Black Oil, Red Blood

by Diane Castle

  We walked this way for several minutes, with Dorian pointing the way at each turn. We had to be close. Maybe I was imagining things, but I felt like I recognized some familiar landmarks from my journey in. It was time to start looking for a supply room.

  We turned one more corner, and I found one.

  Nash spotted it, too. “Stop,” he said.

  Dorian did.

  “Open the supply room door and go in,” Nash commanded.

  “Aww, come on,” Dorian said. “You’re not on board with this, are you Chloe?”

  I ignored him. “You get him in, I’ll get the chair,” I told Nash, and ducked into an empty office across the hall.

  I emerged from the office with a chair just in time to see Dorian disappear behind the supply room door. I rolled the chair past Nash and toward the closet.

  Just as I was about to securely place the chair under the doorknob, the heavy door flew open and knocked me backwards.

  The chair spiraled down the hall.

  I went flying into Nash, who simultaneously caught me and popped the door back so hard that it slammed into Dorian as he was trying to escape, temporarily disorienting him.

  I flung my full weight on Dorian and bulldozed him back into the supply room before he could catch his balance.

  The two of us careened into a metal supply shelf, and it toppled.

  Boxes of masks, suits, and various other supplies slid to the floor.

  I fell on Dorian, who fell on the shelving. I heard a crack, and Dorian groaned.

  I immediately rolled off Dorian, not wanting to physically touch him for longer than I had to.

  It appeared that Dorian had broken some ribs, because he didn’t move. He had fallen directly on top of the edge of the shelf, which meant it could be a pretty bad break.

  Or, the crack I had heard might not have been his ribs at all. It could have been caused by any number of things hitting the floor. Would it be wrong of me to hope for a bone break?

  In the scuffle, I’d lost my gun.

  I backed away slowly, scanning the floor for the gun. Nash stood in the doorway, covering me.

  I felt guilty for having to leave Dorian like this, but what else could I do?

  Dorian continued to lay across the downed shelving unit, wincing with pain.

  I finally spotted my gun lying on the floor by Dorian’s hand between the shelving.

  I consciously refused to look at it, for fear that I would alert Dorian to the fact that it was there.

  Pretending concern, and wanting to get closer to the gun so I could pick it up, I stood and stepped back toward Dorian.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I think you broke my ribs,” he moaned.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and I think there was a small part of me that actually meant it—but only because he looked like he was in so much pain.

  “Chloe, get away from him!” Nash warned. He clearly couldn’t see the gun from his angle. I had to recover it, or we’d be at a huge disadvantage.

  I ignored Nash and stepped over the shelving to lean over Dorian.

  Involuntarily, and despite my best intentions, I glanced at the gun. Dorian, being an expert people reader, followed my eyes and saw it too.

  I lunged for it, but Dorian was closer and quicker. In a flash, he had me by the hair with the gun pointed straight at my temple.

  Nash swore. “You never listen, do you?” he said.

  “Let me guess,” I said to Dorian. “Your ribs aren’t really broken. Nicely played. You fooled even me.”

  “About time. I was beginning to think I couldn’t win with you.” Dorian glanced at Nash. “Drop your gun, or she gets it.”

  “Remember, you loved me once,” I said, feeling somewhat desperate.

  “That’s before you cuffed me to a desk, threatened me at gunpoint, and tried to lock me up in a refinery that’s about to blow.”

  I eyed Nash. I didn’t think Dorian would actually shoot me, but I was still going to try to get free. I wanted Nash to be alert so he could help me out if I got in a pinch, just in case.

  Nash met my gaze and seemed to sense that he knew what I was about to do.

  I slammed my fist into Dorian’s crotch—something I’d wanted to do ever since I’d learned he was a lying cheater. The gesture was thoroughly satisfying.

  Dorian loosened his grip, and I spun away.

  Nash fired off two shots in rapid succession, and a shelf that had been suspended from the ceiling dumped all its contents on Dorian’s head. Boxes of metal nuts and bolts came crashing down around us in a hard metal rain that sliced his skin as it fell.

  Dorian thudded to the ground, wincing with what I knew for a fact was actual pain this time.

  I stared at Nash in amazement. “Are you serious? Don’t you think you might have wanted to shoot like that when we were being chased across the open field by an unknown car?”

  “I could have, if you were a better driver,” Nash said. “And anyway, you better be glad I didn’t, or Dick never would have caught up with us.”

  I had been hoping Dorian would drop his gun, but he didn’t.

  I decided to just leave it and make a run for the door.

  I dove through, and Nash slammed the door behind me. I rushed to grab the chair and place it under the knob.

  I could hear Dorian cursing bloody murder as we walked away.

  I pulled the chemical suit hood over my head and replaced my mask. It was time to resume our charade.

  “Give me your gun,” I told Nash.

  He did, then he held out his arm, like an usher at a wedding. I took it and pointed the gun at him. We resumed our charade of captor and captive as we proceeded back down the hall toward what I hoped was our eventual exit.

  I was still breathing hard from the encounter with Dorian when we rounded a corner and bumped into Fitz.

  CHAPTER 38

  Fitz’s gaze hardened when he saw Nash. Then he lasered in on me.

  “What are you doing with this man?”

  “Uh, bringing him to you,” I said.

  “I ordered no such thing,” Fitz said.

  “I asked,” Nash covered. “I thought we could make a deal.”

  A deal? What kind of deal, I wondered. Did Nash even know?

  “I haven’t got time for deal making right now,” Fitz said. “As you well know, I’m kind of busy. And on top of all the trouble you caused, the catalytic converter is about to blow.”

  Fitz was looking me up and down. “Who are you?” he barked. “Where’s your ID?”

  I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

  Fitz shot a hand out and pulled the mask down from my face. “You gotta be kidding me,” he said.

  I pulled my gun on him.

  Fitz, in turn, pulled his gun on me.

  We were in a standoff.

  “Wait a minute,” Nash said. “Let’s talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Fitz said. “You make one fast move, and she’s dead.”

  “Not if I shoot you first,” I said.

  Fitz leaned slightly forward. “If you shoot me, it won’t go well for you. You’re on my territory. I can claim self-defense. What can you claim? The police are already out looking for you.”

  He had a point. Hmmm. My life or my freedom? Life or freedom?

  I wasn’t sure. I glanced at Nash from the corner of my eye. His gaze was trained on Fitz. Nash was clearly gauging whether or not to make a move.

  “Let her go,” Nash said. “She’s not a threat.”

  Fitz laughed—a harsh, mirthless noise. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “It’s Gilbert you want,” Nash said. “If you let her go, I’ll take you to him. He’s the one with all the data. He’s the one who’s the threat. Chloe hasn’t got anything on you. Cameron has the tapes. He has the hack into your network. You already burned all of Schaeffer’s files, and her boss is dead. She can’t afford to finance any more cases against you herself. Her job
in this town is finished.”

  I watched Fitz ponder this possibility, praying that he would buy it and that Nash had some more tricks up his sleeve that might allow him to engineer another getaway. Fitz didn’t look like he was going to take the bait.

  “You’ll never find him without me,” Nash pressed. “I suspect that’s why I’m still alive.”

  Fitz still didn’t say anything. He considered his options.

  “Let her go,” Nash coaxed. “I’ll take you to Gilbert. Look at me. I’m not a threat to you. I’ve got a bad foot. I can barely walk.”

  “What happened to your foot, anyway?” Fitz asked.

  “Lewis shot it,” Nash said.

  “I guess that means you shot him back. Thanks for saving me the trouble.”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” Nash said. “Let Chloe go. I’ll take you to Cameron, I swear.”

  Fitz took a few more moments to consider this offer before he countered.

  “I tell you what,” Fitz said. “I’ll let you both go if you go in my office right now and issue a retraction to the press. Tell the press you made up the whole story about the market manipulation in order to gain leverage on your law suits. Tell them you fabricated the tapes and manufactured the written evidence. Then you walk out of here, I leave you alone, and you can both go on with your merry lives.”

  My hands tensed on the trigger on my gun.

  “The alternative,” Fitz said, “is that I shoot you both right here and you die with a bad reputation anyway. The public already thinks you’re murderers. Mayor Fillion is delivering a press conference right now. He’s telling everyone you’re a couple of crazed Yankee environmentalists who launched an armed assault on me in my office in an effort to make a statement. And even if you somehow manage to get the better of me and walk out of here, you still can’t win. There will be no rest for you without my cooperation. With the dollars I have to throw at the media and the government, you can’t possibly hope to compete with my message. For every statement you make, I’ll make three and follow it up with goodwill advertising and a massive PR campaign. I’ll launch a four million dollar investment fund into clean energy research and tout it to the press. I’ll come out looking like the good guy, and you’ll be the crooks.”

  “Four million dollars,” I spat. “That’s nothing. Your company makes profits higher than that in two and a half hours.”

  “That’s why launching the campaign will be so easy,” Fitz said. “Make the statement. It’s your only hope of living the rest of your life in peace.”

  My trigger finger twitched. Not hard enough to fire the gun, but it was definitely feeling itchy.

  On the one hand, shooting this loser seemed like the easiest thing to do. But we’d never get away with it. Knowing Nash and his by-the-book personality, all his guns were registered. As soon as they ran the ballistics report, he’d get arrested. I couldn’t let that happen.

  On the other hand, if Nash and I made the statement, all our work and all the risks we took would be for nothing. And the rest of America would never realize the shadow of corruption they were living under.

  Things would just continue on like normal, and PetroPlex would continue to lobby Congress and make hefty campaign contributions hoping to garner favors in return. Nobody would push for regulation, and the Big Oil machine would churn forward, unchecked.

  I had absolutely no illusions that it would turn out any other way. It had been about a decade since the Enron fiasco, and after all this time, that little piece of legislation was still good law, and on the books.

  To top that off, refineries all over the country would continue to churn out pollution, killing workers and poisoning entire communities. Nobody would care. That didn’t seem like a palatable option, either.

  “I won’t do it,” I said.

  Nash rolled his eyes. “I will,” he said.

  My gaze snapped to Nash. “Nash, no! What’s wrong with you? You can’t do that! If you do that, PetroPlex wins!”

  Nash glared at me hard. There was something in his eyes that said trust me. “Chloe, lower the gun,” he said.

  My resolve wavered.

  “Please,” Nash said. “Chloe, trust me. This is the right thing.”

  I didn’t move.

  “Tell her that if she lowers the gun, she can walk away,” Nash told Fitz.

  Fitz sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Give me the gun and you walk.”

  I still didn’t move.

  “Move slow,” Fitz said.

  “Go ahead, Chloe,” Nash said. “It’s the best thing. You heard Fitz. We’ll never be free any other way.”

  Slowly, I lowered the gun, allowing the barrel to drop. With my thumb and forefinger, I pinched the end of the grip and handed it to Fitz.

  I shot Nash a look that said you better know what you’re doing.

  Fitz took my gun, but still didn’t lower his own. He kept it trained on me and then pointed the other one at Nash.

  “Walk away,” Nash said.

  I looked at Fitz for confirmation.

  “Yeah, get out,” he said.

  I slowly started backing away.

  When I was a safe distance down the hall, Fitz turned his gun on Nash. “Walk,” he said.

  Nash did.

  As I watched him walk away, it started to dawn on me that maybe Nash didn’t have a plan. I knew that this time, he didn’t have a weapon hidden away somewhere. He couldn’t possibly get the jump on Fitz with his bad foot, and I didn’t really think he’d make a retraction statement to the press. So what was he doing?

  Was he about to sacrifice himself for my sake?

  For the second time in twenty minutes, my stomach settled around my ankles. I couldn’t let him do this. I couldn’t let this happen.

  “Wait!” I yelled.

  Nash and Fitz stopped.

  “Take me instead,” I said. “I’ll make the statement.”

  “Chloe, what are you doing?” Nash said.

  “It will make much more sense coming from me,” I said. “After all, I’m the attorney here. I’m the one who makes a living suing your company in the first place, not Nash. I’m the one who had the evidence. Schaeffer was my expert witness. I’m the one who worked with Cameron to release it. Not Nash. Nash’s connection to all of this is too tenuous. He’s just a cop who got on the wrong side of the establishment.”

  “Detective,” Nash said through clenched teeth. “Chloe, shut up.”

  “Take me,” I insisted.

  I could see Fitz’s wheels turning. He knew I had a point. “Walk slowly towards me,” he said. He was still double-fisting his guns, one pointed at me, and the other at Nash.

  I began the slow motion walk back towards Fitz.

  “Chloe, no,” Nash said.

  I kept walking.

  “Chloe,” Nash said. “I can’t let you do this.”

  “I have nothing left,” I said. “You do. Go back to your life.”

  “You have me,” Nash said.

  “Not if Fitz shoots you.”

  “Whoever makes the statement is not going to get shot,” Fitz said.

  “Hear that?” I asked Nash. “What about the person who doesn’t make the statement? What about that person?” I turned to Fitz. “If you let me go, are you just going to hunt me down later and force me to take you to Gilbert?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Fitz said, in a way that sounded like an obvious lie.

  “Take me,” I said. “Look, I’m walking toward you.”

  I raised my hands in the air and closed the distance between us in the corridor slowly. Carefully. Methodically. When I was about three yards away from him, I stopped.

  “Lower the gun,” I said. “Let Nash go. I’m coming with you willingly.”

  I slowly lowered my arms and extended my hands toward him, palms up.

  The gesture distracted Fitz. It was long enough for Nash to bring his fists down on Fitz’s arms. His arms fell, and one of the guns went off. Fitz literally shot h
imself in the foot right in front of us.

  “That’s fitting,” I said, jumping into action.

  I helped Nash wrestle him to the ground and took the guns, his com device, and his cell phone. Pointing our guns at him, we backed away through some heavy metal double doors with small glass windows.

  The doors closed on Fitz, who was swearing up a storm in front of us. Even though we weren’t out of harm’s way, I felt a sense of relief to have the heavy double doors creating a barrier between us and Fitz.

  Fitz hobbled to his feet. We watched through the windows as he lowered a thick metal bar in front of the doors.

  Nash and I exchanged glances. We were locked in. My previous feeling of relief evaporated.

  We spun around to find ourselves in a chamber that was acres long and at least seven stories tall. Pipes twisted away in every direction, into the floor, through the walls, and high overhead. Giant steel drums loomed above us. The bottoms of them started at about the second story and stretched all the way to the roof.

  “Is this the catalytic converter?” Nash asked.

  “How should I know?” I said. “Theoretically I know how this all works, but I’ve never actually been inside here before. They don’t like to give tours to people who make a living suing them.”

  My cell phone rang.

  I picked it up. “Cameron!”

  “You have to get out!” Cameron said. “While I was gone, Fitz started a chain reaction that’s going to make the whole place blow!”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Cameron said. “This was nothing I did. I can only think he’s trying to destroy evidence. The failsafes aren’t working and the pressure is building across all refinery units. There’s about to be a massive explosion—one that will take the whole refinery down. They’re evacuating the area. Homes and everything.”

  “Fix it!” I, said, my heart racing.

  “I can’t!” Cameron said. “There are power outages all over the plant, and the server I hacked into went down right after I got back on!”

  “Can’t you get another connection?”

  “It’s not that easy,” Cameron said. “I created the security breach on this server before I quit the company. There’s not a lot I can do from the outside without that connection.”