Dues of Mortality

by Jason Austin

  “Because Ross sees himself as a vigilante, someone whose willing to get his hands dirty in the cause of righteousness.”

  “Textbook terrorist fanatic. Nothing original about him whatsoever.”

  “Including the eventual slip-up.”

  McCutcheon nodded. “We're still not sure how much information Thaddeus passed along to Ross, but when Ross overextended himself—putting out feelers on how to get inside Millenitech—we finally got an inroad. We raided a PHANTOM safehouse and nabbed over a dozen members. Beth Sullivan was killed in the raid along with a couple others. We found guns, bomb-making materials, blueprints and even some email addresses and phone numbers that led us to several other members out-of-state. They were apparently planning a string of attacks that were going to culminate with a massive hit on Millenitech and the Great Lakes BioCore. Over-ambitious to be sure, but not impossible. Ross wanted to use his new source of funding to go extremely high tech, using the latest in micro-demolitions to circumvent security.”

  Brisby squinted, looking puzzled. “I don't remember hearing some of these details during Thaddeus Maguire's trial.”

  McCutcheon shrugged. “That's Miles Gabriel for you. After the bust went down Chad Maguire rehired his old buddy, to defend his son. They’d parted on fairly good terms and Chad knows that Gabriel's built up quite a list of 'influences’, both political and financial since he's been working for Wallace—who, by the way, initially objects to Gabriel defending an alleged anti-biotech terrorist. But Gabriel takes the job, anyway; even going so far as to wave much of his fee. And totally proving Chad Maguire right about those influences by getting the majority of evidence against his son suppressed. Some months later the trial ends in a hung jury. And some months after that, an interesting development occurs out the back end of Wall Street: Jerome Wallace starts buying out some of the very same businesses that Chad Maguire was keeping all those top-secret records on.”

  Brisby toiled a second and then said, “Shit. Chad is using the pilfered information as payment for Gabriel!”

  McCutcheon raised a finger. “Not Chad, Thaddeus. Chad Maguire would have never risked that kind of exposure or losing that much money...even for his son.”

  Brisby exhaled, with a whistle. “What the hell is it with rich people? They actually sit up nights plotting this shit? What makes them think they can get away with it?”

  “The fact that they get away with it.”

  Chapter 22

  Cleveland, Ohio, August 28, 12:14 a.m.

  A heavy rain pelted the windshield as Glenda enforced a rhythmic breathing technique to reestablish her senses. It wasn't working. It was raining cats-and-dogs and she wanted it to stop. She imagined the chunky droplets as bullets trying to penetrate the glass. She might as well be on H-ball, so unrelenting was the imagery. What’s going on? she wanted to scream. Why did someone, all of a sudden, want her dead? What had she done that would make someone want to kill her?

  “God, help me,” she implored. “God, help me! God, help me! Ah!” She jerked the wheel, momentarily veering off into the opposing lane. She was so distracted, she nearly hit a pair of deer that had trotted out across the headlights. It was the only real danger, she figured, about taking the Metropark scenic route. The park’s two-lane road was an arduous winding of peaks and valleys, yet continuous and fluid. No lights to stop at, giving time for some hitman to make it look like a carjacking. According to Glenda's math, she was completely safe as long as she kept moving.

  The passenger rose slowly and quietly from the back seat. He soaked in Glenda’s wired countenance reflecting from the rearview mirror. Her windy breath was fogging the windows and she rocked back and forth in the seat uncontrollably. She was losing it. His clawed hand clenched her shoulder, and he murmured, “You’re going to die.”

  Glenda shrill screams blasted off like dynamite inside the car. An octave higher and the windows would have been history. “What! What did you say?”

  “I said you’re gonna die if you keep driving like a lunatic,” Xavier groaned. “And you’re gonna take me with you. Not that I have anything to live for, mind you. It’s just that it could be a bit embarrassing being shoveled off the street in not-so clean underwear.”

  “Well, excuse the hell out of me! I’ve got a lot on my mind, okay! It’s a bit disabling having to deal with the fact that someone actually wants you dead! So if you think you can do better, be my guest! That is, if you can stay sober long enough to remember which side of the road to drive on!”

  Xavier met her eyes for a moment in the rearview mirror.

  “No, I don’t,” he said, “but, I do remember which side to walk on. Pull over.”

  Glenda sighed, instantly wondering if Guinness had a slot for the world’s most ungrateful bitch. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Xavier just repeated forwardly, “Pull...over.”

  Disobliged by herself, Glenda turned onto the unpaved stalling lane. She threw the car into park and did a one-eighty in her seat. “Really, I’m sorry. It was just a stress reflex; I didn't mean it.”

  Xavier shrugged and went to open the door closest to the road.

  “Look, really, I...”

  “Please, don’t say it again,” he pleaded. “I’m already trying to pretend I didn’t hear it the first time. I can take being insulted, but apologies give me angina. Besides, you’ve got a point: I make a better pedestrian than a backseat driver.”

  Xavier slogged out of the car, grunting from his bowels at the stiffness. He stood and looked down at the snaking, double lines dividing the darkened road. It must have been a good quarter-mile before they hung a hard right and became consumed by the park’s carnivorous shadows. He lifted his chin. The rain was letting up. He closed his eyes and allowed the abating shower to wash over his face.

  Glenda got out of the driver’s seat, mentally berating herself. How many houses needed to fall on her before she knew when to shut up? Me and my big mouth.

  “Get back in the car and get out of here,” Xavier directed. The sight of someone else’s guilt bearing down him was more than he could stomach. If he had the strength, he would run like his ass was on fire.

  “Come on, cut me some slack. I’ve had a really rough day with people trying to kill me and all,” Glenda said jokingly. “Besides, what am I supposed to do, just leave you here? What kind of person would that make me?”

  “Lady, if you’re not a different person after everything that’s happened, then you deserve to get shot.”

  Glenda clutched her elbows. Oh boy. She had hurt his feelings. She stared at the ground, acquiescing, thinking it best to let Xavier's battered ego have its requital.

  Xavier just shook his head. What is it with women? Of the two of them, clearly, she was the better person and she was just going to stand there and allow his sass? Why? Did she really give a frog's fat ass what he thought?

  Glenda finally looked back at him. “So you’re saying if you were in my position, you’d just walk away, and leave someone who saved your life stranded in the middle of the road?”

  “Yes!” Xavier answered, his eyes all over the place.

  She gave it a second. “You’re wasting your breath. You’ve already proven you’re not that kind of person. You’re just saying all this now because you’re angry. I’d bet your last bottle of bad booze on it.”

  A lippy scowl crept up Xavier’s cheek. He sauntered up to Glenda until he could see his own reflection in her eyes.

  “You’d lose,” he said jaggedly.

  Glenda buckled somewhat, then stared back respectively. “Then why did you help me?”

  “Because...I’m...stupid,” Xavier shouted with a hoot. “I was stupid for getting involved in the alley! I was stupid for coming back to the motel! And I was soooooo damn stupid for letting that naïve kid convince me to protect you! Look at me? Do I look like a bodyguard to you?”

  “I didn't ask for your protection!”

  Xavier opened his mouth to say something then realized...Gl
enda was right. He wasn't angry with her; he was angry with Bowen. That blithe little punk had used his dying wish to...Then it hit him. He hadn’t said yes. The kid died before Xavier had a chance to answer him. He hadn't promised Bowen or anyone else a frigging thing. Screw this!

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Xavier said, relieved. “Now get in the car and get out of here.”

  Glenda hesitated. “At least let me...”

  “What?” Xavier yelled. “What? You want to give me money? No thanks! Take your money and shove it! You didn't ask for my help and I'm not asking for yours! I don’t need your charity and I, sure as shit, don't want your sympathy!” He steeled himself. The only thing left, now, was a solid, sarcastic coup de grace. “Just knowing the smiles that people like me give people like you every day is thanks enough.”

  Glenda thought, again, of the cup-wielding vagrant who’d begged her for change the other day. She wondered what he'd seen when he looked at her. Would that same man have come to her aid in the alley?

  “That’s not exactly fair,” she said. “I never...”

  “You don’t want to have a debate with me about what’s fair,” Xavier interposed. “I know all about unfair!” He gazed up into the cool black sky. The rain had all but stopped. Damn. Just as he was feeling particularly dirty. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was hoping that ugly bastard in the alley or that psycho cop would kill me instead?”

  Glenda had no idea what to say.

  Xavier dropped his chin to look at her and converged his brow like a bull about to charge—one of his prize-winning looks. He should have been an actor.

  “Riiiiight,” he crooned, interpreting her answer. “But I’ll tell you what; I’m this close to kicking the shit out of myself for not letting them finish the job on you.”

  Glenda cringed as she bottomed out. That hurt. Xavier could have said a lot of things to her, but that hurt. It had also completely doused her notable flare for argument. “Fine,” she said softly. “Fine. I’ll just...”

  “Good.” Xavier cut her off sternly, desperate to end it. He reached into his waistband and pulled out Hamilton Bowen's gun. He handed it to her butt end first. He panned around for onlookers.“Here,” he said.

  Glenda stared at the weapon, motionless. “But I...”

  “Take it,” Xavier ordered, his voice razor sharp.

  Glenda finally reached out and received the gun, looking as if she expected further punishment if she didn't.

  Xavier then turned rather formally, and walked away. He halfheartedly prayed Glenda would have the decency to shoot him in the back as he eased himself onto the side of the road. Don’t look at her. Don’t look back. A pillar of salt.

  Glenda’s lip quivered and she bit down on it in protest. No surprise there, she thought. Just like a man. We aim at the head while they aim for the heart. Jerks.

  Chapter 23

  The splat barely registered in Xavier’s semiconscious brain, but it was enough to wake him. Less than an inch higher and the dollop of bird shit would have hit him in the eye. “Why is it always about shit?” he mumbled. He felt the soft wood of the mildewed bench against his temple. He recalled wandering into the picnic area and flopping his soggy bones onto the nearest table, but he had no idea how long he'd been asleep. Best be up and out, anyhow, he thought. Unless they were goldbricking, the park's ranger patrols would see him for sure.

  Xavier left the bench and shuffled lethargically along a paved bike trail until it planed into one of the park's exits ensconced in a nondescript residential setting. It was a secluded spot, well hidden from the four-lane road that ran a good fifty yards or so to his right. Xavier wasn’t sure which direction he would take from there, only that he hoped to avoid being too conspicuous as he wandered around.

  As he proceeded toward the end of the bike trail, Xavier’s unsteady vision saw what looked like a car standing well off one of the roads that turned onto the park. Surrounded by huge maples and thick underbrush, it was parked in such a way that it was mostly obscured from other drivers. If anyone in the vehicle were in distress, it would likely go unnoticed unless the person could get out and flag someone down. As Xavier moved closer, the color of the vehicle started to register in the darkness. Gray? No, blue. Cobalt blue. Just like Glenda’s Civic. Xavier squinted, moving closer.

  It was Glenda’s car.

  He adjusted himself to get a clearer view of the driver's seat. His eyes focused instantly on the dead silhouette that lay face down on the steering wheel. “Oh, God,” he muttered. “Oh, shit, shit, shit!”

  Xavier broke into a sprint, flying straight toward the driver's seat. As the unmoving silhouette grew larger its lifelessness battered him from every direction. Had someone followed them and attacked Glenda after waiting for Xavier to leave? Damn it! He did it again! He failed again!

  Elana, his eyes resounded. Elana!

  Xavier extended his arm, reaching out for the frozen figure. Glenda's head then popped up from the steering wheel and he balked reflexively, slipping backward in the fresh mud. A soft amber flash flared from the open driver's side window and the golden tail of a MAG charge whizzed less than an inch from the tip of his nose. With arms contorting, Xavier fell flat on his back onto the sodden stew of muddy grass.

  “Are you nuts?” Glenda blared. She was aiming the gun at a queer angle through the window. She trembled at the sight of the dirty, dampened bum now sprawled on the wet ground. “I almost killed you!”

  Xavier labored to lift his head. If only, he wished. He came to his feet and raised his hands in surrender. “I'm sorry. I thought you were...I'm sorry.”

  “You thought I was what?”

  Xavier said nothing. Glenda might have held the notion to take another shot and he didn't want his death on her conscience. He was close enough now to see dried tear tracks through her remains of makeup.

  “You thought I was...” Glenda went slack-jawed. He was doing it again! This broken, dreggy, ill-equipped...He was rushing to save her again! You're kidding. She regarded the gun that now felt hot in her hand.

  “Wasn't sure I'd remember how to use this,” she said cowed.

  “No worries there,” Xavier mused.

  Glenda slid the gun onto the dash. She ran her hands through hair and buried her head between her elbows.

  Xavier couldn’t stand himself. Was this what he was leaving her to: frightened and alone with a single gun she barely knew how to use? Betty Crocker couldn't design a more potent recipe for disaster. It could have just as easily been a park ranger or another innocent person who ran up to her in this dark...Wait.

  Xavier walked around to the Civic's passenger side and crawled into the seat—an overtly bold move, all things considered. He spoke right away allowing no ingress for angry banter. He fixed his gaze on the windshield. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Get out,” Glenda rebuffed, refusing to look at him.

  Xavier ignored the hostility. “Why are you sitting here?”

  “What difference does it make to you? I thought all you wanted to do was get away from me.”

  Xavier took a breath. He couldn’t retract a word of what he’d said to Glenda; apologies were all Greek to him. However, he had a point to make and talking past a pissed off woman was like riding a bike. “I’m full of shit,” he said.

  Glenda raised her head and eyed the dashboard. She wanted to look over, but refused him the satisfaction. “You’re speaking figuratively, I assume?”

  Xavier laughed. “I didn’t mean what I said before. Everything. It was all bullshit.”

  Glenda looked at him puzzled. “Then why did...”

  “I’m not a good person to be around,” he said stopping her. “Look, I’m not gonna sit here and delve out a sob story.” Not with your propensity for pity and sympathy, he thought. “I’m the jerk, you’re a good person and that’s all there is to it.” He slapped his thighs. “So, you can go on your way to wherever it is you were going without...”

  Glenda nailed
her elbows to the steering wheel and dropped her face in her hands. “Oh!”

  Xavier sighed. “Look, I meant every word of that apology. I can’t be anymore sincere.”

  “That’s not it,” she cried. “I don't have any place to go! That’s why I’ve been sitting here. They know where I live. They already sent someone there to kill me. They broke into my apartment, stole the messages and everything. Oh, god!”

  “Messages? What are you talking about?”

  “They’ve got the police on their side, now,” she said, the inquiry going past her, “and God knows who else. I don’t know what else to do.”

  Great, Xavier thought. He felt even worse now. He was so hard into flight mode earlier that he’d essentially overlooked the particulars of Glenda's predicament. The guy from the alley was a hire, that much was obvious. He'd tried to extract information from Glenda before doing her in. And as for Jones suddenly going batty and trying to kill the very person he was assigned to protect...that smelled of something even deeper. Shit. Was this some sort of mafia thing? If it was, then they were a hundred different kinds of screwed. Xavier was no cop or anything else resembling authority; protecting Glenda from mobsters and hitmen required far more than his capabilities.

  “Jesus, lady, what the hell are you into?” he asked.

  “I don’t know!” Glenda shouted, the waterworks starting again. “That’s just it; I don’t know. I’ve got nowhere to go and...I don’t know what to do.”

  Xavier sat next to her looking nonplussed. After nearly a minute, he pressed his sooty fingertips into his eyes. “Well...we’ll just have to think of something.”

  Chapter 24

  Roberts thought of his mother tearing up as he and his escort negotiated the early morning hallways of the Great Lakes BioCore. She had actually cried when he told her he wasn’t going to college. He had said it flat out, “I’m joining the police force, ma.” No sense beating around the bush with that woman.