"So…they won’t attack us?' Davis asked. "Can I get out of the sand?"
"Come back to the Hammerhead, Davis," Madigan called. "So they won’t attack us. They planned to honor their word to us. Does that make them the good guys? That would be new for us, right?"
"New and quite impossible," Sal stated emphatically. "They still have a Pita plant and acquired it without any kind of oversight on what they will do with it. The possibility that they plan to do something dangerous and possibly world-ending can't be ignored. I haven’t said anything to Banks yet because I thought we could fix it here. We need to find them and recover that plant."
"That would be much easier if they hadn't driven off into the sunset with all our clues."
He nodded and after a few seconds, kicked his foot into the sand hard enough to generate a flurry that was smoothly picked up by the wind and carried away. "Fuck!"
Madigan moved closer and put her hand on his shoulder. "Did that make you feel better?"
"No."
"Then come on. We'll find something that will."
Chapter Nine
There was no reason to stay in touch. Stephanie already had everything she needed. Marino would have all the information on Taylor he would ever get without talking to the man directly. Of course, Desk had said she owed her a favor, but there was no real way for her to enforce that, despite her veiled threats. Sure, she knew about her parents, but what the hell did that matter anyway?
At the same time, though, there was something to be said for keeping in touch. She needed to build her connections. It was how people managed to make businesses secure and she had to make friends and network with people who could help her while she helped them. And all things considered, she knew well that the people she worked for were professional criminals and if she learned as much as she could about them, there would eventually be someone who would want to know what she knew. In turn, they would be willing to give her something she wanted.
The phone dialed for a few seconds and she narrowed her eyes as a few beeps broke the dullness of the dial tone.
"Stephanie," the woman answered. "How nice to hear from you again. What can I help you with?"
"Have you managed to talk to Mr. McFadden about meeting me in person?"
Desk took a few seconds to answer. "I didn't make any promises. I've tried and he's noncommittal about the whole thing but I'll keep trying."
It was disappointing but not altogether unexpected. She had taken the time to look through Taylor's history with Rod Marino. It was a contentious one, to say the least, which explained why McFadden wanted to make a statement by beating the men who had intruded on his place of business. She strongly suspected that the man had robbed Marino's casino, and while the mob boss had been fully reimbursed by his insurance company, the money had never been recovered. Not only that, she couldn't find any sign that Marino had tried to make a return statement.
She was convinced that other treasures of knowledge existed, but no amount of digging had brought rewards. Once or twice, she’d thought she’d found a thread to tug on, but each time she pursued them they simply petered out into nothing. It was inordinately frustrating because her instincts insisted that something waited to be found, while experience seemed to indicate unequivocally that she was wrong. Or that someone was monitoring her searches and made sure to misdirect her or bury the information behind layers she couldn’t penetrate.
The thought that someone might be watching her this closely brought a shiver of apprehension. For a moment, she very sensibly wondered if she shouldn’t simply ignore her curiosity and move on to other avenues. She grimaced and reminded herself that this was real life and she was unimportant enough that no one would have any interest in what she did. It was, she reassured herself, simply her overactive imagination at work.
"Hello? Is there anything else I can help you with, Miss Cordray?"
Stephanie shook her head. Getting lost in thought like that would be the death of her one of these days. "Uh…no, but there is something I can help you with. I have the details you wanted on the other fighters. They were much more forthcoming with their background and information, which comes from them working for the guy who’s running the fight. The betting has already started in select areas of the country. Is there an email I can use to send these to you? I'd rather not do it over the phone."
"That would probably be best, yes. Send it to [email protected]."
It wasn’t surprising that she was given a temporary, disposable email address that could be shut down at a second's notice if there was so much as a hint of someone trying to track it. She had used services like that on more than one occasion, and she wouldn’t hold it against Desk. It was clear that whoever she was, she liked her privacy.
She took it down quickly on her notepad. "I'll send it now. I'd like to think that you would be able to help me in the manner I've helped you sometime in the future."
The woman didn't answer immediately. "That sounds suspiciously like you want me to owe you a favor."
"Technically, I think we're more or less square on the favors. You helped me with info on McFadden, I helped you with info on the guys he'll fight. In the end, though, I would like it if we could continue to exchange favors like that in the future."
Another pause followed and she wondered if she’d pushed too hard. "Call me if you need anything else."
"And you should do the same. You have a great Sunday, Desk."
"You too, Miss Cordray."
The line cut off and Stephanie couldn't help a small smile as she added the temporary address she had been given, uploaded the document she had stored all the relevant information in, and clicked send with no title to the email.
It was a start, anyway.
Jennie didn't like to give herself too much to do on Sundays. She made a point of being social on Fridays and Saturdays because if she didn't, she would be cooped up in her apartment for days on end. Her life was such that she needed to be social. People had to see her out and about, making friends and being a people person, especially if she ever wanted to rise up the ladder.
But not Sundays. That was her time. A couple of people had issues with that and asked her why she did it, and she'd given them a variety of answers from religious preferences she didn't have all the way to the truth, depending on who she talked to. Some said she was manipulative, and all she had to say in response was that yes, she was.
The bottom line was that she needed her time off. If people tried to stop her from getting it, she would do whatever she could to counter their efforts.
She sipped the milkshake she'd ordered online, breathed in deeply, and enjoyed the mixture of vanilla and chocolate as she watched her coding process on her screens. She had put countless hours into the update she tried to work on for Desk, but she still wasn't sure which version would get the upgrade. Probably the one that stuck to Niki the closest, although she needed to get extra firewalls up for the one the DOD was trying to copy. If nothing else, it would convince them that the version on their servers was complete and they wouldn’t realize that Desk had cleverly established herself so stealing the critical code was impossible.
Her phone buzzed and she scowled. It was her home phone and only rang when someone was trying to contact her directly, usually as someone's emergency contact. She didn't give the number out on her business cards and only a handful of family members and close friends had it.
"Maybe I should give it to Taylor," she mused aloud, picked the device up, and pressed the button to answer the call without looking at the number. "Jennie Banks."
"Hello there, Jennie Banks," said a familiar voice. She wasn't sure where the inspiration for Desk's voice had come from. It wasn't hers or anyone she'd ever met or remembered meeting. One of the psychologists she consulted while she created the character software said it would be someone with a powerful influence over her, perhaps a mixture of her mother and one of her childhood therapists.
"Desk, it’s nice to see you're using t
he connection coding I gave you. How can I help you?"
"Have you heard that Taylor will be involved in a fight?"
"A… Well, I guess he’s not fond of non-violent solutions as a whole, but I never thought he would go so far as to schedule them."
"Something like that. In this case, though, it will be streamed live with some betting happening because it's Vegas. Or at least that is the excuse Niki appears to accept."
"She's on board with this?"
"Yes," the AI replied smoothly. "And I thought it would be a good opportunity for him to showcase why the local chapter of La Cosa Nostra should avoid being a pain in his ass for as long as possible. With that said, I don't suppose you would want to make a little money on him?"
Jennie leaned back and brought up the details Desk had emailed her. Taylor was fighting two mobsters. It was interesting and she didn't think for a second there was a chance that he would lose. The guy had a driving force in him that was almost primordial.
"What kind of odds are we looking at?" she asked after a few seconds of studying the data.
"So far, the online betting rooms that have access to the fight's details put the odds at roughly two to one against our boy. It would seem they would give him even odds if he fought against one man alone."
She nodded and tapped her computer. "I have money in my savings. It seems like a safe investment to put some of it on Taylor winning that fight."
"How much are you thinking?"
"I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “I'll decide when I see how much I have saved. I'll call you when it's done, Desk. Can I reach you on this number again?"
"No, but if you call, I will be alerted that you are trying to contact me and I'll be in touch in under a minute."
"You do that."
Jennie stared at the phone as it clicked. There was something off about having conversations with an AI she had created, but after so long working on her own, Desk was no longer the AI she created. There was much about her that remained the same, but she was allowed to alter her own code—her DNA, in essence—if needed.
The fact that she was still very much intact meant that her creator did a good job, but there was never any doubt about that.
The place smelled like it always did. Bobby had experienced it a hundred times before in innumerable gyms around the world. The stale scent of sweat and sometimes blood that soaked into the mat of the boxing ring and would never, ever come out, no matter how many times it was scrubbed, was unmistakable.
Too many people came in and out and got used to what these venues were supposed to be. He could never be one of them. Violence wasn't in his nature, as much as he trained himself in it. He was cut from a different cloth than Taylor, whose whole nature seemed predisposed to killing and beating anything that got in the way of whatever his goals happened to be at that particular point in time.
Leonard looked up from where he pushed the mop over the floor. There were still a couple of people in the gym, working the bags and the treadmills, but it was mostly empty. This gave the two men the opportunity to have a word in private, for the most part.
"How can I help you, Mr. Zhang?"
He tucked his hands into his pockets. "There might be a couple of changes for our next session here—a small audience. I guess you could call it a dress rehearsal for the fight that's to come. Taylor will take on a couple of fighters and I won't be one of them."
"Who are they?"
"His girlfriend's bodyguards. They'd like a piece of him in the ring to see if he's worthy or something. I'm not that kind of guy—the alpha male type—so I don't understand the impulse."
The former boxer grinned and tapped his mop. "So he finally grew the balls to talk to her about it. Will she be in attendance?"
"She said she wants to be present for the fight itself, which was why she thought it would make sense. Given that she's watched the fucker drop a helicopter on himself, I imagine she thinks that can bring him back if he goes too far."
"He…dropped a what on himself?"
"A helicopter," Bobby confirmed. "It’s a long story."
"Ah, good. I’m merely making sure I'm not hearing shit in my old age." Leonard toyed with his mop again. "How many people will be here? You know this ain't the fucking Ritz, right? No one should expect anything more than what they'll be able to find in the vending machines."
He laughed. "There won't be anyone in attendance who will expect any kind of special treatment. We're all used to doing for ourselves what rich folk expect other people to do for them."
The man smirked. "I have no idea why I would have thought otherwise, but I guess this is how we have to do it. I'll close up shop early and set some chairs up. You let me know when the party's coming in and I'll get it all ready for them."
Bobby patted the older man on the shoulder. "We appreciate your help with this."
"And I appreciate the cash your boy Taylor throws at me. It's not easy to stay in business in a place like Vegas."
"We'll see if we can't keep throwing business your way even after the fight is over."
"That's probably not necessary, but I appreciate the sentiment anyway." The old boxer patted him on the shoulder. "You get on out of here. I have work to do. There’s no time to chew the fat all day. I have a business to run."
"I'll get in touch later this week." He spun on his heel and headed to the door, a broad grin on his face as he strolled out of the building.
The suits were covered in dust like they always were after a couple of hours of training. She decided it simply offered them the opportunity to get to know their suits a little better when they had to clean all the crap out after every session.
Taylor knew what he was doing, she had to give him that. He pushed them as hard as he always had, but she could feel her body acclimating to the hectic pace. They probably wouldn’t maintain their bodies in the physical shape he now whipped them into, but they would still be better qualified to hunt cryptid monsters once the muscle memory was there to help them.
The man wasn't happy with the condition they were in, however. He'd yelled instructions over the comms at them. She had thought he would shout himself hoarse, but it sounded like he'd done something like this before. It was disconcerting to think the experiences he'd been through were their taskmaster. It triggered an unsettling image of him yelling at young men in the second-hand suits of armor the government had given them, hoping they would survive and that he wouldn't be the only one left alive again.
She fiddled with the controls to ensure that no dust had settled under the buttons she could have access to while inside her suit. With a scowl, she pulled the contraptions out and stared at the sand inside.
"Fucking…dammit," she whispered.
"You should see the condition of the suits we get from the Zoo," Tanya pointed out as she moved closer. "They send them in covered in so much dirt and grime that Taylor only feels comfortable with burning whatever we pull out of there. He doesn't want to risk any possible biological material from the jungle getting caught in the water systems here, no matter how small or insignificant. I don't want to say he’s being paranoid. Honestly, with everything he's been through, I would want to avoid any possibility of the Zoo breaking out again. You still have a team working on killing everything that pops up while we're here training, right?"
Niki nodded. "They're a tough group. Some of the best."
"I'm only glad that Bobby is here instead of out there. Although I see him coming home with numerous bruises so maybe it isn’t that safe after all."
Niki looked at her. "You don't know?"
"I know he and Taylor are sparring. That was all he would tell me about it."
"He's training Taylor. They're working to get him ready for the fight."
Tanya put her hand on her shoulder. "What fight?"
Bobby hadn't told her, which was interesting. Of course, she’d put both feet in it and knew the other woman wouldn’t let it rest. Whatever the man’s reasons for keeping it from her, it
seemed that ship had sailed thanks to her. She sighed. "Okay, I guess I shot my mouth off, and I’m sorry. Two mobsters in Marino's employ came to your shop and tried to act like assholes. Taylor intends to beat an apology out of them. Marino agreed, but only if he was allowed to sponsor the fight and have bets placed. He wants to make money off it."
"Of course he does. Who else knows about this? I can't be the only one who was kept out of the loop on this, right?"
Niki frowned and wondered how deep the hole was that she’d inadvertently dug herself into. She hadn't even considered the possibility that Taylor had kept this from the rest of his team, but Vickie hadn’t mentioned it—and she would have if she’d known. Unless she’d been instructed to not say anything. The agent’s interaction with the team always seemed to be from the outside looking in, which made her the last to know what Taylor was up to, and that was assuming she was told at all. He didn't like her to interfere with what he did with his team, given that she was a DOD agent who needed plausible deniability from whatever he might have done that was illegal.
That had all changed now.
Vickie raised her hand. "I already knew about the fight, but Taylor didn't tell me about it."
"What fight?" Elisa asked and looked at each of them in turn.
"Those guys who came to the shop while only you and Bobby were there. Taylor's going to beat the shit out of them while Marino streams it live."
The ex-reporter smiled. "Hell, I'll watch that shit."
Niki nodded. "Me too. So that’s everyone, then. It looks like he only told Bobby."
The others shrugged and she turned her attention to cleaning her suit and making sure it would go back in working condition. The sense of camaraderie was pleasant, as was the realization that she was no longer the outsider as she had always imagined herself to be. Their burgeoning relationship had brought her a little closer into the family unit Taylor’s team had created.
Monster In Me (Cryptid Assassin Book 8) Page 8