Reapers (Breakers, Book 4)

by Edward W. Robertson

  But she knew that was a fantasy. A way for her brain to soothe the piercing sting of powerlessness. The truth was that she was alone in a strange place surrounded by tribes of violent men. Tilly was lost and didn't want to be found. Lucy could no more wrestle her off Manhattan than she could swing Nerve around by his feet and fling him into the next borough. This whole trip was a farce. A delusion of her vanity.

  As soon as she had the thought, she backed away from it, the way you'd back away when you turned a bend in the stream and saw a bear fishing the other side. Once she was at a safe distance, she started down a new path.

  You didn't always have to crash through the front door gun in hand. Not unless you wanted to shake hands with Death. Lucy had that much to thank her mother for: the old bitch had taught her to walk in darkness.

  She watched the Empire State Building until twilight, but didn't see Tilly come out once. In the morning, she dropped by the piers before sentry duty and ran down Kerry.

  "Hey, you know how the main office has all those carriages and things?" she said. "Where do they keep the horses?"

  He shrugged. "In the garage."

  "Right there in the building?"

  "Sure. I dunno, not my area. What makes you ask?"

  "Seems wrong, that's all." She scowled at the flat gray river. "A horse should run around in the sun."

  Atop the tower overlooking Twelfth Avenue, she had plenty of time to think, but didn't get far. Theoretically, Tilly might never have to leave the building. Surely she left for walks and things now and then, maybe even on a schedule, but Lucy wasn't exactly swimming in the free time necessary to observe these things.

  Two days later, there was a fight up at the park. A Distro soldier had been stabbed. Might not make it. Everyone at the pier was surprised the brawl hadn't been much worse. There was talk of reprisals. Assassinations. Rolando Quiroz, one of the men she'd suspected of being the mole, went so far as to suggest exactly how Nerve should do it.

  "Forget about a gunfight," he said to the circle of stevedores on the pier exchanging opinions on how best to do Nerve's job. "None of that Rambo bullshit. Konos drink coffee too, right? Buy vodka from the dude downtown? You find their shipment and you put some arsenic in it. Bam. Half their crew's dead before they know it."

  "No way," croaked a woman named Kara. She had that apple-headed look of someone who'd spent a couple years on the meth, but Lucy had heard her speak before and knew she'd been to college. "How you going to get them all to drink it at once? Throw them a party, then go all Red Wedding on their asses?"

  Rolando didn't let it go. "Then you do like the aliens did. Infect them and let the disease do the work."

  "You got any spare smallpox, smart guy? What's the plan, invite somebody with cholera to drop a deuce in their well?"

  It was pretty much moronic, but it gave Lucy an idea. Early that afternoon, with no sign of anything more threatening than a few skinny pigeons, she left her post and rode to the coffee house on the other side of the island. She asked around for Reese, the dirty-faced dude who'd tipped her off to Tilly's involvement with the Kono, but he wasn't in. She left a message with the cowboy behind the bar and biked back to her post.

  That night, as she readied for bed, she heard a faint voice calling her name. For a split second, she went stiff, imagining it was her mom. The voice called again. She went to the window and cranked it open. A man waved from the street.

  "Hey Lucy! It's Reese!"

  "I see you," she said. "Quit hollering and I'll be right down."

  She put her pistol in the back of her waistband, tromped down the steps, and let him inside the foyer.

  He grinned wide enough to show his dead molar. "Heard you were looking for me."

  "I'm looking for drugs. Roofies would be best, but I'll take anything strong enough to throw a person for a loop."

  "What are you offering in trade?"

  "I still got some tobacco. Bud too, if you prefer."

  He looked her up and down. "I was thinking something we might both enjoy."

  She gave him the eye. Scrub the dirt off his face and he might be halfway handsome. And it might do her well to zap her mind with a good orgasm. But if all she wanted was sex, she could get that from one of the men at the dock any time she liked. Swapping it for a couple of pills wasn't her idea of a great trade.

  "Not this time. But if this works, then we might have something to celebrate about."

  He nodded at the gritty entryway. "Should I ask what it's for?"

  "This city traffic is just so loud at night," she said. "A girl needs her sleep."

  Reese smirked and waved. It was three days before he returned with the pills. In the meantime, she kept watch for the Kono by day and for Tilly after hours, posting up outside the thousand-foot tower with binoculars at hand. She didn't see Tilly leave once, but one day at dusk, Nerve trotted up on his horse and didn't leave for two hours.

  Reese arrived with her pills, let her know she could use them on him any time, and departed with six hand-rolled cigarettes. Lucy had been hoping for a less circuitous way to get to Tilly, but the girl was too much of a homebody. Or it could be Nerve no longer allowed her out. Either way, Lucy was going to have to get stupid.

  The following morning, she lingered on the pier, waiting for Nerve to leave, but a surprise showed up instead. In the parking circle fronting the docks, a black limousine squeaked to a stop. Tiny American flags fluttered on its hood. Six men in black suits and mirrored sunglasses piled out like the world's soberest clowns and jogged toward the docks, clearing away the laborers. They returned to the car and escorted an old bald white man to the restaurant. Lucy sighed and headed uptown to her post.

  After her shift, she headed back, but Kerry stood in front of the restaurant doors and shook his head. "Nobody sees him. Not today."

  "This about the old bastard in the limo?" Lucy said. "Who was that?"

  Kerry laughed. "You mean to say you don't recognize the President of Manhattan?"

  "I guess I missed his last State of the Union. Nerve must feel honored."

  "Not exactly. Feds caught wind of our little disagreement with the Kono. President warned us to knock it off or face sanctions."

  "Sanctions?" she snorted. "Like what? You got to pay them an extra dollar to walk across the bridge to New Jersey? My God, by this time next year, you could be out five dollars."

  "They could raise tariffs on our imports. If they press hard enough to cut profits, someone's got to eat the loss: the men on the docks, or the ones in the tower."

  "It ain't never the ones in the tower."

  "You ever read Machiavelli? That sort of thing? When your people are starting to turn on you, you redirect them against an outside enemy. Maybe Distro decides to take a short-term hit from the Feds and wipe out the Kono. Or maybe they buddy up with the Kono and take down the Feds instead. Either way, it's enough to make a guy like me reconsider his career."

  Lucy crossed her arms. "Sounds like you should be running this place."

  "I used to be a campaign manager." He glanced up at the rotunda. "Nowadays, you take what you can get, you know?"

  For a moment she was sad, but she didn't have time to spare on Kerry's wasted potential. Things were headed for a blowup. One way or the other, Distro was going to war. By hook or by roofie, she had to get Tilly out of Dodge before the cannons began to roar.

  That meant getting inside Nerve's office. While he wasn't there.

  It was another three days before she got her chance. She had a day off and was hanging around the piers watching the river and chatting with the workers, who were expecting a shipment of goods late that morning. Noon came without sign of the boat. Around two, a red-faced woman ran down the dock and into the converted restaurant. Five minutes later, Nerve walked out the front door and hustled toward the street.

  Lucy beelined inside the building. From somewhere around back, the furious voice of the woman who kept the records berated whomever had wronged her, but the stairs we
re clear. Both eyes out for Kerry, she headed up to the rotunda.

  It was vacant. She made a quick pass at the file cabinets, looking for older stuff, something he wouldn't miss any time soon. Within two minutes, she had her piece: a lengthy report, dated three years ago, detailing the failure of the someone to accomplish the something. Didn't matter. All that mattered was it had enough of Nerve's handwriting for Lucy to learn and forge.

  She pocketed it and crossed to his desk to search for personalized stationery, which would be the cherry on top. As she slid open the drawer, feet thumped on the stairs.

  She eased it closed and hurried toward the stairwell. The steps neared.

  "Hey, you seen Nerve?" Lucy called.

  As if summoned by black magic, he appeared on the stairs below. "What are you doing in my office?"

  Her hand moved toward her pocket. She stopped it cold. "Well, I was looking for you."

  He stared at her with unsettling resolve. "Get downstairs. Stay there."

  "What's up?"

  "I'm sending you out of the city." Nerve walked up the steps, brushing past her on the landing.

  "Sure thing," she said, but inside she was buzzing, mind collapsing, plans burning up like a pile of autumn leaves.

  16

  "Ah," Ellie said. "Just who we were looking for."

  "What are you doing here?" Nan said.

  "Like I just said. Looking for you."

  Nan looked past her to the men in front of the truck. "You shouldn't be here."

  The two men crunched through the snow. They hadn't yet drawn guns, but their hands hung close to their holsters.

  Ellie still didn't have a plan. "We found the body. It was him. We wanted to thank you."

  "You're welcome." The old woman stood her ground. "But this here is private property."

  The men stopped six feet behind her. Ellie nodded placatingly. "I understand. But that's not why we're here. We spoke to your mechanic. At first, we were interested in purchasing snowmobiles from you, but then I saw all that equipment and I realized I was thinking small."

  Hobson carefully kept his gaze away from Ellie. Nan's eyes flicked over Ellie's shoulder; she nodded at the pair of men. Ellie didn't look back, but she could feel the tension thaw from the air.

  "You want to talk business," Nan said.

  "Our employer's a big believer in kismet. While he won't be happy to learn what happened to our man, he would see the circumstances arising from it—our meeting—as meaningful. Particularly when he's looking to expand his operations."

  The old woman pursed her mouth. "Why don't we step inside?"

  Nan led them to a back door. Ellie made a small scene of stomping and scraping the snow off her shoes. The others followed suit. Nan watched with quiet approval, then brought them to a sitting room with dark wood panels and deep-seated couches.

  Nan tasked one of the men to heat tea, then turned to Ellie. "First things first. Why don't you explain who you're speaking for?"

  "Forgive me for having to play coy," Ellie said. "You know how these things are. Let's say he runs a settlement north of the border."

  "Sounds cold."

  "And isolated. Which is how he likes it. But that means extra work, too."

  "Same story everywhere." Nan's blue gaze lingered on Dee. "Who's she?"

  "She works with us," Ellie shrugged.

  "Right. You're the ambassador. Your man with the hat is the muscle—former lawman, maybe. But why the girl?"

  Ellie blanked. Dee got a small smile on her face and inclined her head. "Because some men are best convinced with things besides words or force."

  Nan chuckled throatily. "Interesting team, I'll give you that."

  "Our employer's tactically flexible," Ellie said. She stopped herself from sighing in relief. She'd managed to convince Nan this meeting was intentional. Time to pivot and see whether she could come out of it with something useful. "You represent the Clavans?"

  "You've heard of them?"

  "I saw the signs."

  "And you'd like to know whether I'm authorized to speak for them." Nan leaned back and tucked her glasses into her shirt pocket. "That won't be a problem."

  "You deal in machinery," Ellie said. A kettle whistled from the kitchen, startling her. "Anything else? There are some chores a machine is no good for."

  Nan pressed her palms together. "What would your people have to offer in trade?"

  "Vegetables. Grain. Meat."

  "Food is cheap. The Clavans are interested in more exotic goods."

  "Such as?"

  The old woman smiled. "We're open to proposals."

  "Some of our citizens make fuel," Ellie tried.

  "You think I'd put together a fleet like this and not produce my own gas?" Nan smiled with half her mouth. "Here's how it works. We establish a franchise in your settlement. Run by our people. In exchange for access to your market, your employer will receive a cut of each sale. We'll start simple—a couple trucks, a tractor. If your people can pay with something more interesting than wheat, then we'll see about expanding our offerings."

  Hobson thrust out his lower lip. "Would you consider operating on a wholesale model?"

  Nan laughed. "We don't want distributors. We want markets. We bring the goods, we make the sales, you get a piece. Where's the downside?"

  A man walked in with a tea tray, keeping his steps low and level, porcelain cups rattling on the silver platter. That was the end of business. They left with tea in their bellies and a sheet of listed goods. Ellie examined this as they walked their bikes south from the manor, fighting the snow. The goods were all mechanical, mostly automobiles and farming equipment with a smattering of less obvious vehicles like snowmobiles and golf carts. The equipment's list price was given in several currencies—grain, bullets, penicillin, a whole series of painkillers (hydrocodone, oxycodone, oxycontin, morphine), and "Surprise Me!"—with a second column breaking out the prospective partner's commission of each sale.

  "I got the impression there are no Clavan Brothers." Hobson cackled. "She uses them as a front for herself!"

  "No doubt." Ellie waved the list. "No mention of human goods here."

  "I expect she's as sly about that as she is with her front. Selling people is a dark business. Wouldn't trust us with that knowledge until she knows we're operating in good faith."

  "Which we have no way to prove. Even if we tried to bluff her about our 'employer,' the back-and-forth could take weeks."

  "If Quinn's still here, they could move him at any time," Dee said.

  "I know. We'll have to try to find where they're keeping the captives."

  "Doubt it's the house," Hobson said. "She let us in as if she had nothing to hide."

  "But the captives were in the truck," Ellie said. "Its tracks led straight to the house."

  Dee gestured ahead of them. "What about the other tracks?"

  Both Hobson and Ellie turned. Ellie got the words out first. "Which others?"

  "Down here a ways. They split off to the east. I don't know how you missed them."

  Dee led the way. Ellie glanced back toward Nan's house. She and her people were predators. Specifically, they were pack hunters. Attracted by herds of prey. When Ellie got back to the lakes, she'd have to think long and hard about relocating herself, Dee, and the Tolberts. It would be a hassle and a half, but if it kept them away from trouble, it would be well worth the work.

  Backtracking their way down the street, the divergence of tire tracks was obvious. They must have been riding too fast. Assuming there was only one set to follow. If not for Dee's sharp eyes, they might never have known different.

  The intersection was roughly halfway between the manor and the main office. They followed the tracks east past a slew of local businesses, riding down the center of the road where the snow was thinnest. After just two blocks, the path turned into the parking lot of Clavan Dry Cleaning.

  Ellie rode on past. Hobson cleared his throat. She shook her head. Three blocks later, she tu
rned north and pulled her bike behind a Taco Bell.

  "We'll wait till night," she said. "I don't want to risk bumping into anyone else. And we're close enough to hear if they try to relocate again."

  Hobson nodded. "Did you note the bumper of the delivery truck sticking out from the back?"

  "Yeah. What do you think?"

  "Feels right. Much more so than Nan stashing them at her own house."

  "Agreed," Ellie said. "Should have brought the bike trailer. If Quinn's here, I don't want to stick around town once we've got him."

  "Shall I go back for it?"

  "We don't have much else to do until nightfall."

  He saluted and rode north. Ellie tried the door of the Taco Bell. Unlocked. Dee held it open while she wheeled the bikes inside. They stomped off the snow on the rug in the entry, then went to the drive-thru window to keep an ear on the street.

  It was no warmer inside than out. A few times an hour, Ellie got up to walk around and stir her blood. Dee, typically talkative, gazed out the window at the motionless snow. Hobson returned with the trailer a couple hours later, coming in from the north, having looped clear of Nan's office/garage as well as the dry cleaner.

  "Brisk out there, isn't it?" He was red-faced and bright-eyed. "Any movement?"

  Ellie shook her head. She napped, then killed more time studying the map of town she'd taken from the phone book. With the sun hidden by the clouds, she had little sense of time until the light began to fade. As soon as it went, snow sifted from the sky.

  With no electric lights, and the moon concealed by thick clouds, the streets were all but pitch black. Ellie went outside to pack snow into their empty gallon jugs and bring it inside to melt. Food would be a problem on the return trip. If the roads were snowy all the way to the lakes, the ride could take three times as long as it had on the way down.