Jarod shook his head with a bemused expression but jumped to his feet, running out of the bar with Brendan and Jackie right at his heels. Carson slumped back in his chair, beginning to feel every single one of his bruises now that the adrenaline rush was wearing off.
Wanting a distraction for his pain, he glanced around, taking his first good look at the Jungle Tavern. It was a nice place, tidy and welcoming.
It had an old west motif; about a dozen round wooden tables were scattered around the room, green flannel surface imprinted with a pair of gambling dice. The long bar across from the door was made of polished oak and was for standing customers only. The wall behind it sported a long, fancy mirror and shelves for bottles and glasses. Fake kerosene chandeliers hung from the twenty foot ceiling, lighting up every corner. Carson almost expected to see a piano to one side of the room, but there was a jukebox instead.
A beer bottle and a glass appeared abruptly in front of him and he looked up. A woman stood by the side of the table, large grey eyes shining with humor from a face framed by wild, blond curls.
"You looked like you needed a drink," she said to his unvoiced question. "I'm Kit Mason."
"Carson Bodine. Thanks for the beer," he added, drinking half of it in one appreciative swallow.
"Don't mention it. You better let Brendan take a look at you. You're a mess."
For the first time since his fight with Collins, Carson realized he must look a sight. He knew his bottom lip was split, he could feel the coppery taste of his blood in his mouth. His jaw was throbbing, his right cheek stung, and his knuckles were scraped and bloodied. As for his clothes, they were dirty and beyond rumpled. And that was only what was visible to others. He was likely turning a lovely shade of black and blue underneath his clothes.
He opened his mouth to reply, but Kit was faster. "Let me guess; I should've seen the other guy?"
Carson chuckled, finishing his drink. "Something like that."
She rolled her eyes at that, but smiled. "I'll get you another one," she gestured to the now empty beer bottle.
"Thanks," he said, as she left.
It was several minutes before the others returned and by that time Carson was on his second beer. "What took you so long?" he asked.
"We couldn't leave Collins in the Explorer, so we moved him to Kit's basement. We used the back door, so her customers wouldn't see us. Bad for business," Jackie explained with a wicked grin. "We got there just in time, too; he was beginning to wake up. We also called the cops. Thanks to you, we've got ourselves another juicy reward." She took a gulp of her drink. "So, what happened?"
"Should you be drinking? You're what, sixteen?" Carson teased her.
She snorted. "Nineteen and it's root beer. And it's not like there's any kind of law about alcohol in this country. I just don't believe in ingesting something that will eventually kill all your brain cells. Answer my question."
"Bossy," Carson muttered, no real heat behind the words. "I met Collins in the underground garage at the hotel. He must've been waiting around after he saw me rent the Explorer at the reception desk. He said Geils wanted me back. When I refused to go with him, he tried to beat the crap out of me."
"Looks like he succeeded." Brendan rose from his seat, a small bag in his hand. "Come with me. Kit's got a back room we can use. I want to check you out."
Carson could think of several smart replies he could make to that, but he was too tired, and Brendan was only trying to help. He followed the doctor to a small room in the back of the bar and sat patiently as he was carefully examined and patched up.
"Well, doc, what's the verdict?" he asked when Brendan finished.
Brendan grinned. "You won't win any beauty pageants in the next few days. You're one big bruise, although there's nothing sprained, cracked or broken, which is a miracle. You have a split lip, your jaw is swelling quite nicely and you have a scrape on your right cheek. You'll live."
"I could've told you that," Carson replied peevishly, as they made their way to the bar and joined the others. "So, where're Jack and the others?" he asked, finally daring to ask the question which had been on his mind practically since the moment he had walked in.
"They went to return a runaway to the Idrissa tribe. Shouldn't be long now," Jackie told him.
"Runaway?"
"A too-frequent event around these parts," Jarod said sadly. "For most primitive tribes in this country surviving is a constant battle, Carson. Starvation kills thousands every year. These kids think they can make it in the city, find a job to support their families, the whole tribe. What they really find is crime, drugs, prostitution... This one was lucky. He tried to mug Jack this morning, didn't run fast enough. Roger and Jack talked to him, Vivian scared him out of his wits, and the kid agreed to go back to his tribe."
"Shit," Carson said, feeling for these people. Hearing one of the police cars getting closer, he asked, "Don't you want to question Collins? He knows where Geils and Benzin are."
Brendan shook his head. "He'll never talk. Besides, when Collins doesn't get back, Geils'll just move his camp again. By the time we'd get there, he'd be long gone."
Carson shrugged, watching as Kit discreetly guided two policemen to her basement. "Talking about camps, Jack mentioned yesterday that yours is far from Jawara City. Wouldn't it make more sense to live here?" he asked. "I'm sure it would be easier to contact your informants, get supplies and so on, if you lived in town."
Jackie nodded. "Probably. But this way we're closer to the tribes. And it's easier for them to trust us when we live in the jungle and share in their way of life. Some of the tribes don't like strangers, a few are downright hostile. It's bad enough we're foreigners. If we were 'city dwellers', they'd never take us seriously."
"I guess that makes sense. What's the deal with Kit?" Carson asked as Jarod ordered another round. "How did you meet her?"
"She's lived here most of her life," Brendan said. "Her father came to Jawara when she was three, to work at the embassy. She and Vivian went to the same school, became good friends. Vivian was the one that first introduced her to some of the local tribes, but over the years Kit made her own contacts."
"I thought Vivian had been raised by the Durak tribe," Carson remarked.
"She was," Brendan said. "But the elders decided she should go to school here in town. They both went to the International Community school, an establishment for both foreign and Jawaran kids. Anyway, Kit's parents eventually went back to the States, but she decided to stay behind. She became a citizen, joined the army, and worked the odd job here and there before she bought this bar and the apartment above with the help of an inheritance left to her by an uncle."
"When we first arrived in Jawara, Vivian wasn't part of the team," Jackie said. "We found this place by accident. We'd been in town like maybe a week, or so. We were looking for a place where we could hang out, let our hair down, have a drink. We saw the sign outside, liked the name and decided to try it."
"When we told Kit what our mission here was, she offered to help in any way she could." Jarod looked at Carson. "We mentioned that we needed a guide who was familiar with the tribes, she suggested Vivian and the rest is history. Kit also lets us use the apartment when we stay in town. She moved in with her lover last year, so we have the place all to ourselves."
"None of you has a place in town?"
Jarod shrugged. "I've thought about buying my own place, but I've been procrastinating," he said with a smile. "We're always on the move, anyway, so I'd never be there long enough to enjoy it. Plus, Kit's place is pretty big and works well for us. It has two entrances. That one," he gestured to the stairs that lead to a door on the second floor. "And one in the alley behind the bar."
"Emergency escape," Jackie quipped. "Just in case."
"The living room has a sofa-bed where Vivian and Jackie sleep," Brendan said. "Kit kept the main bedroom for herself, in case she needs to spend the night for some reason. And we sleep in the guest room."
Carson la
ughed. "The four of you in one bedroom? That's got to be interesting."
"It's a little crowded," Jarod admitted, smiling. "But we bought two twin bunks, so it's not too bad."
"What about you?" Jackie asked. "Why work as a private investigator?"
Carson leaned back in his chair. "I grew up watching my parents sipping Margaritas and throwing obscenely expensive parties and decided I wanted more out of life. A sense of purpose, I guess."
Jackie raised an eyebrow at that. "Your parents rich?"
Carson snorted. "Filthy stinking rich. Not that I've seen that much of it. All my mother does is spend money by the truckload, and as for my father, his motto is want it, earn it. Anyway, I joined the army as soon as I finished high school. It was a shock to realize human beings could actually coexist peacefully and contribute to society," he said, hearing the bitterness in his voice. His relationship with his parents had never been an easy one, especially after Carson had come clean about being gay.
His father had virtually shunned him then, and words like gay or homosexual were carefully ignored the few times Carson did reunite with the family. Of course, bigotry hadn't stop his father from liking Bruce--or his billions. Like calling to like, Carson guessed, soulless to soulless. Maybe that's why he had been attracted to Bruce; Bruce was familiar, something he knew from berth.
"Parents suck," Jackie said. "My mom died when I was three and I was raised by my father. He's an asshole."
Brendan scoffed. "Jackie."
She lifted her eyebrows, expression defiant. "What? You want me to lie? I hate him. Being a biological father doesn't automatically make you a good parent. He always resented me because he wanted a boy, and after my mom died all he did was ignore me. The soldiers stationed at the bases he worked at did a better job at raising me than he did." She gave Carson a rueful smile. "Sorry about that. You were saying?"
"The army wasn't so bad, but I had a problem with authority, so I left and decided to start my own business. A friend of mine from high school had just made detective at the NYPD, so I went to him for help."
"Friend or lover?"
Carson glared at Jackie. "You're pretty direct."
She rolled her eyes. "Please. I could see the sparks flying when you and Jack saw each other. You're so gay."
"That doesn't mean all my friends are gay," he pointed out.
"No," Jackie grinned, unapologetic. "But there was something about the way you spoke that suggested he was more than a friend."
He shook his head at her, caught between exasperation and amusement. He was surprised at how at ease he felt around these people. He should feel awkward or embarrassed at the turn the conversation was taking, but he felt relaxed, tranquil. It was a new experience for him.
Making friends had never really come easy to him, for some reason. Not that he was shy or introverted, but sometimes it felt like there was a barrier between him and the rest of the world, preventing him from reaching out. As for his family, it consisted mainly of his parents, both of which seemed to consider emotions a weakness. At least they did when it came to him. Carson couldn't remember the last time his mother had hugged him, and he was fairly certain he had never seen his father smile.
"Well, you're wrong; he's just a friend," he replied. "He gave my name to some people the police couldn't help. It was difficult at first, I didn't have an office or anything, I had to meet clients in coffee shops, bars and so on. But I managed to solve a couple of cases, made some money and over the years business got better."
"It can't be an easy job," Jarod commented.
Carson looked down at his beer. "It isn't," he said, voice softening. "Most times it's... frustrating. Some of the people that come to me for help are just so... desperate. They're searching for a loved one, or wanting to find a murderer that slipped justice, clinging to a last shred of hope." He exhaled slowly. "And sometimes I can't solve the case because there isn't enough to go on, or if I help arrest someone, they're out on the streets again before I'm done with the paperwork. I don't think I'll ever get used to it, the look in those people's faces when they realize there's nothing more that I can do."
"But the cases you solve, they make it worth it, right?"
Carson gave Jackie a warm smile. "Yeah, they're definitely worth it." He glanced at his watch. "It's getting late. When did you say Jack would get back?"
"They should've been back already," Jarod said, brows furrowed in concern.
"You guys think something's happened to them?"
"I doubt it," Brendan replied. "They're probably just running a little late. Most likely Vivian's giving the kid a last talking to, making sure he never pulls another stunt like this again."
But Carson noticed the uncertain look Brendan exchanged with Jarod and Jackie. He couldn't help share the worry he saw in their eyes. He was afraid there was more going on than just Vivian taking the time to lecture a kid.
# # #
Chapter Four
The afternoon was slowly dying away, the shadows lengthening all around him. Jack listened for any sounds of movement, knowing their quarry couldn't be far. Risking life and limb, he rose from his crouch, quickly jerking his head back down as a bullet slammed into the tree trunk beside him.
They had been on their way back to Jawara City after returning the runaway kid to his tribe and his grateful parents, when they had stumbled into trouble. While driving by one of the many impoverished villages in the area, they had seen a group of slavers herding a small number of natives at gunpoint into two trucks. Things had rapidly gotten out of control as Vivian growled at the slavers to release the Jawarans, to which the mercenaries had responded with gunfire, the battle rapidly spreading into the jungle.
Now, long minutes after that brief--but heated--exchange, the Jawarans were safely cowering behind their jeep or within their meager houses, while Jack, Vivian and Roger traded the occasional shot with the remaining slavers. It was obvious neither side was willing to back down.
"We could try to sneak around the back and catch them by surprise," Roger whispered to his right. "There are only four of them left."
"Too risky," Jack countered. "It's getting too dark to see and we don't know where they're hiding."
"We could still..." Roger's words trailed off then, and he gaped. "Holy--"
Jack held his breath as Roger broke cover abruptly, rushing past him, stirring a sharp breeze. It took him a second to realize Roger was trying to reach one of the Jawaran kids. The teenager's face was a mask of anger as he crawled deep in the undergrowth, obviously foolish enough to believe he could take on the slavers with his bare hands.
Suddenly spotting a sniper tracking the young man, Jack swore and started firing his weapon, giving Roger as much cover and time as possible. He heard Vivian shooting from her hiding place, their barrage of lead enough to pin down their opponents, even if only for a moment.
Jack stopped to reload his gun, relieved to see Roger dragging the Jawaran through the vegetation to rejoin the others by the Wrangler. A spray of bullets started from the other side, and Jack aimed in that general direction, smirking as he heard a man cry out. A second pain-filled cry was audible a heartbeat later, this time a victim of Vivian's shotgun.
Out of the corner of his eye Jack saw Roger creeping closer to the tree he was using as a shield, finger on the trigger, never wavering as he returned bullet for bullet. Then, as precipitously as it had begun, the hostilities died down. Suspicious, but wanting to end the skirmish once and for all, Jack rose slowly, warily, coming to his full height when no further bullets came flying his way.
He gestured towards his companions and they spread out, searching for the slavers and finding only bodies. That taken care of, Jack prowled over to the jeep, grabbing the witless Jawaran by his shoulders.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped, shaking the kid lightly. "You could've been killed."
One of the women approached him slowly, nodding curtly in greeting. "I apologize for my brother. He has more hear
t than brains. I am Omphale, of the Kelile tribe. We are in your debt."
"This is Jack MacKenzie and Roger Miles. I'm Vivian Anderson," Vivian said. "Did they take anyone away before we got here?"
"No, thanks to you. These men attacked our village, and chose those of us fit enough to endure forced labor. We were to be taken to the gold mines in the Jaja region."
"Do you need any help?" Jack asked, looking around at the villagers. "Is there anything we can do?"
Omphale bowed briefly, warmed by the offer, but she shook her head. "No need, Mr. MacKenzie. Thank you again for your assistance."
"What about them?" Vivian gestured towards the mercenaries' bodies and the trucks.
"We will see to them," Omphale said. "Tomorrow I will have some of the men drive the trucks to Jawara City with the bodies. I'm certain even these misguided souls have loved ones who would like to know what happened to them. Now, nightfall approaches and there is still much to be done." She turned to the others. "Come."
"Quite the lady," Roger commented as they watched the small group dispersing around the village, moving purposefully to do Omphale's bidding. "Now what?"
Jack looked up at the darkening skies, knowing they would never make it back to town before dusk. They could still try it, but he hated driving through the jungle at night, especially when there was no real need. He was disappointed he wouldn't get to see Carson today, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
He silently cursed Jawara's lack of means of communication, and its government for not taking any measures to change that. A simple phone call would have served to apprise the rest of his team of their situation. Instead he knew the others would worry themselves sick.
"We have about an hour's light. Let's use it to find a good place to spend the night."
"There's a clearing not far from here. We can make camp there," Vivian said.
Jack grinned. "Well, in that case, and as the lady said--come."
The Ripple Effect Page 4