Blood and Fire

by McKenna, Shannon

  “Zoe’s the name of that nurse who slit his wrists?” Lily asked. “The one you sent after me to the cabin?”

  He shrugged. “Insofar as—”

  “Yes, I get that. Insofar as these wretched robot drones have any identity separate from you,” she snapped. “I’m a quick learner, OK?”

  His face froze. Her belly fluttered, terrified she’d gone too far. Speeded up the mortal agony part of the day’s entertainment.

  “Yes, you are a quick learner,” he said. “But not quick enough. You never found out anything that could have hurt me.”

  “Then why me?” she burst out. “Why did you come after me?”

  He shook his head sadly. “Once Howard pronounced the words ‘Magda Ranieri’ and mentioned her son, your fate was sealed,” he said. “You had to be prevented from making contact with Bruno. Separately, the two of you had nothing that could threaten me. But together . . .” He shrugged. “Bruno was the fuse, you were the match. We didn’t succeed in eliminating you before that contact took place. So all we could do after is to contain the mess, as best we can.”

  “But my father . . .” She shook her head. “How could he have . . . he was a doctor, a fertility specialist! He grew babies in test tubes! What could he have possibly known that would bother you?”

  He shook his head. “That’s none of your concern, now. Believe me, you have much more urgent things to worry about.”

  “Why didn’t you just kill him, too?” she demanded.

  He sighed. “I should have, in retrospect. Magda had to be eliminated because of the kind of person she was. In brief, just like her son. Can you imagine Bruno knuckling under, promising to be good? He would fight to the death, like Magda. She was indomitable.” He looked dreamy, nostalgic. “An incredible genetic heritage. But I digress.”

  “Uh, yeah,” she muttered. “You sure do.”

  “The simplest way to make sure your father never said anything would have been to kill him, of course,” he went on. “But this may surprise you, Lily. I prefer to avoid killing, if possible. It’s a logistical nightmare if the authorities get involved. Such a terrible drain of resources, and the risk of exposure, too. At the time, I thought it would be better to just terrify him into silence.” He gave her a regretful smile. “It wasn’t hard. Howie wasn’t like Magda, you see.”

  That bastard. Her fists were clenched, her knuckles white. “So how did you do it?” she asked. “What did you threaten him with?”

  He looked impatient with her dullness. “With you, of course.”

  She wouldn’t have thought she could feel worse, but the day was full of surprises. “But I never even knew that you existed!”

  “Of course not. That would have meant certain death for you both,” he explained. “My people were discreet. We made sure that Howard was regularly reminded of what would happen to you if he went to the authorities with what he knew.”

  “Oh, Dad,” she whispered. A sick ache of grief twisted at her guts.

  “Every now and then, we would send him a fresh video,” King said. “I have the originals. They were very effective. Terrifying. Artistic, even, in their own special way. Would you like to see them?”

  “No,” she said.

  He burbled on as if he were doing her a big favor. “I’ll have Hobart put a monitor in your cell. Some video entertainment, while we wait.”

  She tasted blood. She had bitten her lip. “That is so cruel.”

  “Cruel?” He looked offended. “I hesitated to orphan a tenyear-old girl who was already motherless! That would have been cruel! I was generous! He kept his life, didn’t he? You kept your father!”

  “Kept his life?” she repeated. “What life? I never had a father. You did murder him, you son of a bitch. You just took eighteen years to do it!”

  He tutted. “Don’t be overdramatic, Lily. You’re being irrational. I’m disappointed in you.”

  “I’m glad that you are,” she said. She stared at his hurt expression and the weird commando no-name creatures who hung on his every word. It clicked in her mind. His blind spot. He saw people as machines. He didn’t perceive their hearts, souls. He didn’t receive that wavelength. They were just dolls to him.

  He was like a person who had never seen the colors of the sunset, but worse. He was missing a crucial piece, but in its place was insatiable hunger. Yawning greed and self-worship.

  “Such hostility,” he complained, miffed. “I’m surprised at you.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “I have to thank you, you son of a bitch. I’ve finally found out what my problem is, after a lifetime of wondering.”

  He blinked, expectantly. “And that is?”

  “You,” she said quietly. “I finally know who to hate. Not my dad. Not myself. Just you. Only you. What a gift you’ve iven me. Finally.”

  His eyebrow twitched. “You’re welcome,” he murmured.

  She ignored that. “I don’t have to look any further for someone else to blame. The blame is all yours. You monster.”

  “Melanie, Hobart, back,” he snapped as his minions leaped to attack her. The two subsided, clenching their fists.

  King rubbed his hands together. “Well, then. Thank you, my dear. I think we have everything we need here. Hobart, let’s get right to work.”

  “On what?”

  “On our editing,” he explained. “This footage of our debriefing interview needs to be edited for your precious Bruno’s benefit!”

  Icy fear pinched her. “You’ll never get Bruno,” she said. “He won’t come looking for me. It’s not like that. It’s just bittersweet memories.”

  “That’s a lie. He’s coming. The power of love, or perhaps just sex, but power is power, hmm?” He patted her face, pleased with himself. “We know everything. We have a listening device on Rosa Ranieri’s phone. She’s the kind of woman who calls every hour, demanding a status report. He’s coming for you. In the area already.”

  “What area is that?” She had no real hope that he’d answer.

  “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you,” he said. “You’re over an hour north of New York City, in a nineteenth-century railroad baron’s country estate, perched on a cliff over the Hudson. Lovely place. Sadly, you will probably never see it. Someday I mean to remodel it, return it to its former glory, but I have other priorities right now. Melanie, my dear, upload the loop of her father’s extortion videos. It’ll entertain her while she waits. Lily, this just might give you some insight into your father’s breakdown, his drug addiction. Perhaps it will give you some closure?”

  His benevolent smile flicked off like a switch when the door opened and a woman came in. It took Lily a moment to recognize her, she was so changed. Wizened, jaundiced, like something had sucked all the juice out of her, revealing a frame made out of bent wire. Her cheeks were caved in, her burning eyes sunken in darkened sockets. But it was her. Miriam. Or Zoe. One of the nameless ones.

  Their eyes locked. The woman’s face contorted with rage. She launched herself at Lily with a raptor’s keening shriek of rage.

  Her body connected, flinging Lily and her chair to the floor. The coffee cup flew, lukewarm coffee spattered everywhere, and Lily gasped for breath as Zoe’s thumbs bit down on either side of her voice box.

  She clawed at Zoe’s hands, but they were like steel. The woman’s bloodshot eyes protruded from her wizened death’s head of a face, lips drawn back over her teeth as her fingers dug, crushed . . . the world retreated . . . going dark, silent . . .

  It came swinging back, brutally vivid, along with air sawing painfully into her damaged throat. They were lifting Zoe, kicking and flailing. Lily lay on the ground, clutching her throat, coughing.

  “Zoe! Zoe!” King grabbed Zoe’s shoulders, shook them, switched to a language Lily could not place. He shouted out a thundering phrase.

  Zoe’s legs buckled. She sagged, boneless, whimpering.

  King offered Lily his hand. “So sorry about that,” he said. “Zoe’s been confused si
nce that incident at the cabin. A sequencing problem, I think. She can’t quite track the passage of time right now, poor thing, so she thinks she’s still supposed to kill you.”

  “Aw. Really,” she croaked out. She ignored his proffered hand, scooting back until she could use the wall for support. “How upsetting for her. Wow. My heart just bleeds.”

  He grinned in appreciation. “Ah, that’s the ticket. The sarcastic comeback, no matter what. I can see why Bruno’s so taken with you.”

  “But he’s not,” she repeated, grimly. “He’s not. Dream on.”

  King turned back to Zoe, intoning another phrase in that incomprehensible language. She appeared to come to her senses, shaking off Melanie’s and Hobart’s grips with a petulant jerk of her shoulders.

  “Zoe, my dear,” King said. “You came to give us news?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Julian told us that Ranieri is inside his grandmother’s house in Newark. The two McCloud men are waiting in the car outside. Julian’s circling the place, awaiting instructions.”

  “Hmmm,” King murmured. “They must be looking for this jewelry box. The one he found the key for. In the locket. Next to Rudy’s skeleton. Hmm?” He gave Lily a smug, sly smile.

  “How did you know that?” she whispered. “From Zia’s phone?”

  “We’ve been watching carefully. Hobart, call up a satellite view of the house and get a webcam ready. Melanie, get me an untraceable line and call Pina Ranieri’s home phone. And Zoe, my bloodthirsty darling, do you have a knife handy?”

  A smile stretched her wizened features. “Of course.” She crouched, pulled one out of a sheath on her ankle. An evil-looking thing, with notches and a curved five-inch blade.

  “Excellent,” he murmured. “Bruno is sure to remember you from the cabin. Lily, sit down in your chair again, that’s a good girl. Hobart, get the webcam right in front of her, yes, just so . . . and Zoe, get behind her. Put the blade up to her face . . . yes, just like that, right under her chin. Excellent. Oh, yes, that’s just chilling.”

  The cold steel pushed against her flesh, pressing every time she swallowed over the bump in her aching throat. “What is this?”

  King dimpled, boyishly. “This, my dear, is showtime.”

  “It’s for you!”

  Bruno’s gaze jerked up from the description of Mamma’s ruptured spleen and the internal hemorrhaging that it had caused. “Huh?”

  Grandma Pina was at the top of the stairs, holding the cordless handset high like she wanted to chuck it at him. “You gave my phone number to your lowlife friends?” she scolded him. “How dare you?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “I never gave your number to anybody. I don’t even know your number.”

  “That’s a lie, or else how would this person know that you’re here?” She shook the thing accusingly.

  His head went light. Oh, yeah. That’s who might know. The mystery hell-fiend, all-seeing, all-knowing. The one with Lily in his jaws.

  He shoved the coroner’s report into his pocket. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “So what am I now, your secretary?” she shrilled.

  He bounded up the stairs, plucked the phone from her hand. She continued to screech and scold, but he dialed her down to the far-off gabbling of barn fowl. “This is Bruno Ranieri. Who am I speaking with?”

  “Hello, Bruno.”

  He wai of the str more. Man’s voice. Standard American accent, no regional flavors. Bruno’s hands clenched. “Who the fuck is this?”

  The volume of Grandma Pina’s agitated noise rose sharply in response to his word choice. He ignored her.

  “You shouldn’t be as worried about who I am as what I could do,” the voice went on, soft and taunting.

  Fear yawned afresh. That voice. Maybe he did recognize it. But he couldn’t put his finger on where from. “Is that so? What could you do?”

  “Do you have a videophone on you?”

  He reached into his pocket, closed his shaking fingers around his smartphone. “Yes.”

  “Excellent. A picture is worth a thousand words. Pay attention.” He rattled off the site, software, username. Bruno’s thumb quivered as he tried to punch the info into the smartphone’s tiny keyboard. He kept fucking it up. Each time he did, the trembling got worse.

  Finally, he got the line open. The image appeared on the display screen. His heart jumped up into his throat to choke him.

  Lily stared at the camera. Her face was strained. Glaring light washed her out to snowy paleness, her hair was a rat’s nest halo, her eyes shadowed and haunted, but it was her. The bitch from the cabin was behind her, holding a knife to her throat. But Lily was still alive.

  If this was live streaming, that is. “I want to talk to her,” he said.

  “Talk,” the voice invited him. “Be my guest.”

  “Lily?” His voice cracked dangerously.

  Her expression did not change, but her lips moved as she responded to him. “Hi, Bruno.”

  Her voice sounded wooden. Drugged, maybe. “Are you OK?”

  Her throat bobbed. “I’m fine.”

  “So far, that is,” amended the voice, which now emanated from two different sources, creating a slightly out-of-sync echo.

  “What do you want from me?” Bruno burst out.

  The guy chuckled again. “Ah, yes. I thought so. You’d do anything, wouldn’t you? Zoe, put the knife up to her eye—”

  “No! Please, no,” he burst out. “Please, just don’t. Just tell me what you want. You don’t have to do this. Don’t hurt her.”

  “Very well.” The video image flickered, vanished. “Listen carefully. You will lay down that cell phone, and without saying a word, walk out the back door, holding the landline phone. Go between the garage and the garbage cans into the alley, where you will turn right and walk to the corner. A bronze BMW will pull over. Get into the backseat.”

  “But you—”

  “Do not speak again, or I will have her cut,” the voice warned. “Keep the line open. Do not try to give your grandmother any message to take to the men waiting outside. It’s hard to tell which McClouds they are, since they look so much alike, but I happen to know from other sources that they are Kevin and Sean.”

  Pressure built inside him. He didn’t dare speak.

  “You’re panting like a dog. Let’s hope you’re an obedient dog. Put down the phone. Don’t be clever. If I see your grandmother approach the men, Zoe begins to cut. Understand? I give you leave to respond.”

  He coughed to clear his throat. “Understood.”

  “Are you holding a wireless receiver? You may answer.”

  “Yes,” he croaked.

  “Good. When the signal is out of range, drop the handset on the ground and walk on. Now . . . go.”

  He moved like a robot through the kitchen toward the back door, which led onto a patio, and from there, the garage and garbage cans that the voice had described. His grandmother hustled out after him. He could not follow the angry babble that came out of her mouth. His attention was locked on to the buzzing hiss of that silent open line.

  Across the patio. Over a green, perfect lawn. The breezeway, between the shed and garbage cans. Grandma Pina was lunging to grab her telephone from him. He weaved drunkenly out of her range, out into the alley. She finally gave up and just yelled after him as he walked down that alley. The signal failed a few yards later, and he let the handset drop. He was passing by a dirty white van parked behind one of the neighboring houses, and he chose a route right past it and slowed to scrawl surreptitiously in the grime, in loose cursive:

  Lily had to sorry

  Twenty more yards took him to the avenue. The bronze BMW was waiting, its motor humming. Bruno opened the door. The driver didn’t even turn his head as he slid inside and shut the door. The car took off, a surge of eager power that shoved him back against the leather seat.

  The voice hadn’t told him not to speak in the car, so he hazarded a question to the driver, just for the pure raving hel
l of it.

  “Where are we going?” he said.

  The guy turned his head and looked at Bruno. He smiled.

  His face alone was the answer. Sweet Jesus. It sent thrills of dread through him. So much like himself. Younger, though. Like looking through a magic mirror back in time, except that the guy’s hair was several shades lighter, and his eyes were blue. The difference was just enough to be jarring. How he’d look if he’d been dipped in bleach.

  His rational mind fought it, reeling, but his cells recognized it. Alarm bells were clanging on every layer of his consciousness. He thought about the stiffs in the morgue, the ones who were related to him. Petrie hadn’t been shitting him. It was true. But still impossible.

  “Oh, Christ,” he whispered. “You’re one of them, right?”

  The kid’s full mouth, exactly like his own, stretched in another wide smile, activating the deep dimples. Exactly like his own.

  “So are you,” he said.

  “It’s been too long,” Kev said, for the tenth time. “Too damn long.”

  “You think Grandma Pina’s got him strung up by his thumbs in there?” Sean said. “I think Bruno can handle a hundred-andten-pound woman in her late seventies. You’re just clock-watching, bro. It takes time to go through an old lady’s attic, or basement, or whatever. It’s a good sign that he’s taking so long. Maybe he has half a chance.”

  Kev shook his head. Sean was trying to keep it light, but he was wasting his breath. “I don’t care,” he said. “I’m going in.”

  “He begged you not to, man,” Sean warned.

  “We can’t wait. We have to intercept Zia Rosa before she descends on one of the most brutal Mafia bosses on the Eastern seaboard.”

  “She won’t have a gun on her, right?” Sean said hopefully.

  “Depends on if she checked luggage or not,” Kev said.

  “She totes a gun?” Sean looked shocked. “Holy shit!”

  “Of course. She’s a Ranieri. She’s Tony’s sister. She has her own guns, plus his whole collection,” Kev said. “She’s a walking armory.”

  Sean whistled, impressed, and checked his watch. “Hurry, Bruno. We gotta save the Mafia boss from your crazy aunt.”