by Jeff Lindsay
“Just one. Just Raul.” He smiled again. “Rather melodramatic, but they called him ‘El Carnicero.’ The Butcher.”
“Yes,” I said. “It is a bit over-the-top.”
“That’s their world,” Brian said with a shrug. “They seem to enjoy histrionics.”
“So what happened?” I said. “Did you piss off the Butcher?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” he said emphatically. “I was very good at my job, and he appreciated that. But unfortunately for all concerned, the Butcher pissed off Santo Rojo.” He showed me his teeth. “More histrionics, I’m afraid. It means the Red Saint?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Apparently Raul overstepped his proper boundaries,” Brian said, trying very hard to sound regretful. He wasn’t nearly as good as I was at that kind of thing. “Santo resented it. And soon we were in a full-scale war.” He paused and cocked his head to one side, as if seeing the things he described. “Santo was a much bigger man—far more powerful, with lots more minions and money and influence. Raul was relatively small-potatoes—an up-and-comer, but definitely not there yet.”
He shrugged. “To cut to the chase, it seemed to me that I was on the losing side, and it was only a matter of time until Raul and all of us in his little family were eliminated. I discussed this with a coworker—”
“Octavio,” I said.
Brian nodded. “Yes. Because as it happened, Octavio knew where Raul had stashed a rather sizable chunk of money in case he needed to, um, relocate? Quickly?” He twitched his mouth in a brief and unconvincing smile. “One of the hazards of the trade, you know,” he said. “Every now and then you really do have to get away in a hurry.”
“So I understand,” I said. “So you and Octavio took the money and ran.”
“Yes, that’s right,” he said, and he sighed. “All that money. I had no idea there would be so much.” He looked at me happily. “So very much, brother. You have no idea.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “But where’s the problem? With Raul and most of his gang dead, who was left to come after you?”
“Ah, well, that’s the thing,” Brian said ruefully. “You see, we made a very small miscalculation. As it happens, Raul managed to plant a bomb in Santo’s headquarters. It went off quite successfully; Santo Rojo and a large number of his minions were killed, and the rest flocked to Raul’s banner. The war was over—but unfortunately, Raul was still alive.” He smiled at me again, no more convincingly than any other time. “And among the missing were two of his trusted associates and an extremely large piece of untraceable cash. Raul feels very possessive about his cash,” he said.
“A common failing,” I said.
“And so, to conclude,” Brian said, “Raul and all his remaining henchmen are working very hard to find me. Probably not with the intention of begging me to return to work.”
“Almost certainly not,” I said. I frowned and tried to reason out loud. “All right,” I said. “So Raul’s computer guy tracks your credit card to my hotel room. No doubt he assumes that Dexter Morgan is you, a nom de guerre. He sends someone to conduct your exit interview—”
“Nicely put,” Brian murmured.
“And he waits in the closet, thinking your return is imminent,” I said, and then I stopped. “But what about Octavio? What was he doing there?”
Brian sighed again—the third time he’d done it. It was getting a little annoying, especially since I knew quite well he felt nothing at all, let alone anything that might induce a sigh. It had to be a new habit he was trying out for some reason, just for the effect. “I can only guess,” he said at last. “Octavio was staying at your hotel.” I must have looked surprised, because Brian spread his hands in apology. “Mere convenience,” he said. “Octavio must have seen this other man and recognized him. He followed him to your room, and…” He snapped his fingers. “The rest is tragic history.”
We were both silent for a minute. “Is it likely,” I said at last, “that Raul would send one mere henchman to dispose of you?”
“Oh, no, certainly not,” Brian said cheerfully. “He had great respect for my talents.”
“So there would be two? Three?”
“Several of them, without a doubt—five, six, even ten,” he said, still quite cheerful. “I think this would be rather a high priority for Raul. And he would almost certainly come along with them.”
“Just because of a little money?” I asked.
Brian got even merrier. “Oh, it’s not a little, very far from it,” he said. “But of course, it’s much more than the money. If he lets me rip him off, he loses a great deal of respect.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “That’s everything to these people, you know. No, Raul will send a good number—and keep sending more until it’s done.” And he nodded with satisfaction.
Somehow I could not bring myself to share his lighthearted joy at being pursued relentlessly by several platoons of dedicated, experienced assassins. “Wonderful,” I said.
“They’re quite good, too,” he said. “And completely relentless, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. He fell silent and I followed suit, using the time to ponder a little bit. Now I knew how Brian was funding his recent great flow of generosity. That didn’t tell me why he had been so helpful, but I was starting to get a nasty suspicion. I had already suspected that Brian needed my help for something unpleasant. It was starting to look considerably worse than unpleasant—downright lethal, and I wasn’t really sure I wanted any part of it, brother or no. While it was true that I have normally been willing, even eager to help out a family member in need, I had always understood that to apply to moving furniture, or providing a ride to the dentist. I didn’t think family ties had ever been intended to cover helping your brother survive the relentless attacks of an enraged drug lord.
But as I thought that, I realized that it was already too late for me to politely bow out. Raul’s men had been clever enough to trace Brian’s credit card rather quickly. They would certainly know the room was registered to me, and they would soon find that it was not Brian’s fake identity, and then they would be onto me. They would assume that I was connected to Brian in some important way, and I would become a target. In fact, I had already become a target just by being in that room. Although a mere unknown connection might not seem terribly damning evidence of anything to a rational being, I knew enough about the drug world to know that it has very few rational residents. They didn’t need to know a thing about me to decide that I had overstayed my time on planet Earth. I was now on their hit list, as sure as I sat here.
Another thought popped into my head, which was a very good sign that things were working the way they should. This thought whispered to me that if Brian truly wanted my help, he might well have sent Octavio there himself while I was out, knowing that he would run into the hit man. And I, faced with two corpses in my room and the certainty that I had been identified, would feel compelled to join Brian in his struggle. Even more—with Octavio dead, all that lovely money was presumably Brian’s now, and he had given me no reason to think that he liked Octavio—or anyone—more than money.
I looked at my brother. He was still frowning, squinting into the last rays of the sun that sank down past the horizon as I watched. He turned to me, shook his head, and said, “I’m afraid I have to ask a very great favor.”
“Did you kill Octavio?” I said by way of answering. “Or set him up to be killed?”
To his very great credit, Brian didn’t even pretend to be surprised or offended. “No, I did not,” he said simply. “Naturally, it had occurred to me that I might want to, sooner or later—but I needed his help to avoid being killed myself. And now…” Brian suddenly went shy and turned away from me. “As I said,” he said apologetically, “it’s a very great favor.”
“Yes, it is,” I said, and I admit I sounded peevish. “I don’t know how I can possibly—I mean, I am being watched, you know. By the police. And I may be dragged back to jail at any moment. What did yo
u think I could do?”
“Nothing strenuous,” Brian said, a little sulkily. “Some light and entertaining chores. You know, watch my back while I do the heavy lifting, and then join in for the fun part.”
I opened my mouth to speak, to point out that we needed to worry about more than the five or six heavily armed homicidal lunatics who were after us now. Even if we disposed of them, there was a large and ruthless organization behind them. And then I closed my mouth again as I realized that of course Brian knew that, and what that meant he was hinting at. The word hubris popped into my head, and just to show that I remembered even more big words, I tacked on overweening, because if what I suspected about the nature of his plan was true, overweening hubris was a huge understatement. It was grandiose conceited flamboyant stupidity on a colossal scale that exceeded all earthly boundaries, and I was sure it was exactly what Brian was contemplating.
I looked out the windshield in front of us at the milky water of the quarry. The surface shone brightly, even though it was completely dark now, which I thought was quite appropriate.
“Brian,” I said. “You don’t have any intention of trying to get away, do you?”
He showed me a great many of his teeth. They gleamed oddly in the darkness. “Why, no, I don’t,” he said happily. “What would be the point? They’d find me eventually.”
“But that’s insane!” I protested. “You can’t possibly believe that you can take out an entire cartel!”
“Not by myself,” he said sweetly. And he very wisely said no more, and cast no Significant Glances at me.
“Shit,” I said, and I meant it.
“Quite possibly,” Brian said.
“How in hell could you possibly eliminate dozens of armed, crazed drogas?”
Brian smiled modestly. “One at a time,” he said. “Raul is the only really hard one to get to. And as I said, he will show up to be in at the finish.”
“Shit,” I said again, quite aware that I was repeating myself, but unable to think of a better summation.
“I admit it’s challenging,” Brian said. “But with a little help—I mean, you know, the right help…” He sighed and shook his head. “Octavio was very handy in some situations, and he had some skill with a knife—”
“Apparently,” I said.
“But he was basically an accountant. This would have been far beyond him.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s beyond me, too,” I said.
“Oh, no, not at all!” Brian insisted. “It’s absolutely made to order! Aside from the gifts we share, you know about the law and cops and how they react. And you know a great deal more that may be important. As you have just demonstrated with my credit card?”
He leaned toward me and lowered his voice, as if afraid that Octavio might overhear us from his snug nest in the back of the van. “And in addition to all that, dear brother,” he said, with silky suggestiveness, “we could finally do something together. More than one something…”
I looked away. I knew that Brian had always wanted to play, him and me together, working in unison on the one thing we both liked and needed to do above all else. And quite honestly, the idea was not totally unattractive to me, either. It seemed like the closest I could ever hope to come to sharing a human experience with another living creature. That was a little ironic, of course, considering what that experience would be, but even so…
But no, it was madness to think about it. In my present circumstances I couldn’t even leave town. I was watched, maybe even tailed occasionally, and Brian wanted me to join him in a full-blown bloodbath. Worse than that, I was now involved whether I wanted to be or not. So if I wanted to stay alive—and I thought I just might—I had no choice but to go along with Brian. And if I wanted to stay out of jail—and I was quite certain I did—I had to help Brian create and dispose of dead bodies. At very best, this would clearly violate Kraunauer’s instructions to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble. At worst, it didn’t bear thinking about.
“Brian,” I said at last.
“I know,” he said. “As I said, I ask a great deal.” He turned to me, and for the very first time I thought I saw genuine enthusiasm, even warmth on his face. “But think of it, brother!” he said. “What a glorious undertaking! You and me against the world, into the fray side by side, guns blazing and hearts singing!” He smiled modestly. “Or if not actual hearts—”
“Yes, I get the picture,” I said, and somehow I still failed to catch his enthusiasm. In fact, I was rather sour on the whole thing. “But you have to understand the trouble I’m already in, Brian.”
“Well, yes,” he said. “But doesn’t that just add spice?”
“It does not,” I said firmly. “What it adds is lethal uncertainty. I am very likely to be back in jail at some point.”
“But surely Frank Kraunauer—”
“Frank Kraunauer is hardly a sure thing,” I said. “He himself has said not to be too optimistic.”
“I’m sure he’s just being cautious,” he said.
“Caution is an excellent choice,” I said. “I am pursued, hounded, and even chivied by the mangy curs of justice, and you want me to go with you to wade in rivers of blood?”
“I would hope not actually in the blood,” he said with distaste.
“It’s impossible, Brian,” I said. “I can’t possibly risk it.”
“You can’t possibly avoid it,” he said.
I looked at him. He was very serious now, no fake smiles, phony sighs, or second-rate histrionics of any kind.
“Quite seriously, brother,” he said, “they have shown some skill at locating people, and they have your name.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid your choice is rather simple: Go hunting—or be hunted.”
I clenched my teeth and looked out through the windshield. In the full darkness of this night, the water of the old quarry still gleamed. But in the greater Darkness that surrounded Dexter, there was not even a single tiny pinpoint patch of brightness. Brian was quite right. Whatever I might wish, I was in this thing with him, and my only choice was exactly what he said it was: hunt or be hunted.
“Shit,” I said one last time.
Brian nodded with a nearly convincing show of sympathy. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said.
I watched the water of the quarry. It wasn’t doing anything. For that matter, neither was I. I was in a hole every bit as deep as the quarry. Only a few hours ago I had been filled with grim optimism at the prospect of being free at last—free to guarantee my continued freedom by building a case for my innocence along with Anderson’s and Robert’s guilt. I was doing something, and it was something I was good at: finding things with a computer and sniffing out assorted naughtiness. I had finally managed to move the game back to my table, where I knew the rules and the odds, and I had stupidly allowed myself to see just one tiny glimmer of light at the end of the long dark tunnel. And then with a terrible self-satisfied smirk, Life had come breezing in and blown out all the candles again.
If Raul didn’t get me, I’d be back in jail. Death or Durance, it didn’t seem to make much difference. And quite honestly, Death looked a little more likely at the moment. I couldn’t even hide properly—I was forbidden to leave town, which meant my investigation was hamstrung before I started. I couldn’t go to Mexico or L.A. to find evidence against Robert. And Brian just sat there with a stupid smile on his face when he had dropped me into this mess, and he could stroll out of town at will, even flee the country if he wanted to, leaving me behind to twiddle my thumbs and wait for the ax to fall. He could go anywhere, and—
Aha.
“Brian,” I said.
He looked at me with polite inquiry. “Yes?” he said.
“You know I need to work on my own problems,” I said.
He nodded. “You may have mentioned it.”
“If I help you with this,” I said, “will you help me?”
“Of course!” he said. Then he frowned. “Ah—what kind of help, brother?”
“I need some answers I can only get in L.A. Maybe Mexico. But I can’t leave town,” I said. “You can.”
Brian nodded. “A trip to L.A.? A delightful town filled with kindred spirits. I’d be happy to go.” He frowned and hesitantly added, “Um, Mexico might be a little…awkward?”
I sighed. Didn’t someone once say that every stumbling block is really a stepping-stone? Whoever had said it, if I had them here right now, I would crack them on the head with their stepping-stone and put them in the quarry with Octavio.
“We’ll do what we can,” I said.
Brian nodded, cheerful again. “Perhaps even more,” he said.
ELEVEN
Brian had two storm anchors in the back of his van. We wired Octavio to one and his new friend to the other, and muscled them both into the water of the quarry. They sank quickly, leaving not even a ripple to show where they had been, and I tried very hard not to see that as a metaphor for my life at the moment. It didn’t work. All I could see was the sad Detritus of Dexter sinking into the dark abyss, cold and murky water closing over my head, leaving no trace at all of the wonder that had been Me.
All the way back to U.S. 1, Brian kept up a polite stream of inconsequential chatter. I responded with monosyllables, for the most part. There didn’t seem to be a single ray of hope for me anywhere. Either I would be yanked off the streets and flung in a cell again or, if I was really lucky, I would merely be chopped and shredded by Raul’s men. The odds against my coming out the far end of this long dark tunnel were so monumental that I was more likely to grow wings and learn to grant wishes. Once again, saddest of all, I found that all my bitter thoughts led to the same place, the tragically mundane refrain of Why Me? It took away any possibility of finding nobility in my suffering. I was just another poor schlub caught up in something he could not control. Dexter’s Dilemma—and the most pathetic part of it all was that it was identical with what is generally known as the Human Condition. Me: reduced to mere Humanity. It wasn’t even worth one of my high-quality synthetic mocking laughs, not even to rub Brian’s nose in the fact that I did it much better than he did.