by Ellery Kane
CHAPTER FORTY - SEVEN :
FRUIT LOOP
By the next morning, there it was.
“Marin County police confirmed there was a gang-related shooting yesterday afternoon at the home of the late Dr. Victoria Knightley, well known as the researcher who created, then rallied against, Emovere. Early reports suggest at least two fatalities.”
Two? I sat up, waiting for more. Which two? There was still no word on Scooter since Edison’s last text to Elana, a few hours before the curfew last night: He’s in surgery. My dad is here taking charge as usual. He didn’t seem too upset with me, but he’s probably saving it for later.
Only Barbara Blake and I were awake. Even Artos had fallen into a fitful slumber. His head rested on Elana’s lap, his paws twitching in a dream or nightmare. Sleep seemed impossible with my hand throbbing and my thoughts scattered everywhere. Usually organized like books in a library, the stacks had tumbled down, burying me under an avalanche of confusion. Elana had driven us back to San Francisco—me, secreted under the tarp and contemplating a new reality. Jamison Ryker had been in love with my mother.
“The identities of the victims are being withheld at this time pending further investigation. Because the shooting is believed to be Onyx-related, the military has responded with increased searches and EAM testing at the mandatory checkpoints tonight. Authorities have been tight-lipped with the media, but an SFTV source tells us that Dr. Knightley’s ex-husband, William Knightley, was recently arrested for resisting orders. Additional charges may be imminent after illicit substances were discovered in the Knightley compound.”
“Compound?” I muttered under my breath. Artos’ ears pricked, but his eyes never opened. As usual, SFTV’s reporting was far from neutral. They didn’t even mention Langley’s first-person account—already gone viral—accusing the military of false arrest.
“The Knightleys’ daughter, Alexandra, has also been in the news, identified as a person of interest in Peter Radley’s death. In an exclusive statement obtained by SFTV, she described her mother as “regretful and disgusted” by Zenigenic.”
That didn’t take long.
“But our sources suggest Radley may have obtained Emovere from the youngest member of the Knightley family just prior to his fatal jump.”
“Sounds like you and your father had quite the change of heart about EAMs.” Augustus. Of course, Augustus was awake.
I rolled my eyes at him. “You’re one to talk. Leader of the Resistance? Drug czar? Drug dealer? Which one is it exactly?”
Augustus chuckled. Next to him, Barry sputtered awake. “Ms. Knightley, no one role defines me.”
“How about lunatic?” Barry suggested with a straight face. “Madman? Nut job? Fruit loop?”
I guffawed. Instantly, Elana was awake.
Augustus shook his head at Barry. “I assure you I am perfectly sane.” He directed his eyes back to me. “I simply don’t chain myself to one person, one cause. I evolve and adapt. Your mother, she was the same way.”
“You don’t know anything about her,” I began. “She was nothing like—” I stopped myself when I realized Augustus was right. My mother was the queen of reinvention.
“In related news, large crowds are expected at Zenigenic’s headquarters later today for the unveiling of Docil-E. In an email to SFTV, Xander Steele confirmed there will be increased security in light of the shooting at the Knightley home and the escalated incidents of EAM-related violence throughout the Bay in recent months. In fact, Steele cited Dr. Knightley in his comments, writing, “I believe Victoria Knightley would be proud of what we’ve done with Docil-E. We hope this launch will restore the public’s belief in Zenigenic as a pharmaceutical company that cares.” Of course, SFTV will be there live this evening with exclusive coverage of the event.”
Sneering, Augustus tossed a pillow at the television, where Xander’s powder-white face loomed large. “If you’re looking for a fruit loop, look no further. Mr. Steele would gladly sell his soul for favorable profit margins and a nod of approval from his mommy.”
“You’re just mad because he cut you out of the deal,” Elana fired at him. Augustus’ silence seemed like tacit agreement. But no matter how many times, how many ways I’d asked him, he still wouldn’t admit his not-so-secret ambition to sell Onyx on the streets.
A key turned in the lock, and our heads swiveled simultaneously. Ears pricked, Artos pranced to the door, waiting.
“They’re awake,” Mr. Van Sant said as Edison and Max filed in behind him. They all looked beleaguered, Max especially so. His spiky hair was flattened. Half-moons of darkness shadowed his eyes. Even so, he managed a slight smile when Artos licked his hand.
“How’s Scooter?” Barry asked.
Frowning, Mr. Van Sant put a hand to his shoulder. “Guarded condition. Hopefully, we’ll know more soon.” He whispered something else to Barry, shifting his gaze to Augustus.
“Let’s go, Mr. Porter.” Barry tugged on Augustus’ arm, leading him back to the kitchen.
“Oh goody. More quality time with my favorite buffoon.”
“Just walk.”
Edison scooted in next to Elana, resting his head against her shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asked, gently palming his cheek. “You look tired.”
“Exhausted. But we’ve got bigger problems.”
“A lot bigger,” Max added.
Mr. Van Sant collapsed into the armchair, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he took a breath and withdrew his laptop from his briefcase. “They’re charging your father with maintaining a drug house and holding him without bail. Emma and Carrie are also being detained.”
“Can they do that?” I asked. “Docil-E is not even a banned substance … yet.”
Turning the laptop’s screen toward me, Mr. Van Sant shook his head in frustration. “According to the military, these are the substances that were found in your mother’s lab.” I scanned the list. 25 units of Emovere. 5 units of Agitor. I felt my face warming in outrage. 50 tablets of Euphoractamine. My mouth opened, and I gasped. 100 units of Onyx. No Docile-E.
“This is ridiculous.”
“I know. I know. But right now, it’s their word against his—”
“Which basically means it’s their word.” Edison finished his father’s sentence.
“There’s something else,” Max said, looking at me apologetically. “Quin was at the hospital.” I went from indignation to all-out panic in one second flat.
Elana covered her face with her hands, muting her voice when she spoke. “Is he okay?”
“Geez, Red.” Edison rolled his eyes and chuckled. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special. McAllister is fine, but … ”
“You should have started with that,” she scolded. “And really? You’re going to pick right now to be jealous?” Edison’s cheeks reddened, and he raised his hands in surrender.
“Why was Quin there?” I asked.
Max shrugged. “We didn’t really have time to discuss it. He pulled me into one of the empty hospital rooms when I was in the hallway checking my phone. It seemed like he knew about Scooter. He asked me if we found the note.” Max gestured toward me. “I told him you found it.”
“Did he say any more about what it means?” Elana wondered.
“That’s the bigger problem,” Edison warned. “He told Max that Xander is planning something. Something catastrophic. Something like Chicago. And it involves the military. He stole a key card to Xander’s office, but Valkov hasn’t let him out of his sight—even with a broken arm.”
“That’s not exactly what he said,” Max corrected, his frown deepening. “He said Guardian Force. It involves the Guardian Force.”
Mr. Van Sant was tense, pacing like a lion in a cage. “Augustus … ” He paused, tasting the bitterness of his words before he spit them out. “We need your help. Again.”
Augustus grinned broadly, amused. “I’m listening.” Ever since Barry had shuffled him back into the living room at Mr. Van Sant’s req
uest, he couldn’t contain his self-satisfied smirk.
Mr. Van Sant gestured toward me. “Alexandra, show him what you found.” I reminded myself of what we had discussed. We were running out of time. I hesitated. “Go ahead.”
I retrieved the book from my jacket and opened it to the dog-eared page. Somehow it seemed wrong—sacrilegious, even—to let Augustus touch it, so I walked to him and leaned over his shoulder, showing him myself.
“Hmm … interesting … yes … ” There was something about Augustus’ sounds of contemplation that made me suspicious. I knew I was being paranoid, but I started to wonder if he’d slithered away, rifled through my pockets, and already read the note, while everyone was sleeping. “Another Chicago,” he read aloud. “Sounds tragic.”
“What do you know about it?” Mr. Van Sant demanded.
Augustus stroked his chin where his stubble was growing thick and gray. “That depends.”
“On?”
“What you’re willing to pay for it.”
Chest puffed, Mr. Van Sant strode toward Augustus. He stood over him, his jaw tightening. “I thought we already reached an agreement about the benefits of your cooperation.”
“Cooperation is a strong word. As I remember it, I agreed to provide information to assist you in solving a cipher code, the accuracy of which appears to have just been confirmed. Now this … ” He waved his hand toward me. “This is a separate transaction. And I do believe, a much more valuable proposition.”
Mr. Van Sant’s face reddened—and I braced myself for another primal yell. “Are you trying to extort me?” His voice reached a crescendo one octave away from explosion.
“You sound surprised.”
Brooding, Mr. Van Sant stalked from the living room into the foyer. He selected one of the porcelain vases from the table in the entryway and headed out the front door. My own trepidation was reflected in Elana’s watchful expression. Edison only shook his head. A few seconds later, came the crash, the exclamation point, the sound of something expensive and breakable meeting with an untimely end.
Augustus raised his eyebrows at me. “And you think I’ve got problems.”
“Nobody asked you,” Barry said, moving a step closer to Augustus.
Without explanation, Mr. Van Sant returned, calmly shutting the door behind him. Aside from the tiny porcelain splinters that sprinkled his loafers, there were no other visible remnants of his tantrum—though I suspected he was molten lava beneath his hard exterior. “So how much is this transaction going to cost me?” he asked.
“Well, you’ve already guaranteed my freedom, but even a free bird needs a little spending money.”
Mr. Van Sant walked toward Augustus until he was standing over him. “Name your price.”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“Ha!” He laughed, but there was no joy there, only disdain. “No deal.”
Augustus shrugged. “Okay. How much is it worth to you?” In the silence that followed his question, there was a noticeable shift, the rearranging of power in Augustus’ favor. He was about to pluck something slimy from his dark belly of secrets. “Is it worth say … 500,000 dollars and your reputation?”
I swallowed a lump in my throat and backed away, taking a seat on the other side of Elana. I didn’t want to stand in between the two of them any longer. It was feeling more and more like a war zone better left to Barry to manage.
“My dad’s reputation is none of your business.” Edison started to get up from the sofa, but Elana pulled him back.
“Funny you should say that,” Augustus replied, shrugging off Barry’s hand from his shoulder. “Since you’re the very reason his reputation is in jeopardy.”
“What are you talking about?” Mr. Van Sant demanded. Rage was seething under his skin, forcing tiny beads of sweat onto his forehead.
“I’m talking about Connor. Connor Rosenthal. Unfortunate, ill-fated, dead Connor.” Next to me, I felt Elana stiffen, her breath stopped. I looked at Edison. His face was white, his hands clenched in his lap. He seemed incapable of speech. Reveling in their shock, Augustus didn’t hesitate. “The Connor Rosenthal who had the very bad luck of getting into a car with a drunk. Your son.”
“You keep your mouth shut about my son.” It was inevitable, from the moment Augustus and I rang the bell. Destined or not, watching Mr. Van Sant pummel Augustus’ face was jarring.
The first punch was a wild right to the jaw. Mr. Van Sant clutched his hand afterward, grimacing. “Probation,” Augustus muttered through clenched teeth. “He got probation.”
The second punch, an upper cut, left Augustus looking dazed, but he didn’t hit back. Barry would’ve stopped him, and Augustus was on a roll, landing his own brutal blows. “You paid off the judge, didn’t you, Nicholas?”
“You can’t prove anything.” At his father’s words, Edison fled, heading toward hid room with Elana on his heels. Artos trotted after them, stopping at the base of the stairs. He cocked his head at me, his face as sad and confused as my own.
Wiping blood from his nose, Augustus was nearly giddy. “Are you sure about that? It’s funny the things you learn as drug czar.”
A hook, ugly and unrestrained. That was the last punch, the one that silenced him.
CHAPTER FORTY - EIGHT :
DEAL
Barry tapped Augustus’ cheeks, rousing him. “Mmmm,” he groaned, then drifted away again. His face was already swelling. A spray of his blood dotted the chair’s leather arm.
“What just happened?” Max asked, disbelieving.
Mr. Van Sant emerged from the kitchen, his hand in a bucket of ice. “I’m sorry you both had to see that. It’s been a long time since I felt compelled to resort to physical violence.”
“We’ve seen worse,” I assured him, exchanging a dumbfounded look with Max. “Should we check on Edison?”
“I’m fine.” Head hanging, Edison shuffled down the stairs, a teary-eyed Elana at his side. “Dad, what did you do?” Neither looked at the other. In the profound silence, I realized Edison wasn’t referring to Augustus’ damaged face.
“You were looking at serious jail time, Eddie. What choice did I have?”
“But you disowned me.” Edison approached his father, still avoiding his eyes. “Why would you risk your career for me?”
Mr. Van Sant removed his bruised hand from the ice and took Edison by his shoulders. As we waited for his father to speak, a wet palm print formed on Edison’s shirt. Finally, with the answer to his question still unspoken, Edison stepped toward his father, giving him an awkward side hug.
Augustus cleared his throat, his eyes half open. He sat up and maneuvered his purpling jaw back and forth. It cracked a little. “What a touching moment.”
Barry pointed his gun at Augustus’ chest, pinning him to the chair. “Just say the word, Boss.”
Mr. Van Sant shook his head. “It’s okay. Let him be.”
“No, really, I’m touched.” Augustus began again, his voice superficially earnest. He offered his most innocent expression, even as I glared at him. “Father and son. Loyal to the end. It’s a beautiful moment.”
“What would you know about loyalty?” Max asked bitterly. “The only person you’ve never betrayed is yourself.”
“How right you are, Mr. Powers!” He gestured toward Artos, sitting watchfully on the sofa. “Loyalty is a trait admired in dogs, and I’m more of a cat, I suppose.”
“Which is it?” I asked, shaking my head at him. “Bird or cat?”
Augustus didn’t answer. Instead he addressed Mr. Van Sant. “I’m prepared to revise my offer.”
Mr. Van Sant sighed wearily. I understood his exhaustion. Augustus’ games were draining, life-sucking. “Tell me.”
“Two million dollars. Final offer.”
I scoffed. “How is that a negotiation?”
“Please, Ms. Knightley. I haven’t finished detailing my proposal.”
I exhaled, feeling as worn-out as Mr. Van Sant. “By all means.”
“Five hundred thousand to tell you what I know about Xander’s plan. The other 1.5 mil to give you exactly what—or should I say who—you need to exonerate George McAllister.” Augustus paused, letting his words drop and detonate like bombs. “I’ll throw in my silence on the felony bribery … ” Gingerly, he touched his wounded face. “ … and first degree assault for free.”
Mr. Van Sant didn’t ask our advice. He didn’t even pause to take a breath before he shook hands with the devil. “Deal.”
My eyes were watching Augustus. He was sitting proud, like a king on a throne, issuing his half-truths as proclamations. But my mind was back in time, at Resistance headquarters almost two years ago—the first time I saw him. The Augustus Porter. I remembered the way the crowd parted for him, how he moved through them, among them with ease. Now I understood. Without obligations, commitments, worries, loyalties, loves, he wasn’t tethered like the rest of us. He’d always had the charisma of someone completely unburdened. He was right about one thing. Free bird.
“So you’re saying Xander is planning a bombing.” Mr. Van Sant typed furiously on his laptop, trying to follow Augustus’ breadcrumb trail. “In order to increase sales of Emovere and Eupho on the black market.”
Augustus nodded. “That was his plan from the beginning. When I was appointed drug czar, Mr. Steele contacted me. He knew about my history with Jamison Ryker and used it against me. I reluctantly agreed to a partnership. What choice did I have? Steele supplied me with the drugs—Eupho, Agitor, Emovere—that Zenigenic manufactured in a few underground facilities, like the one in the Paramount. As drug czar, I was conveniently immune from suspicion, so I hired dealers like Sebastian to sell them on the streets, even resold the EAMs we confiscated. But compared to Steele’s take, I survived on a pauper’s wage. He always talked about how a disastrous event, something like Chicago, would be just what he needed to boost sales. I was against it, of course. I thought it was unnecessarily ruthless.”
“What about Onyx?” I asked, wondering if Augustus would finally confess.