The Devil You Know

by Sam Sisavath

  “I don’t think even you believe that.”

  “You’d be wrong.”

  “If you say so.” Sarah sat down next to her and fished out another fry from her McDonald’s container. “We should be south by now. Houston is too dangerous for us. For you, especially.”

  “So what better place to hide? I’d be an idiot to stay here, or come back after leaving. It’s the perfect plan.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re being facetious right now.”

  “Or you could be overthinking it.”

  “I don’t think I am.” She paused for a moment, then, “Come with us. You and Aaron. There’s plenty of room where we’re going.”

  “Thanks for the offer—and for saving my life in LA, I won’t forget that—but I’m staying with Aaron. That doesn’t mean you have to.”

  “So it’ll just be the two of you against the world, is that it?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. It’ll just be the FBI and the Houston Police Department. Besides, Aaron’s getting us help.”

  “The Sons of Porter.”

  “They’ve come through for us before, and Aaron knows how to get in touch with more of them. We set up a method of communication with the ones that have been vetted, like the prison guard who got the phone to McIntosh.”

  “What about the one that almost got Xiao killed? Was she vetted, too?”

  “Aaron did the best he could.”

  “I’m sure he did.” Sarah tossed the remains of her fries into a nearby trash bin. “Leave this city with me, Quinn. We can do a lot more good out there. You and Aaron. I can tell he trusts you. If you insist on leaving, he would come, too.”

  “And then what? Spend our days waiting for Aaron and Reiko to find Red Sky in their laptops? Sounds boring.”

  “Boring’s better than constantly fighting for our lives when we don’t have to.”

  “A friend once told me the only thing she was scared of in this life was boredom.” Quinn smiled. “I guess she rubbed off on me more than I thought.”

  Sarah sighed. “You’re really not coming.”

  “No.”

  “Then okay.”

  Quinn looked over at her. “Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay,” Sarah said, standing up and brushing her hands on her pants legs.

  Quinn glanced questioningly up at her. “Okay what?”

  “Let’s go save the reporter,” Sarah said. “Then we’ll figure out what to do after that.”

  “She said yes?” Aaron asked.

  Quinn gave him a I’m just as surprised as you are look. “Yeah.”

  “Wow. I didn’t think she’d say yes. She didn’t sound like she was even close to saying yes. I mean, not even in the same universe. And I would have settled for a maybe with a dash of Convince me, little man to go along with that. But a full-on yes? That’s...”

  “I know, so let’s not push our luck.”

  “Who, me? Push my luck?”

  Quinn shot him a wry glance. “Yeah, you.”

  “Gotcha. No luck pushing.”

  They stood next to each other inside the restaurant, watching as Rick and Owen finished loading their moving boxes from the white van they had stolen outside a small town called Van Horn to a black one they’d “found” in Houston. Reiko was already inside the vehicle with her laptop; Quinn could make out the pink of her hair through one of the side windows. Sarah, meanwhile, stood at the edge of the cemented grounds, looking in the direction of downtown, probably wondering why she was doing such a stupid thing.

  Share the answer with me when you figure it out, Sarah.

  “So she’s one of them,” Aaron was saying as he, too, gazed out at Sarah.

  “Yeah.” Quinn nodded.

  “So that’s two former Rhimmers we’ve run across. Makes you wonder how many more are out there.”

  “‘Rhimmers?’” Quinn smiled.

  “That’s what she called them.”

  Quinn nodded. She didn’t have to ask who she was.

  “Probably her idea of a joke,” Aaron said. “It wasn’t a very good one, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her.”

  “I’m sure she appreciated your discretion.”

  “I’m sure she probably didn’t.” He went quiet for a moment before nodding at the van. “So, Reiko.”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s cute.”

  “She’s got a decade on you.”

  “Quit exaggerating. Seven years, tops. You think she’s into brothers?”

  Quinn sighed. “I don’t want to be having this conversation.”

  “Oh, come on. I could use a wingman. Or in this case, wingwoman.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just…no.”

  “Forget it, then. Wingwoman creds revoked.”

  “Thank God,” Quinn said, and looked over as Owen stepped inside the building. “Done?”

  Owen nodded. “Grab what you need, and let’s get truckin’.”

  “Gotta get my stuff,” Aaron said before disappearing into the back.

  Quinn walked over to Owen, and they stepped outside into the bright sun together. At the same time, Sarah was walking over to the van from the other end of the lot.

  “How pissed off is she?” Quinn asked.

  “What makes you think she’s pissed?” Owen said. “She agreed to stay behind, didn’t she?”

  “That doesn’t mean she’s not pissed.”

  Owen chuckled. “You’re right; she is a little…angry.”

  “I told her there was no reason for you guys to stay. It’s not like Aaron and I would be alone.”

  “She’s…” Owen stopped and seemed to think about what to say next.

  “What?” Quinn pressed.

  “Conflicted,” Owen finished.

  “About Red Sky.”

  “Not just that.”

  “What else is there?”

  Owen smiled, and again looked like he was going to answer, but didn’t.

  “Owen,” Quinn said.

  “It’s not my place to say,” Owen finally said and walked faster to the van.

  What the hell was that about? Quinn thought, looking after him.

  “I guess it goes without saying this isn’t going to be easy,” Sarah said when Quinn reached the van. “If the Rhim really is behind this—and I’m inclined to agree with Aaron that they probably are—they have a vested interest in seeing the reporter incarcerated for the rest of her life. They won’t just let us waltz in there and take her.”

  “I guess that’s why we’re not just going to waltz in there and take her,” Quinn said. “Aaron’s plan will work. It just needs a little refining. Maybe that’s where you guys come in. The truth is, you’ve been at this longer than us.”

  Sarah glanced into the van at Reiko. “She’s been looking over the area around the jail, at the very interesting way those justice buildings are connected. She thinks we might have brought along something that could help facilitate matters. We can incorporate it into Aaron’s plan.”

  “‘Facilitate’ matters?”

  “Something Owen came up with a few years ago.”

  “My ears are burning,” Owen said as he walked back around the van and climbed into the driver-side door.

  “Remember Quebec?” Sarah asked him.

  Owen smiled. “You mean my little pop-pops?”

  “Pop-pops?” Quinn said.

  “Silent but deadly,” Owen said. “Well, not completely silent, but mostly silent. And definitely dangerous if used correctly.”

  “I don’t want to kill anyone,” Quinn said. “I thought I made that clear back on the road. A lot of people at that jail are just doing their jobs.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “No killing, Owen.”

  “No one’s going to die,” Reiko said, leaning out the side window. “I’ve been looking at the construction of that skyway of theirs. Owen’s little toys will definitely work. All we have to do is be there when it does.” />
  “Owen knows what he’s doing,” Sarah said. “He was in the Army. It was his job to make weapons, and he’s very good at it.”

  Quinn nodded, satisfied. “Thank you.”

  “Thank us when this is over,” Sarah said.

  “Who’s in the mood for a little jailbreak?” Aaron shouted as he came out of the diner, walking over to them.

  Sarah looked past Quinn’s shoulder at Aaron. “He’s just a kid, Quinn. I know he got you out of that jam last week, but he’s still just a seventeen-year-old kid. You have to remember that sometimes. He doesn’t always know what’s best for him.”

  “I know,” Quinn nodded.

  Sarah sighed before giving her a pursed smile. “Well, at least my first visit to Houston hasn’t been boring.”

  Chapter 16

  Zoe

  “They found traces of her blood in the clothes you were wearing when they picked you up at the Pine Creek Mall. It’s the most damning evidence they have against you, Zoe.”

  She stared at them, sitting across the table from her in suits that probably cost more than what every correctional officer in the Harris County Jail earned in a week combined. Certainly it was more expensive than the orange shirt and pants they had given her to wear this morning after taking her out of the general holding area.

  The bald one’s name was Johnson-something and the less bald one was Granger-something. The truth was, there was a slight buzzing in her head when they introduced themselves less than two hours ago, and neither men had repeated their names since. Not that she cared enough to ask, because at this point Zoe wasn’t sure anything mattered, least of all the names of the two high-priced criminal lawyers Channel 9 had sent over.

  But she heard them just fine when Baldy told her about the blood the cops had found on her clothes. Stacy Baker’s blood. On her clothes. There was no reason it should have been there, because Stacy wasn’t bleeding even a little bit when Zoe was in her apartment.

  And yet, and yet there they were.

  “The people who want you to think John Porter is a terrorist,” Aaron had said. “That my friends this morning were also terrorists. The same people who really run the government, the corporations—everything and anything that actually means something.”

  She had thought he was insane and had said so. She was about to leave him at the food court—as soon as she called the cops and turned him in. Except it hadn’t worked out that way. God, she wished it had worked out exactly that way, then all of this would have just been a bad dream.

  Instead, she was in a meeting room with two men who already looked beaten even before either one had stepped a foot in court to defend her. She sat quietly and listened to them explain, sometimes in tedious detail, about all the evidence the police had gathered against her. Stacy Baker’s blood on her clothes had been the high point. Or low point, when she really thought about it.

  “Why would anyone set me up?” was the question that kept going round and round inside her head. It wasn’t until she remembered Aaron’s words that the question became less “Why would anyone set me up?” and more “Who could possibly pull something like this off?”

  And the answer was also what Aaron had said:

  “The people who want you to think John Porter is a terrorist. That my friends this morning were also terrorists. The same people who really run the government, the corporations—everything and anything that actually means something.”

  Because if he was right, then setting her up for killing Stacy Baker would be almost child’s play to people with that kind of power, that kind of law-enforcement pull. And the why was simple enough once she accepted that fact—or at least be open to the possibility of it. Because she had learned something they didn’t want anyone to know. She had discovered the existence of a third man at the school.

  Aaron. It was all about Aaron.

  “Zoe,” a voice said. “Are you listening to us?”

  Zoe looked up from her hands. She hadn’t realized she had been staring at them, at the still visible but faint impressions of handcuffs around her wrists, until one of the lawyers said her name.

  It was Baldy. “Zoe?”

  “Yes,” Zoe said. “I’m listening.”

  The lawyers exchanged a doubtful look, and she wanted to tell them, “Like I care what you think. I’m already screwed. Just say it. I’m screwed.”

  Balder gave her a pitying smile. “Joe made it very clear how important it was that we got you bail.”

  Of course he did. Joe wants to put me on the air. He’s thinking about the ratings…because that’s his job.

  “But I told him before we came in here that it’s probably not going to happen,” Balder continued. “We’ll try, of course, but after looking at everything they’ve collected…” He shook his head and flipped through the folder he had been reading to her. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I’m sorry to be so blunt.”

  “I understand,” Zoe said.

  “Do you?” Baldy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you really understand, Zoe? This case they’re building…” He, too, shook his head, as if the two of them had rehearsed it beforehand to drive the point home just how hopeless they thought everything was. “It’s only going to get tougher from here on out. This is just the preliminary work-up to the trial, but it’s already looking bad.”

  Gee, thanks for all the optimism guys, she wanted to say and throw in an ill-timed chuckle right along with it.

  But she didn’t, because this was no time for wisecracks, and it was definitely not the right spot for a chuckle. Because they were right. God, were they right about how it was only going to get worse before it got better.

  If there was even such a thing as “better” in this case.

  Baldy was glancing at his watch. His very expensive Rolex watch. “They’re scheduling your arraignment for this afternoon, so you need to be ready.” He looked up. “You’ve covered this part before, as a reporter?”

  She nodded.

  “Good,” Baldy said, “so you’ll know what to expect from here on out.”

  “If we haven’t already made it clear, forget about bail,” Balder said.

  “You made it pretty clear,” Zoe nodded.

  “Joe won’t like it, but it’s out of our control. You’re just too much of a flight risk in the court’s eyes.”

  Flight risk? Where would I go? Where could I go?

  But she kept quiet.

  “Before we go, is there anything you want to tell us?” Baldy asked. He was leaning slightly over the table, his eyes focusing intently on hers.

  “Like what?” Zoe asked.

  “Anything you might have left out earlier,” Balder said. Unlike his colleague, he was leaning back in his seat, as if he was bored and couldn’t wait to leave the room.

  Zoe wished she had that option.

  “Something you might have neglected because you didn’t think it was important,” Baldy added. “You never know. It might turn out to be the most important thing yet. It’s happened before in similar cases.”

  “So let us decide if it’s important or not,” Balder said.

  “Is there anything?”

  “It can be anything…”

  Zoe stared at them. One, then the other. She couldn’t decide who to concentrate on—Baldy, who looked anxious and actually concerned for her well-being; or Balder, who just wanted to get the hell out of the building as soon as he could. Maybe he had a hot dinner date. Or a massage appointment.

  “No,” she finally said. “I didn’t leave anything out.”

  The two men exchanged a quick look, but she couldn’t tell—if anything—what they were trying to communicate to one another.

  “Are you sure?” Baldy said when he turned back to her.

  Well, there’s this group out there, see, called the Rhim, and they’re pulling the strings. They’re trying to silence me about this tall, skinny black kid named Aaron, who was at the school shooting yesterday but for some reason the FB
I and the police and God knows who else don’t want anyone to know he exists.

  She shook her head instead. “Yes.”

  Her jail cell was six-by-eight feet and forty-eight square feet in all, with an uncomfortable mattress, a metallic sink/toilet combo, and scarred white walls that had been recently painted over. It wasn’t nearly the miserable conditions she had been expecting, but being caged inside it still gave her anxiety attacks.

  The entire wing was quiet when she returned from the meeting with Baldy and Balder, and Zoe spent the next hour or so sitting on the hard twin-size bed staring blankly at…nothing. She played back everything the lawyers had said, but it only made her more miserable.

  It was bad. It was really bad.

  Whoever they were (Stop it. You know exactly who they are. The kid even told you their name!), they had done a marvelous job of setting her up. Everything was there for a conviction. Everything except a motive. That was the one missing item that confused the lawyers.

  But it didn’t confuse Zoe, because there was no motive to be found. She had no reason to kill Stacy, because it was a setup. Not that that knowledge was going to save her because they had everything else, including multiple eyewitnesses that put her at the teacher’s place. That would include a couple of Stacy’s neighbors, along with the driver who had taken her to Pine Creek Mall afterward.

  She had been at the murder scene, and she couldn’t deny that even if she wanted to. But the why wasn’t readily obvious and it wasn’t going to matter, because Stacy’s blood on her clothes was going to drive the nail in her coffin.

  How did they do it? How did they get her blood on my clothes?

  They had to have done it earlier this morning after they made her change into the orange shirt and pants she was wearing now and took away her clothes. Which gave them what, a couple of hours to plant the evidence? Was that enough time? Apparently, it had been.

  “The same people who really run the government, the corporations—everything and anything that actually means something.”

  She wondered how crazy she would sound if she’d said the same things Aaron had said to her, but to someone else. Would Joe believe her? Would Craig?