by Alex Barclay
‘Well, that explains the tears then …’
Ren tried to smile through them. ‘It’s not just that, Billy …’
‘Oh. This is an opportunity for a nice clean break. I was thinking; I mean, Glenwood’s only an hour and a half away …’
‘I’m sorry … I don’t know what to say.’
‘Did they find out about us?’
Yes. ‘No.’
‘I don’t know if I believe you.’
‘That’s OK. But they don’t know. And even if they did, you’re OK. Nothing’s going to happen to you.’
He let out a long breath. They sat in silence. He dragged her legs on to his lap.
‘You have beautiful feet.’ He bent down and kissed them.
‘Thank you.’
He reached out and slipped a hand under her back and pulled her up to sit on him. He stared into her eyes.
‘What do you think you’re going to find?’ she said.
He shrugged. ‘You love having arms wrapped around you, Ren. But sometimes I get the sense that it doesn’t matter whose arms.’
‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’
‘It doesn’t matter – as long as whoever owns those arms doesn’t care about you too much, right?’
Ren said nothing.
‘It’s weird … you have this look,’ said Billy.
‘Do I?’
He nodded. ‘A faraway look.’
‘I don’t think so … but if I do, it’s not because of you.’
‘It’s kind of aimed through me.’
‘I had no idea.’
He shrugged.
‘I don’t know you very well,’ said Ren.
‘And you get confused by my game face,’ said Billy. ‘The one I have on when I’m in the bar. The one I have on when I’m eyeballing the dirtbags that come in and out. The face that makes you wonder.’ He tilted his head. ‘Am I right? Did you look any deeper? I know you’re going, Ren. But what was I? I don’t get it. What – you were looking for a little danger in your life?’
‘Stop,’ said Ren. ‘Just stop. This isn’t fair.’
‘You’ve never known,’ said Billy. ‘From day one, you have never known how you feel about me, have you? I mean, one part of you does. I’ve seen that. But what about up here?’ He pointed to her head. ‘Or here?’ He held a hand to her heart. ‘Jesus, Ren. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was gay.’
‘What?’
‘You are the closest to a man of any woman I’ve ever known. You’ve been thinking with your dick.’
‘Or about yours.’ She half-smiled.
‘Sweetheart? You’ve been thinking about more than just my dick, and that’s what has you so freaked out.’
Her smile faltered. ‘I don’t know if –’
‘OK, hands up in the audience who hasn’t understood that Ren Bryce doesn’t know?’ He threw his arms up in the air. ‘How can someone so smart be so out of touch with how she feels? Seriously?’
‘But where did you come from?’ said Ren. ‘You look like a … with your tattoos and … well … then you have this …’
Billy laughed out loud. ‘Let me help you out – I look like America’s Most Wanted.’ He smiled sadly. ‘And what my most wanted is … is …’ He looked away.
Ren’s stomach tightened. ‘Aw, Billy. Jesus…’ She frowned. ‘I don’t deserve this. How can you still be so nice to me?’
‘Because I’m hoping that at some point you will know. That you’ll figure it all out. And that I’ll have a shot.’
‘But I can’t even promise –’
He reached across the table. ‘I know. And … look, I’ll be here …’ He smiled sadly. ‘That’s what Billy does. Billy waits.’
46
Ren knew that the best part of her day would be the snowy drive through Glenwood Canyon, one of the most beautiful stretches of highway she had ever traveled. She listened to classical scores from movie soundtracks and the snow fell lightly. When she arrived at Glenwood, Tiny Gressett was there not to welcome her.
‘Didn’t think it was today you were coming.’ He glanced at the desk calendar beside him.
Sure. ‘Wow. And that’s not even today’s date,’ said Ren, smiling.
‘No. You’re right there,’ said Gressett. He stared at her and she could see a late-breaking realization. ‘That was probably last touched by Jean Transom. There it is. January 12th – the day she left on vacation.’
Ren’s smile faded. ‘Well, that’s very sad.’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Gressett. ‘So, first of all, welcome.’
Gressett turned away and gestured around the room. ‘I know you’ve been here before, but the bathroom’s across the hall. Jean’s desk … which will be your desk … is right here, so you’ll be the first person people see when they come in.’
‘Let’s hope that doesn’t affect business,’ said Ren, picking up on the look that told her he wasn’t quite sure of the wisdom of the placement.
‘I’m here,’ he said, pointing to a desk almost behind hers, at a right angle and nicely out of sight of any visitors. ‘Todd’s there. Gun room is there. Coffee machine’s there. Bureau computer there. Secret computer there.’ He smiled. ‘Office supplies – on the shelves right beside you.’
‘What are the Crayola for?’
‘Kids.’
‘You get a lot of them roaming around?’
‘Only if they’re in on a tour from school, or if they’re –’
‘Witnesses … and need to draw the suspect. Yup, he had real skinny arms and legs and a big round head. Circles for eyes … No, no other features …’
Gressett smiled, but she wasn’t sure if he got the joke. Ren suspected they would share lots of strange smiles in the future.
‘Let me take you to lunch, your first day,’ said Gressett.
Very kind. ‘Thank you,’ said Ren. ‘That would be great. I will have to go back to Breck this afternoon to pick up some things.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Gressett. ‘Right – Juicy Lucy’s – the best in Glenwood.’
Ren had eaten there before. At least she agreed with him on food. She overlooked a lot for food.
Three hours later, she was slumped in a chair opposite Bob Gage. He was sitting at the edge of his desk in a boxy gray suit.
‘Hello, our little heroine … defector,’ said Bob. ‘Glenwood – what the hell?’
‘That tie – what the hell?’ said Ren.
‘Someone told me it was cool. I can’t remember …’
‘Maybe because the conversation happened in 1984.’
‘Possibly.’
Ren let out a breath. ‘I don’t want to go,’ she said.
‘You will come back to us for a drink or two,’ said Mike.
‘You bet,’ said Ren. ‘But I’m being yanked out of the middle of something.’
‘You are.’
‘I know. But it’s wrong,’ said Ren.
‘Why do you think it happened?’
Oh, I wish I didn’t have to lie. ‘I have no idea. Resources …’
‘The Feds? Can’t spare one little agent?’
‘Hey, I’m indispensable.’
‘Glenwood has ground to a standstill?’
‘Maybe.’
Ren laughed, hugged them both and left.
The Firelight Inn was quiet, the dining table cleared and re-set for the following day’s breakfast. The only person Ren could see was one man sitting on the sofa checking his email. He didn’t look up. Ren went to her room and packed everything. Her chest was tight with the familiar sensation of blocked emotion. She remembered someone once telling her, ‘Your body knows how to breathe; don’t try to control it.’ Maybe there was a reason Ren wanted less oxygen going to her brain. Maybe she just wanted it to stop, she just wanted everything to shut down.
She left a check on her bed, left the keys in her bedroom door and said goodbye to the Firelight Inn. It was a beautiful blue and golden day. Seeing everyone on the street made her want to turn ri
ght around and stay forever. There were no rules on where she could live. She could commute to Glenwood, she could commute to Denver. But she owed it to Gary Dettling to make the effort in her new position. He was watching her back, he always had, he knew things no one else did and, in his caring intimidation, he reined her in.
She was crying by the time she hit Main Street – for herself, for Jean, for Billy, for Vincent and for a man she had never known but who had died beaten and alone. Through a blur of tears, she saw Salem Swade standing, laughing, outside the Gold Pan. He always got a free breakfast at the Gold Pan. If she could have hugged him goodbye, she would have. She and Salem could be the town crazies together. She looked at him in the rearview mirror. Right now, a penniless, damaged man with a brokedown cabin for a home looked happier than she did. It warmed her heart that he could mine those nuggets somewhere inside himself.
In the sunlight, something shone in the passenger footwell. Ren looked down and saw the second set of keys to her room. A sign. But she kept driving and when she got to the red lights that opened the road to Highway 9, she turned back for one last look.
Breckenridge. Boom and bust.
PART TWO
47
The pretty red pines were dead pines. They broke up the green all across Colorado’s forests; millions of acres ruined by mountain pine beetles working their way through to southern Wyoming, a steady assault by a miniature army.
It was ninety degrees with a red-flag wildfire risk across Garfield County. Ren had left Gressett and Todd discussing the price of hay and driven east through Glenwood Canyon under clear skies and beating sun. Next she took a right down a wide dirt track until she reached a gate with a No Trespassing sign. It looked like any old rancher’s gate, but it had a sensor that worked with the card she had clipped to her mirror. Ren drove through and carried on a mile further, into a clearing. She jumped out of the Jeep and pulled three black cases from it, laying them on a wooden table set up close by.
The first time Ren had fired a live gun at Quantico, she thought she would hit the target. She blamed the delusion on her three older brothers who had battered a competitive streak into her from the time she was seven years old.
She walked across the hot dry earth to the target frames and pinned up four, side by side – the standard black outline of a man holding a gun in his right hand. An unarmed man could never be shot – even a paper one. Today he would represent the pervert at Hot Springs who’d taken pictures and exposed himself to a little girl earlier that morning.
Ren had one month to go before her fourth and final weapons proficiency test of the year. She had to follow scores of ninety-four, ninety, and ninety-two on the previous three. Another score over ninety was the only result that would make her happy.
She loaded the MP5 magazines and took out a Heckler and Koch MP5, a ten-millimeter fully automatic submachine gun, custom-made for the FBI. She put on ear protectors and walked up to the twenty-five-yard line. There was something satisfying in watching that red dot hover on her target. Ren blew all four heads full of holes. She fired another round, then replaced the targets with fresh ones – her paper men had lost their inky heads.
She loaded the thirteen-round magazines and took out her Bureau-issued Glock 23. She started at the twenty-five-yard line, shooting prone, kneeling and standing, then moved up to fifteen yards, seven, then three. Again, the heads were blasted.
Her shirt clung to her body in the heat. But it was the first day that week that she hadn’t regretted her new shorter hair cut. At least her neck could breathe.
The next case held a Rock River Arms M-4 rifle, her best friend in rural Colorado – deadly close-in or at several hundred yards. She loaded the magazine with two-two-threes: small, thin golden bullets; beautiful and stable until they hit the human body, then rapidly becoming unstable. Two-two-three. She couldn’t hold them without thinking: Paul Louderback.
Ren went through another course of fire with the M-4, then took the targets down, packed the guns up and put them in the back of the Jeep. Her cellphone beeped with a text message. It was Helen: Are you on your way?
Oh shit. To Denver. Two hours’ drive. Ren texted her back: Wrk stuff. So sorry. Cld we meet b4 my meetng 4 5 mins? 2pm.
Y.
Y. I’m so sorry.
OK.
By the time Ren reached Denver, violent winds had been whipped up by storm clouds rolling in from Central Plains. Hail pounded the car – deafening and relentless. A Denver afternoon could move from sunbathing to drowning and back again in twenty minutes. The previous week, the skies had dumped enough hail to trap people in their cars and flood the viaducts.
Helen had been waiting for ten minutes. Two hours and ten minutes. Ren sat holding a coffee, wondering if she really was in the humor for Helen.
‘So, how’s work?’ she said.
‘Ugh,’ said Ren.
‘Come on,’ said Helen. ‘I haven’t seen you all summer, you’ve talked to me only a handful of times. Have you been quiet … or just too busy?’
‘Working.’
‘OK, working. But what else?’
‘Look, I’m fine.’
‘How’s Glenwood?’
‘Well, I’m in the wonderful position of having a different personality clash with each of my colleagues. And it’s a small office.’ It’s Tiny.
‘Hmm.’
‘I mean, it’s fine. But it’s not Safe Streets. In Glenwood, I just get in there, do my work and leave.’
‘Are you seeing Billy?’
‘No.’
‘Are you OK with that?’
‘Not really. But I was afraid it was going to screw things up for me. And him.’
‘Have you met anyone else?’
Ren shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Have you been going out?’
‘Kind of.’
‘With who?’
‘I’ve made a few friends, so I’m hanging out with them.’
‘New friends?’ said Helen.
Ren nodded. ‘Some guys, nice guys, I met.’
‘OK.’
‘Platonic.’
‘Think about what has happened to you over the last few months,’ said Helen.
‘What do you mean? I’ve solved a lot of Jean’s cases, I’ve worked hard –’
‘Can you hear yourself?’ said Helen.
‘What? OK, I worked. I love my job. Big deal.’
‘And what about everything else? It wasn’t long ago that you left your boyfriend, you slept with a C.I., you moved locations again …’
Ren said nothing. She raised her face to the ceiling and held her breath.
‘Part of you thinks you’re such a bad person, Ren, that bad things should happen to you, your relationships should be fraught, your decisions should bring pain, you should not be happy … I don’t know.’
Ren stared out the window, running her finger back and forth under her watch strap.
‘It may not be affecting your work now,’ said Helen, ‘but it will.’
Ren released a heavy, weary breath as she stood up. ‘I’m tired, Helen. I’m exhausted. I have too much on. Can’t I just have someone to talk to when I need it?’
‘Of course,’ said Helen.
‘Nice shoes, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I love shoes,’ said Ren, ‘But if I hear one more time “Oh, you’ve big shoes to fill” – meaning Jean Transom’s …’ She paused. ‘I’ve big feet, you know?’
‘Well most people have a perception of other people that comes from lots of different things,’ said Helen. ‘Yes, Jean sounds like she was a talented agent. But so are you. Just because she was – how do I put it? – more …’
‘Normal …’
‘Well, whatever you want to say, but I guess more what people would expect an agent to be. From what you’ve said, she was quiet, soft-spoken, earnest. And you’re more … out there. Doesn’t mean you’re any less professional.’
‘I know that. The
importance of being earnest …’
‘Look, anyway, why do you care?’
‘I actually don’t know. Jean wore comfortable shoes. And maybe I don’t do comfortable shoes.’
‘You don’t do comfortable, period. You don’t like being comfortable, do you? It’s too boring. Your worst nightmare.’
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t think I can listen to any more wisdom.’
Helen smiled.
‘But, thanks,’ said Ren.
‘OK,’ said Helen. ‘Look after yourself.’
In the Rocky Mountain Safe Streets office, Gary Dettling stood at the top of the bullpen beside a map of Jefferson and Summit Counties. Red pins surrounded the Denver metropolitan area and green pins stretched west along I-70.
Ren walked in. ‘Let me guess – red: places where Colin Grabien has been rejected by women in a bar. Green: places where Colin Grabien has been rejected by women in a bar.’
Colin pointed toward the board. ‘Red: places where Ren Bryce has …’ He paused.
‘Not quick enough,’ said Ren. ‘Thanks for playing.’
‘Your hair,’ said Robbie. ‘What did you do? I loved your long hair.’
‘Hate to break it to you,’ said Ren. ‘But you’re not at the forefront of my mind when I’m in the hair salon … Actually, neither was getting a good hair cut …’
‘What were you thinking?’ said Colin.
‘Guys, come on,’ said Gary. ‘The red pins here represent our random robbers – a mixed bunch of amateurs.’
‘So they’ve all been caught, obviously …’ said Ren, smiling.
‘Our Glenwood visitor appears to be mocking us,’ said Cliff. ‘Perhaps she feels that, without her, we are nothing.’
Ren nodded.
‘And to continue,’ said Gary. ‘The green pins represent the Val Pando crew. To recap – the first was Arvada, the second here in Denver on Colfax …’ The rest were off I-70 heading west.’ He moved his finger along the map. ‘In order of geographical location, east–west: Idaho Springs, Georgetown, Silver Plume, Grand Junction. But as we know, the robberies weren’t carried out in that particular order.’
‘Because that wouldn’t be very smart,’ said Ren. ‘So – six green pins since this all started back in January.’