Redzone

by William C. Dietz

  Chairs scraped as the other brothers came to their feet, and both women said their hellos. James made a show out of seating them—and that gave Lee a moment to form an impression of each. Lee was immediately struck by how different the two women were. While Monica had high cheekbones and a shapely body, Bethany was a stocky woman with a doughy face and glaring eyes. “I hear you killed some of our dogs,” she said accusingly.

  “I ordered them to surrender,” Lee replied. “But they refused. That left me with no choice.” Bethany scowled, James laughed, and Bruce joined him. Hoss looked down at his plate.

  Meanwhile a girl who looked as if she was in her late teens entered the room. She was wearing too much makeup, an excessive amount of jewelry, and a party dress. James stood to seat her. “This is Dawn. She’s Bethany’s daughter and Hoss’s sister. Dawn, it’s my pleasure to introduce my sister, Cassandra. She’s from Los Angeles.”

  “Do you know any singers?” Dawn wanted to know. “Or movie stars?”

  As Dawn took her napkin off the table Lee saw that the girl had a single finger and thumb on each hand. “No,” Lee answered. “I’m a police detective. So I spend most of my time with cops and criminals.”

  “Of which there are many from what I’ve heard,” Bethany said acerbically.

  “We have our share,” Lee allowed. “But we can drive from city to city without being attacked by bandits.”

  Bethany’s expression soured even more, and she was about to reply, when Heevy wheeled Alala into the room. She was seated in a wheelchair, but nicely dressed, with a blanket across her lap. Her eyes sought Lee and went to James before surveying the rest of the room. “Good evening, everyone. Sorry I’m late.”

  All of the brothers stood as their father pushed Alala into the slot next to Monica. From there he went up to take his place at the head of the table. “I would like to extend a special welcome to a new member of our family tonight,” Heevy said solemnly. “As I’m sure you know by now, Cassandra is Alala’s daughter by a previous marriage. I, for one, am glad to have her here.

  “Bethany? Would you be so kind as to say grace? You do it so well.”

  But what ensued was more than a simple prayer. It was a three-minute-long rant in which Bethany called upon God to cleanse the world of sinners, “Especially those who look normal—but are filled with hate.” An apparent reference to Lee, and one that caused James to wink at her from across the table, since he looked normal as well.

  Finally, when the tirade was over, Heevy nodded. “Thank you. Cassandra’s meal will be served in her room in order to guard her health. Manley, you may serve the rest of us.”

  Having been raised by a single father who wasn’t around much Lee was amazed by the procession of dishes that came in one after another. And by the family’s proficiency with an array of highly specialized eating utensils. A challenge she was happy to forgo.

  Lee noticed that while all of the Heevy men had hearty appetites there was a good deal of variation among the women. Monica left most of her food on a succession of plates. Alala appeared to be on a special diet and consumed only half of what she was given. And Bethany, by contrast, gobbled her food and called for another dessert.

  In the meantime, Heevy was leading the conversation in much the same way that a moderator would question a panel. Each person was presented with a provocative question, given a chance to answer, and rewarded with some sort of comment. In Lee’s case, the question was political. “So, Cassandra . . . it sounds like the Aztec Empire’s army may overrun all of Arizona . . . What, if anything, can we expect Pacifica to do in response?”

  Lee toyed with one of three forks. “I have no way to know, of course. But, if I had to guess, I’d say that Pacifica will side with the Republic of Texas.”

  Heevy seemed to be genuinely interested. “And why,” he wanted to know, “is that?”

  “Both the Republic and the Empire are controlled by mutants,” Lee answered honestly. “So both pose a potential threat. But we have ties with the Republic—some of which are quite strong. Take your mine for example. As I entered the area I noticed that you have railroad tracks that lead east and west. But the shiny ones run west . . . And that tells me that you are selling ore to Pacifica. Would the tecs honor the agreements that are in place? Who knows? So why take the chance?”

  Heevy put his dessert fork down and turned to Alala. “You have a very intelligent, not to mention observant, daughter.” Then he turned back to Lee. “It happens I’m in talks with certain individuals inside the green zone. And, based on their comments, I think Pacifica will side with the Republic.” Heevy’s eyes roamed the table. “Are they telling the truth? Time will tell.”

  “But enough of that,” Heevy said lightly. “It’s time for some entertainment. And, if I’m not mistaken, Dawn has prepared something special for us.”

  Lee looked at Dawn and saw her face light up. This, it appeared, was something she’d been looking forward to.

  As Dawn stood her eyes took on a dreamy look. Then she began to sing “Ave Maria.” She had no accompaniment; nor did she need any. Her voice was pitch perfect and all the more impressive for being a capella. Lee sat transfixed as the girl sang. Was the angelic voice the result of a positive mutation? Or was it a gift that would have been hers regardless? It didn’t matter. What was, was. And Dawn was extremely talented.

  There was silence for a moment as the song came to an end. Then Lee stood and began to clap. The rest of the family did likewise. All except for Bethany. She remained seated. That was when Dawn burst into tears and rushed out of the room. Dinner was over.

  * * *

  Dawn had grown up in the mansion and knew every square inch of the house and the surrounding grounds. And that included every squeaky floorboard, the way the furniture was placed, and how each shadow fell. So, with a small suitcase in hand, she was able to leave her room shortly after three in the morning—and glide down the central staircase without making a sound. Once on the main floor, it was a simple matter to enter the deserted kitchen and head for the back door.

  The security system was on. But, like every member of the family, Dawn knew the code. So it was easy to disarm and reset the alarm. Dawn knew that doing so would trigger a tone in any room that was equipped with a keypad. And that included her father’s. But she also knew that he was a sound sleeper. And even if Daddy heard the beep, he’d assume that a family’s retainer was arriving for work.

  So Dawn left the mansion undetected. Her heart was racing, and she felt a heady combination of excitement and fear. This was the moment she had long fanaticized about. The moment when she would leave home and start the next phase of her life.

  But she wasn’t free yet. Far from it. There was a security checkpoint to pass through at the foot of the driveway—and another one along the Heartbreak Highway. Dawn had an ally however . . . even if he didn’t know it yet.

  She smiled, paused to put her shoes on, and slipped shadow to shadow across the well-kept yard to the garage. Then she paused to listen. Nothing. So far so good.

  The door wasn’t locked. She turned the knob, stepped inside, and was careful to pull the door closed behind her. A great deal of planning had gone into the escape plan, so the flashlight was out and ready for use.

  Dawn followed the blob of light past the delivery truck to the stairs that led up to the second-floor loft. Dawn knew that the second tread from the bottom would creak if she stepped on it, so she didn’t.

  Moments later, Dawn was at the top of the stairs in the space where the family’s twenty-five-year-old driver was allowed to live. The furnishings consisted of a narrow bed, a dresser with three legs, and a cast-off armchair. A couple of mismatched lamps completed the décor.

  And it was there, some six months earlier, that Dawn had chosen to surrender her virginity to Mickey. It was partly a matter of curiosity. But Dawn had something more in mind as well. Because from that point forward, she owned Mickey. And the investment was about to pay off. She put the suitcase
on the floor and went over to kneel beside his bed. “Mickey,” she whispered. “It’s me, Dawn.”

  Mickey rolled over and reached for the bedside lamp. Light flooded his face. “Dawn? What are you doing here?”

  “We’re going to Las Vegas, Mickey. You’re going to drive, and I’ll ride in the back of the truck.”

  Mickey sat up. He wasn’t especially bright, but even he could understand the implications of what Dawn proposed to do. “You’ve got to be kidding! Your father would kill us.”

  “Las Vegas is a big city,” Dawn countered. “And I’ve got enough money to keep us going for a couple of months. We’ll hide. Then, when they stop looking for us, I’ll find a job as a singer.”

  Mickey frowned. “What about me?”

  “You’re good with cars,” Dawn replied. “So you’ll change your name—and work in a garage.”

  “But we’ll be together?”

  “Of course we’ll be together,” Dawn lied. “Forever and ever.”

  “Okay,” Mickey said. “Take your clothes off. Let’s do it.”

  “No,” Dawn said firmly. “Not until we get to Las Vegas. Then we’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Okay,” Mickey said. “But we can’t leave until sunup. The security people would know something was up if we did. So let’s get some sleep. You can lie next to me.”

  So she did. But there was no need to sleep in order to dream.

  EIGHT

  AFTER RETURNING TO her room, Lee enjoyed an excellent dinner before taking a bath and going to bed. It had been a long day—and she fell asleep within a matter of minutes. By the time she awoke, light was trying to slide in between the curtains, and someone was knocking on her door. “Just a minute,” Lee called out. “I’m coming.”

  After placing a self-adhesive mask over her face, Lee padded to the door and pulled it open. “Yes?”

  A maid was standing in the hall. “Sorry, Miss,” she said. “But Mr. Heevy would like to see you as soon as possible.”

  “Did he say why?”

  The maid shook her head—but Lee could tell that she was lying. “Okay, I’ll get dressed and come down right away.”

  The maid curtsied and hurried off.

  Lee brushed her teeth, washed her face, and got dressed. Her own clothes had been washed and she wasn’t going to wear the summer frock all day. She planned to visit her mother, find out what James wanted to do, and get the hell out of town. But first, she had to humor Heevy.

  Once she was ready, Lee made her way down the stairs to the main floor, where she entered the great room. Heevy was meeting with a small group of mercenaries in front of the platform. “So,” he said, “be ready at eleven.”

  One of the mercs nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, that’s all for the moment.”

  Lee waited for the mercenaries to leave the room before approaching the platform. Heevy saw her coming and clomped forward to greet her. “I’m sorry to bother you with our domestic difficulties,” he said. “But I wonder if you would be willing to do me a favor.”

  “What’s wrong?” Lee inquired.

  “You met Dawn last night,” Heevy replied. “And you heard her sing.”

  “Yes, she has a beautiful voice.”

  “I agree,” Heevy said. “She hopes to be a professional singer one day . . . I’m willing to give her that chance. But Bethany says no. She says that entertainers are sinners.”

  “I see,” Lee replied noncommittally.

  “So Dawn took off early this morning,” Heevy said ruefully, “with my driver. An idiot named Mickey. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the two of them are headed for Las Vegas.”

  Lee raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  “And I made a few calls. The police were there to intercept our truck as it rolled into town. Dawn is still seventeen, so they’re holding her for us. As for Mickey, he will be charged with grand theft auto, and will most likely spend some time in prison.”

  “Okay . . . Where do I come in?”

  “You’re a cop,” Heevy said. “And even though you’re a norm—the police in Vegas will respect that.”

  “They might,” Lee agreed. “Or they might not. I ran into both kinds in Arizona. What do you have in mind?”

  “I would like you to accompany Hoss to Las Vegas. He isn’t much of a conversationalist, and there will be questions to answer. You could provide him with help if necessary.”

  Lee’s bullshit detector was going off by then. It sounded as if the pickup was cut-and-dried. There was no need for her to accompany Hoss. So Heevy wanted to get her out of town for some reason. Why? “Perhaps James or Bruce should go,” Lee suggested.

  “No,” Heevy said emphatically. “They’re busy. So, if you’re willing, I would appreciate it.”

  Lee couldn’t see a way out. Not and keep things friendly. “Okay,” she said. “Does Hoss know that I’m coming along?”

  “Yes, he does. Meet him at the helicopter in half an hour.”

  “Got it,” Lee replied. “Maybe I can grab something to eat in the meantime.”

  “Of course,” Heevy said. “Just stop by the kitchen. And thanks for the help.”

  After scoring a bacon-and-egg sandwich in the kitchen, and washing it down with two cups of hot coffee, Lee made her way out to the helo pad where Hoss was waiting. There was a pained expression on his misshapen face. “Good morning, Cassandra. I’m sorry my father dragged you into this.”

  “Don’t be,” Lee told him. “I doubt you’ll need any help, but if you do, I’ll do what I can. Tell me something, Hoss . . . just between you and me. How do you feel about Dawn’s running off to Las Vegas?”

  There was a whining sound, followed by a roar, as the helicopter’s rotors started to turn. Hoss had to yell in order to be heard. “I think Dawn should be allowed to sing.” Then he turned away. Had there been tears in the big man’s eyes? No, that seemed unlikely.

  Lee made her way over to the chopper and climbed up into the back. Hoss more than filled the seat in front of her. Once the preflight checks had been completed the aircraft took off. The ground dropped away, and they passed over the town of Heartbreak a minute later. Lee was looking forward to putting the place behind her.

  * * *

  Monica had her own car and drove it herself. A privilege she insisted on even though her husband would have preferred to have Mickey drive her around. The same Mickey who had run off with Dawn! The theory was that Mickey could protect her should some ruffian accost her. But was that the real reason? Or was it Hiram’s way of keeping an eye on her?

  Not that it mattered. Hiram knew when to give up and had. So as Monica left the school, and made her way out into the parking lot, she felt a momentary sense of freedom. And more than that, a rising sense of excitement. What was the relationship with James anyway? A pleasant distraction? Proof that she was still attractive? Or a bad habit? Maybe it was all three. A change would have to be made eventually. But not yet.

  There were errands to run. Some were necessary, and some weren’t, but both helped to justify her presence in town. It was a matter of routine by then. Park well away from the apartment, make her way to the drugstore, and leave through the rear exit. It opened onto a small parking lot and the alley beyond.

  After a quick look around Monica crossed the lot, entered the alley, and walked west. Then it was a simple matter to enter the feed store through the back door and follow a flight of wooden stairs up to the second-floor apartment. And that’s where James was waiting for her. He got up from a chair and opened his arms wide. “Mom! It’s good to see you.”

  Monica frowned as she put her packages down. “Don’t talk like that, James . . . It isn’t nice.”

  “Sorry,” James said contritely. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Yes, please.” Alcohol was forbidden at the mansion thanks to Bethany’s influence—and the drinks were something that both of them looked forward to. James poured Monica a glass of white wine and made a Bloody Mary fo
r himself. “So how ’bout Dawn?” he said, as he delivered the glass. “You have to give her credit. The girl has guts.”

  “Yes,” Monica agreed. “I hope she gets away with it.”

  “She won’t,” James predicted. “In fact, based on what I’ve heard, the police already have her. Father sent Hoss and my sister to pick her up.”

  “Your sister? Why?”

  James shrugged. “Beats the heck out of me . . . I would expect the old man to go . . . or to send me. But I like it. Spending some quality time with you beats the heck out of flying to Vegas.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Monica purred as she came over to sit on his lap. She could taste the Bloody Mary when they kissed. Then the drinks were put aside as his right hand cupped a breast. That was when the mercenary kicked the door in.

  * * *

  James didn’t know who he was up against; nor did he care. His first priority was to survive. So he dumped Monica off his lap and drew the .9mm Browning. Monica screamed, and was back-scooting across the floor, when the merc fired. James heard the bullet whip by his head and squeezed the trigger. His slug blew a bloody chunk out of the man’s skull and dumped him onto the floor.

  The side splatter hit the second merc and blinded one eye. So when he triggered his submachine gun, the three-round burst went wide. That gave James the opportunity he needed. The first bullet went through the shooter’s neck and still packed enough punch to kill the man behind him.

  James waited for a fourth target to appear but none did. So he jammed the Browning back into the shoulder rig and went over to one of the room’s two windows. It opened onto Front Street, and Monica was screaming his name as he threw it open. Then he was out on the hot metal roof and sliding toward the edge. A woman produced a yelp of surprise as he landed next to her. James apologized. Then he ran.

  * * *

  Monica’s heart was beating like a trip-hammer as she struggled to her feet. The mercs weren’t in uniform, but she recognized them, and knew they were acting on her husband’s behalf. He knew. Somehow, some way, the bastard knew. A nosy townsperson probably . . . or a treacherous servant.