Dues of Mortality

by Jason Austin

  “How come you get to wear all the cute stuff,” Glenda pouted, once he'd emerged from the plane's bathroom.

  “You're right,” Xavier answered. He then handed over two of the rings and another bracelet he'd pocketed from his search. The accessories matched perfectly the tan and brown Donna Karen drop waist knockoff that Glenda wore with her even less authentic Dolce & Gabbana heels. Her tinted glasses with a new and more pretentious-looking frame display rounded out the ensemble. As far as anyone was concerned, Glenda was just another rich housewife returning from a weekend of kayaking on Lake Union.

  Xavier randomly scanned the crowds of people at Hopkins international airport behind a pair of expensive RayBan sunglasses. This is where things got dicey. Any shadows at the airport wouldn’t exactly be advertising, at least not if they were any good. Xavier didn't have to just know what to look for he had to feel it. There was no way Wallace didn’t know by now that the “dynamic duo” back in Seattle had failed. That gave him plenty of time to put someone at the airport to give it another go or, at least, track Xavier and Glenda once they landed. Anyone who looked at her more than five seconds was immediately suspect.

  Glenda took a seat in the terminal lounge, looking like a tourist who'd lost her sense of direction. She lightly massaged her temples as the display of her glasses' frames scrolled over her fingers. Xavier remained several steps behind, still scanning. He wanted to take position next to Glenda, but had trepidations. They would be looking for a man and woman together, he reminded himself. I'll have to play it up.

  Glenda had only closed her eyes for a few seconds; an extended blink of sorts, as she tried to rub away the onset of a headache. She never even saw Xavier until it was too late.

  “Hi, could you help me?” he chirped at Glenda. “I'm looking for the car rental desk.”

  Glenda bit down on her upper lip. Her innards were crying for the sweet release of laughter. And just when she needed it most, she thought. God, he was wonderful.

  “You're looking too stressed,” Xavier whispered. Then he picked up his voice again, lisp and hand gestures coming from everywhere. “This is my first time in Cleveland! I'm here to see the Rock Hall!” He then sat down next to Glenda, cocking his head and gregariously touched her knee with his fingertips.

  “Just point and keep talking,” he said.

  Glenda tipped her wrist to the left, her outstretched finger pointing nowhere in particular. “Like this?”

  Xavier scanned the crowd again before going on. The Raybans had cleared up a few notches to coincide with the indoor light. He could now more clearly see out without anyone else quite able to see in. “Yes,” he answered. “Now smile like I just told a joke.”

  Glenda laughed somewhat openly instead.

  “Don't overdue it; we still don't want to draw attention to ourselves.”

  “Uh, huh,” she said deadpanned.

  “Try not to have too much fun at my expense.”

  Glenda giggled a little longer before her ticklishness petered out like a dying candle.

  Xavier kept up the hand gestures and crossed his legs as if he was trying to prevent a free peek up his nonexistent skirt. “Are you okay?” he asked. He slacked off on the lisp.

  “Yes, I’m okay. I’m worried about my parents, though. They’re the only ones we haven’t checked on yet.”

  “No real reason to. Wallace would be crazy to make a play for them; he’d have to bulldoze through the army of press outside their door.”

  “Something tells me this Wallace asshole didn’t get to be where he is by playing it safe. I still want to check.”

  “How? You can’t just call them.”

  “I could check the email address I used to send them that message back at the trailer.”

  “Might be risky. I didn't think it was a good idea before.”

  “Our com equips are prepaid. Nobody's tracking us.”

  “But your parents might not know to be checking from untraceable sources. You were worried about that yourself.”

  “Please?” Glenda asked, giving him the sad eye.

  Xavier looked back, hopeless. How pathetic am I? he thought. He waited three seconds and nodded. No need to be a total pushover.

  Glenda turned up her comwatch and opened the email site. “I don’t even know if she remembered this address,” she said. “She might’ve assumed I canceled it, anyway. Oh God, please let them be alright. After everything they’ve been through here I am causing them more trouble! My mother’s gonna get shingles from all...”

  Xavier suddenly took Glenda's hands into his own and she looked at him almost like she expected a marriage proposal.

  “You know what you’re problem is?” he asked.

  Glenda blinked at him, half-wondering where the question came from. “Well of course I know what my problem is. I’m being hunted by a maniac with unlimited resources, for reasons I’m not sure about and against whom I can’t fight back. Does that answer your question?”

  Xavier grinned coyly. “You worry too much.”

  Glenda now looked at him like he actually had proposed. “Oh really? Well excuse me. It’s just that somehow, between dodging all the gunfire and the psychotic killers I kind of got the impression that I had a lot to worry about.”

  “That doesn’t mean you should do it. You know, in the army, they tell us that what works best is to keep as cool a head as possible in any given situation. You know why? Because, people tend to make bad decisions under stress. Now you may think that doesn't make much sense when you're in the middle of a war zone, but you do learn you're better served when you can create rather than react. Remember, Wallace is far more frightened of you than you are of him, whatever his reasons. If he wasn’t he wouldn’t be trying so hard.” Xavier paused and then said, “And don’t worry. We will make it through this. I promise.”

  Glenda sighed wistfully and cast her head down, removing her glasses.

  Xavier thought immediately that he might have said something wrong. “What?”

  “You said we, again,” Glenda answered faintly.

  Xavier made a point of smiling. “Well we are in this together.” He nudged her chin with a finger, lifting her head up. “We are in this together.”

  Glenda’s mouth curled softly as she returned his gaze.

  Xavier sat frozen as he felt his heart whale like a one-man band against his breast bone. He would have no defense, this time, against the overpowering reverie that was Glenda Jameson. He was helpless as her eyes seemed to sparkle with a celestial incantation that pulled them closer and closer like a magnet to steel. They glimpsed each other's lips and inhaled the other's breath. Xavier's quivering mouth anxiously parted and Glenda closed her eyes, fully surrendering to his carnal gravity. And then...

  Beep boop boop!

  Glenda's comwatch had shit-lousy timing, but Glenda couldn't have been happier to see its blinking icon.

  “There is a message,” she said.

  She punched up the email as Xavier put his head on a swivel. How long had they sat there, looking like they actually knew each other, like a real couple?

  The email read: THANK GOD, YOU'RE OKAY. DADDY AND I HERE IN THE MALL. THINGS TOO CROWDED AT HOME. MADE IT TO A NETSTAND OUTSIDE THE LADIES ROOM WHERE THE LOOKY LOUS HAVE TO GET PAST DADDY TO SEE ME. DON’T LEAVE A REPLY IF IT’S NOT SAFE. HOPE YOU GET THIS. LOVE YOU, LOVE YOU, LOVE YOU.

  “Mom, you rip,” Glenda almost shouted. “Good girl!”

  “What’s the other one?” Xavier asked.

  “What?” Glenda took a closer look at her watch's screen. A second message icon was blinking in the bottom left corner. She pulled up the message, holding her breath unconsciously. It read: IF YOU WANT TO STAY ALIVE, COME ALONE TO WHERE THE SALT AIR TAKES CONTROL. THE MOON MAN.

  Chapter 49

  Despite his “pleasant” personality, Ian Shaw always came home to an empty house. An eight-bedroom villa in the lovely posterior of Beachwood, Ohio—another feeble excuse for a pretentious suburb that neve
r let him forget he was still living in Cleveland. Shaw hated Cleveland, hated everything about it; the people, the weather, the sports teams. The sports teams—jeez were they shit! Get a fucking offense already, all of you! But there was absolutely nothing about Cleveland he hated more than that jerk of all pricks, Miles Gabriel. Mr. Bend-over-and-smile, Mr. Give-me-an-inch-and-I’ll-take-your-first-born. No wonder, the local Red Cross was always short on blood; Gabriel was probably sitting in his living room every night, slurping down the supply with an aged French cheese.

  Well, let him, Shaw thought.

  The way things were going with Wallace, Gabriel would soon be up to his ears in the shit. Serves him right, the asshole. Gabriel and that miserly old bastard had cost Shaw his best meal ticket, left him having to do favors for every member of the bar and their mother's to get back in with the A list clientele. Fucking Gabriel!

  Shaw tossed his coat over the rack as if it wasn’t worth hanging up properly and headed straight for his study. Those transfers had better been completed; he wasn’t in the mood for more excuses. The day had been quite long enough and lounging under that forty-four-year-old stripper's silicone until closing time hadn't done much to smooth Shaw out. To top things off, his stomach had begun doing a number once he left the club. He couldn’t wait to pop a couple extra Mitacodone and head to bed. Shaw opened the door to his study and ordered the light before noticing he didn’t have to.

  “Evening, Ian,” said a voice with noted civility.

  Shaw screamed like a banshee, choking on his own air.

  The voice belonged to Miles Gabriel. He was perched stoically in the center of Shaw’s desk, with one foot on the floor, his Armani everything glistening under the soft light.

  Shaw was instantly enraged. “Gabriel, what the fuck?”

  “Door was open, so I let myself in,” Gabriel said.

  “Are you sick? It's after three o'clock in the morning! And what do you mean the door was open? I don’t leave my house unlocked!”

  “I meant the door to the study. Please, come in. We need to talk.”

  “You’re inviting me into my own office? Well, how polite of you! What do you think you’re doing breaking into my home like this?”

  Gabriel narrowed an eye. “Have a seat, Ian.”

  Shaw took a step toward the single offsetting chair between him and Gabriel. He passed a glance at the fliptop computer on his desk, which he hoped Gabriel hadn’t noticed was still unlocked. “What are you doing here, Miles? I have half a mind to call the police.”

  “In that case, we should make this quick. I’m sure you wouldn’t want them involved in our business.”

  “What business? Haven’t I done enough of your throwaway tasks for one century?”

  “This isn't about one of my clients, Ian. It's about one of yours. The one who, until recently, was in the Cayman Islands?”

  Shaw averted his eyes. Poker faces were not one of his strong suits, but he would’ve given a small fortune to have a good one somewhere under his bad skin right about now. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s all right, Ian. I, too, have enough respect for attorney-client privilege to do the word dance. It’ll take a little longer, but integrity must be maintained, right? So, without naming names...”

  Gabriel whirled Shaw’s fliptop to face them, exposing the record of overseas transfers that had been placed between Cleveland and the Cayman’s over the last several days.

  The hunk of granite in Shaw’s upper GI moved to his throat.

  “Now, I already know he’s no longer in the Cayman’s, Ian. What I don’t know is where he is now. To make things easier for you, I do have a pretty good idea that he’s here in Cleveland. And I need you to tell me where.”

  Shaw ground his teeth. Fuck you, Miles, he thought. He was tired of taking shit from him and now Gabriel had nothing to hold over Shaw's head—nothing that couldn’t be thrown back in his face. Shaw pursed his lips tauntingly. “I still don’t know what...”

  “He couldn’t take a piss without clearing it with you first, Ian,” Gabriel shouted. “And I, for one, find it incredible that he still trusts you! You would think he’d have a rather low opinion of your skills, after everything he’s been through!” Gabriel paused, calming down. “Now, tell me where he is.”

  Shaw just shrugged. “Or what? You’ll turn me in? I don’t think so; not with what I know.”

  “So he did tell you everything. Probably after the fact though, right? Just to make sure he could pull the strings from a safe distance. Of course, who better to trust than the person who already knew most of his dirty little secrets and who he could rely on to help sort out the details.”

  “And it still does you no good,” Shaw said, feeling his position. “You tell your story, and I tell mine; it’s that simple.”

  “Oh, it certainly does simplify things, Ian. On that, we agree.”

  Gabriel snapped his fingers and the man who’d been cooling his heels behind the door to the study eased it closed. He then slid its bolt-action lock into place. The man was huge. His faded denim jeans and mock turtleneck shirt each looked about a size too small. His suede jacket, which had to be a fifty, extra-long, made him look like a bear on its hind legs. From across the office, the door leading to a walk-in closet opened and another, smaller man entered the room. What he lacked in size compared to Suede Jacket, he made up for in sinisterly aura.

  “You’re not serious,” Shaw said.

  Gabriel shrugged.

  “This isn’t a mob movie, you asshole!” Shaw had no luck disguising his panic as he watched Yogi and Boo Boo close in. “What do you think this is going to get you?”

  “You made it clear, Ian; we’re at a stalemate,” Gabriel said plainly.

  Shaw swallowed hard. “I have people who...”

  “...you will tell nothing! Just like you said, Ian, you tell your story, and I tell mine. As far as the doctors will be concerned, it was a bad in-home accident.”

  “What are you going to do, pull my fingernails out one at a time?”

  Gabriel guffawed. “Ian, you have a peptic ulcer and a borderline addiction to painkillers. I sincerely doubt it will come to that.”

  ****

  “Have you completely taken leave of your senses?” Xavier asked for the third time, as he checked, yet again, the charges for his .3 mm MAG gun. He was glad to have it back after he had sealed it in a heavy document envelope and stashed it in an airport locker before leaving for Seattle. Technically, just having it in the terminal was illegal, but he'd wanted to carry it as far as he could short of the metal detectors. If Glenda was going to proceed with this pea-brained blind date, he thought, it wouldn’t be unarmed.

  “I have to do this, Xavier,” Glenda said, exiting their rental car. She gazed up at the stories-high Halite sign that stretched across the building's facade.

  The Halite branch of the salt mines, on the edge of Lake Erie was perpetually half-closed. A sign of the times. There wasn't much use for road salt in the increasing spring-like winters and that dolomitic epoxy road sealant that trapped de-icing chemicals, lasted for years. Many of the mine’s warehousing and office facilities had long since been shut down and would be due for demolition unless otherwise leased or bought up.

  “You have to?” Xavier asked. “No, you have to eat, you have to sleep, you have to go to the bathroom, but you do not have to walk into the jaws of death, because some little birdie told you to!”

  “Xavier, I told you, this could be the key to solving this whole thing,” Glenda insisted.

  “You said that, but what you haven’t told me is how!”

  “Because, I’m not sure how, yet! Just trust me for now...please?”

  Xavier finally relented, but was still beset.

  Glenda led him up to and through a warehouse entrance facing east along the lake. She then walked them onto an elevator and she pressed the button for the third floor.

  She knew where she was going, Xavier noticed. This moon man had
n't sent a navigation point or GPS marker or anything, but she knew exactly what and where salt air meant. What the hell?

  When the elevator opened, they stepped off—Xavier first, with gun-barrel pointed outward—and proceeded down a poorly lit hallway. Glenda brought them quickly to an office door with remnants of lettering on it—the posting now completely illegible. She reached for the knob and he looked annoyed when he had to physically intercede. She should know better by now. Whoever or whatever this moon man was had completely thrown her off her game. Xavier pulled her behind him and then opened the door, again, gun-barrel outward and from under the chin. Inside was a former supervisor’s office with the remains of a desk and a number of armless wooden chairs. Another door, adjacent to a warehouse area, was off to the left.

  “What now?” Xavier asked.

  Glenda held still, looking thoughtful. “There,” she said, nodding at the warehouse entrance.

  Xavier ordered Glenda to stay back and entered the warehouse on his own. He was shocked that they hadn't been ambushed up until now and he wanted his record to stay unchallenged.