come closer. I shook my head and kept my rear planted in the chair.
“I’m not believing this any more than the mirror,” I informed him. If this really was Dane, I wanted him to think I was crazy.
“You did it, Justy,” he said proudly. “You brought me back. And since my damned cousin was responsible for me dying, seems it’s only justice that I come back as him.”
Okay. Overload. I was certain my brain was about to fritz out. Lights flashed, bells rang; it was like Vegas in there.
“That defies the law of physics and certainly logic,” I managed to say through the chaos. “Dane died?”
“He killed himself with his own gun, may my cousin’s soul rot in hell,” the man in the bed agreed. “But I was right there to take his place, thanks to you, Justy. You have a mean throw for a girl.”
“Oh, damn,” I whispered. “I was trying so hard not to kill again.” I touched my head to be certain my hair was still the same and glanced down at my feet, but I wasn’t seeing any differences.
“It’s all right, babe,” he said soothingly. “You did good. You did just what you were supposed to do. You just gave the devil his due, and he let me go in return.” He patted the bed again. “Come over here and let me touch you. Do you know how frustrating it is to see you looking gorgeous and not be able to touch you?”
I reached behind me for a pillow and flung it at him. “You lied to me, Max, you filthy turd! You told me you had no family, and you’ve got a freaking bunch of rich bigots and crazy people who want to kill me!”
With his arm swathed in bandages, he couldn’t easily swat the pillow away, but he was laughing as he let it fall to the floor. “You nailed the rich bastards better than I ever did. I was afraid if I took you to see them, I’d frighten you off, not them. Now that I’ve seen you in action, I figure you’ll terrify the snots when I introduce you.”
“I’m not going home with you, you rat fink, soul-stealing, mirror lurker!” I shouted. “I’m taking my final, and I’m damned well getting on with my life, and you can take your lying, sneaking ways into government, where you’ll fit right in.”
“Justy!” he called after me as I stalked out, but I wasn’t listening.
Not going to listen. Not listening, la la, la. I needed my sanity back.
I all but covered my ears to wipe out the sound of his voice while one of the Secret Service guys turned on the sirens and flew me past traffic and over to the school. The other stayed to guard a ranting senator who had obviously lost his mind.
I ran into the classroom just before they locked the doors. I grabbed a test and sat down.
I realized I could read it without my glasses.
33
With my brain popping and fizzing like cold water in hot oil, and my thoughts on anything but law cases, I turned in the worst exam of my life. I barely made it through the interminable afternoon.
Max, alive? In Vanderventer’s body? No freaking way.
I could see without glasses. I’d sent someone to hell. Bodies apparently didn’t matter. It was the soul that counted, and Dane’s was gone. Now that Max was back, did that mean my hair would fall out?
I was damned. Why bother with mundane things like finals and hair?
Behind the wheel of an unmarked cop car, Schwartz waited for me in the circle drive of the law building, where only official cars were allowed. I couldn’t say a sedan made me feel any safer than the SUV, but after yesterday, Schwartz practically wore a halo in my book. I climbed in without mouthing off.
In fact, I didn’t say anything. I’d just blown my final. I wouldn’t be graduating. There probably wasn’t any point in graduating. I’d somehow doomed myself, and I had yet to understand why or even how.
“The chief is recommending me for a lieutenancy,” Schwartz said somewhat diffidently when it became apparent I didn’t mean to say anything. “Did you arrange that?”
“I can’t even arrange my life, much less yours,” I said grumpily, slumping in the seat and watching the world go by outside the window.
And then I had a thought and rolled my eyes heavenward. Max. Troublemaker Max in a senator’s body—that was a biggie. That was huge. Maybe the devil had big plans because all hell was likely to break loose once Max walked the hallowed halls of Congress. Dane’s grandmother would be a screaming wreck should he dare cross her threshold as Dane and act like Max. Maybe I really ought to move to Seattle. Or join my mother in Bolivia. I was starting to see the appeal and wondering if running from the punishment she’d inadvertently inflicted had been the reason for our roving life. “You kept Senator Vanderventer out of the news. He’s showing his appreciation.”
He nodded, frowning. “We weren’t even in the Zone, and I could have sworn I saw you throw a flaming weapon of some sort. Did you knock some sense into him?”
I snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way of looking at it.” I’d helped the devil knock out Dane’s soul and import another. No biggie.
“Cora predicted I’d get a promotion,” Schwartz said warily. “Do you think she really can see the future?”
No, I thought she’d been messing with his head, but I didn’t want to rain on his parade. “At this point, I’m willing to believe in space aliens and vampires. Did you ever catch the thugs who ran off?”
“They took flights to Uganda before we could catch them,” he said with puzzlement. “If they had passports and money, why would they choose an area in the middle of civil war?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said airily, my heart thumping oddly. “Like attracts like? Thugs attract thugs?”
“African armies hire foreign mercenaries?” he asked dubiously.
>
Heck if I knew. They’d killed Max, shot Sarah, and meant to kill me. If there was any justice in the world, Dane’s bullies would learn what real machete-wielding, bloodthirsty villains could do. They’d either side with the forces of good or the forces of evil and decide their own fates. I washed my hands of them.
Actually, the knowledge that I’d imparted a little justice—real justice, not the rot-in-jail-and-do-nothing kind—perked me up a little. I was going to hell, so why not do a little good while I was still on earth?
Maybe, just maybe, I could right some of the wrongs for Zone inhabitants, who couldn’t take their complaints to court. Instead of running from my Saturn-given talents, I might as well take advantage of them, now that I knew what was possible. Uganda! Very impressive, daddy-o.
“Whatever,” I said with an airy wave of my hand. “I didn’t have time to thank you for coming to my rescue yesterday. That was way above and beyond the call of duty, and I’m glad you’re getting a promotion out of it.”
“I’m not glad,” Schwartz said grimly. “I’d rather have been commended for real heroism, and not lying to cover up a dangerous shit. Why did you do that?”
“Because we now own that dangerous shit,” I said, without thinking. Sometimes, my brain works in mysterious ways, like I have a layer with a mind of its own. “Like it or not, Vanderventer is now part of the Zone.”
“Andre is in way over his head this time if he thinks he can control a man as powerful as that,” Schwartz warned.
Hell, no, not Andre. I was the one holding the reins on a fire-breathing dragon. I was still too bewildered to know if this was a good or bad thing. Vanderventer wasn’t Max, my Harley-riding, barrel-chested, busted-nosed Max. I didn’t know what the hell Vanderventer was, but the wealthy, smooth-talking, slick-looking politician was not from the world I knew.
Of course, neither was Max. He’d lied to me all along.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, to escape the rut I was digging and because he’d driven right by my house.
“Chesty’s. Andre has pulled another of his disappearing acts and everyone is tired of doing their own deposits. Or they haven’t done them at all, would be my guess.” He swung the sedan down the alley and into the parking lot, blocking Ernesto’s Hummer.
“Disappearing acts?” I recalled Andre looking a little gray after his Terminator act yesterday. But his kiss had been plenty hot later. “Does he do that often?”
Schwartz shrugged. “He always comes back, slicker than ever.”
Another mystery to ponder. First, I had to accept that Max was walking around inside Vanderventer. Wondering about Andre morphing into the Terminator was well beyond me.
It was after five, but if Andre’s people needed me to make the deposit for him, I could probably do that. Feeling back in the groove again, I entered the back door of Chesty’s and waved at Jimmy, who was stirring a pot over the stove. It seemed kind of empty back here. The waitresses and dancers would usually be gathering for the rush hour crowd.
Schwartz escorted me to the front, and I wondered if Andre had assigned him as my bodyguard. I would have to get nasty about that, but I was too brain-dead at this point.
I was even stupidly reaching for my now-unnecessary reading glasses when we walked into a scene clearly out of the orgy books.
The nude murals on the walls had been decorated with balloons dangling from their boobs. I could have sworn the painted figures were gyrating in glee. Streamers were taped from the dangling ceiling lights down to the bar, where a crowd was jostling for free drinks. They had to be free, because Andre’s employees couldn’t afford to indulge here, and the crowd consisted completely of people I knew, and that was every troll in the Zone—from the florist to the Geek, and Boris had sworn never to visit the Zone again.
Shouts and applause filled the air as we entered. Someone turned on a loudspeaker blaring, “We are the champions!”
I nearly turned around and fled. I chose to believe the party was for Schwartz’s benefit and it wasn’t all about me. I shoved him forward.
One of the dancers swung around her pole wearing little more than streaming ribbons. Swinging and wriggling to the music, another dancer caught Schwartz’s tie and dragged him toward the stage, where she shimmied all over his front, leaving him dazed and glassy-eyed.
Ernesto shoved a beer mug into my hand. “Good to have you back, kiddo.”
Cora dropped a lei over my head. Or I thought it was a lei until I realized there was a snake amid the flowers. It flickered its tongue in friendly greeting and writhed to the tune of the song before slithering down my arm and back to Cora.
By that time, I was too shell-shocked to do more than pat the flowers in wonder with one hand and guzzle the beer in the mug in the other. Snakes, chimpanzees—what was the difference, after all?
Even nerdy, four-eyed Boris raised a beer in salute without taking his eyes off Diane’s breasts as they danced. Or she rocked and he squirmed.
Wearing a bandage around her shoulder, Sarah sulked in a booth with Officer Leibowitz—I remembered I owed him some Saturnian justice time for blackmailing Tim. They eyed the revelry with resentment. I wasn’t going there. I knew Sarah had wanted to kill someone for longer legs, and she’d missed her chance. She’d have to get over it.
I was amazed Leibowitz was here until I located Andre and forgot the beat cop. I was relieved to see my boss was back to his normal self, looking slick and talking to a distinguished silver-haired gentleman in an exquisitely tailored suit. I recognized the impossibly thick, silver hair, but it was Andre who held my attention.
He wasn’t wearing anything so civilized as a tailored suit or tie, but my Special Ops guy stood out like a shining planet in a sunset sky. The damned man was wearing all white, with the exception of his red silk shirt. The combination was striking against his dark coloring, drawing me like nails to lodestone, even though I wanted no part of the man he was with.
The movie with Jim Garner and the smarmy mayor came back to mind as I crossed the room at Andre’s gesture of welcome. I would have hoped Andre would fling his drink in the man’s face, except he wasn’t holding one. I had to remember this wasn’t a spaghetti western or even a comedy, no matter how my escapist fantasies took it.
“My partner, Senator, and, with your help, a budding new lawyer!” Andre hugged my shoulders.
Or held me up to keep me from falling or coming out fighting, whichever struck me first as I shook hands with Max’s father and pondered the partner comment.
“Not a senator any longer, my boy,” the older man said affably, studying me with more interest than I deserved. “Just Michael MacNeill these days. I leave the governing to my nephew. Heard you know him?”
“We’ve met,” I said guardedly. I wanted to know what Andre had meant when he called me his partner and a budding lawyer, but I was learning there was a tricky dividing line between keeping my mouth shut and letting the world know what I was thinking.
“Dane sings your praises for helping out in that difficult . . . contretemps . . . yesterday. You and your friends have done a fine job of holding back the media, and the family appreciates it.”
There was that family reference again. Apparently MacNeill spoke for the Vanderventers. Jane ought to be hearing this. I swiftly scanned the partying crowd, but Jane wasn’t anywhere in sight. She wasn’t part of the Zone, and she was better off out of it, even though I regretted hiding the truth from her.
“The world has enough ugliness,” I said pleasantly, with enough ambiguity that Andre pinched me.
For Special Ops, he smelled good, woodsy and sophisticated at the same time. He felt good, too, pressed against my side. The mindless hum of hormones helped me past the protests shouting in my head. Andre was a fine way of stirring the adrenaline now that Max wasn’t Max anymore.
I regretted that, too. I was prepared to shoot down anything Michael MacNeill said, figuring he did it at Max’s—Dane’s—behest. I was pretty damned certain that
Max had no intention of letting his father know his soul was alive and occupying his cousin’s body.
I was pretty amazed that I now believed souls existed. Quite an education I was receiving lately.
“Dane said you have a good head on your shoulders,” the ex-senator said appreciatively. “That’s why he wants me to assure you that you’ll have no problem with the ethics committee when you apply for your license. We need more smart, mature lawyers like you around here, looking after our hardworking citizens.”
I tried not to snort beer out of my nose. “Thank you, sir,” I said dryly. “Glad you don’t mind if I represent the people of the Zone.”
“Just remember, they need to vote!” he said jovially, pounding me on the back. “Well, must be going. Just wanted to reassure you that all will be well. My commendation will go a long way.”
Thinking about the poor test I’d just taken, I wondered, Even if I flunked?
I watched him stroll toward the front, shaking hands as if he were still a politician.
And then I noticed Paddy sitting in a corner, violently shaking his head as if he had a nervous disorder. The cousins-in-law didn’t look at each other as Michael strode out. I was pretty certain I hadn’t seen the end of Acme Chemical or their goons. I hadn’t cured the Zone of its weirdnesses. I’d killed three people and sent Dane to the dark side. My heavenly balance sheet was showing a serious deficit, and I didn’t know how to correct it.
“MacNeill delivered the check to help the kids run over by the limo,” Andre whispered in my ear, preventing me from doing anything rash.
And what could I do, anyway? Reject MacNeill’s commendation when it meant I had a chance of someday passing the bar and being in a position to help people? If I could believe I was rewarded for sending people to hell, could I believe this was a reward for not sending the goons to hell?
Ugh. Enough philosophizing. It was party time.
“We should let Tim tell the kids about the wind-fall,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the front door until I was certain MacNeill had gone. Why did I have the feeling I’d just shaken hands with the devil? Did my new superpower condemn me to keeping company with hell’s minions?