“Okay.” Narice added the remembrances of the tumbling car and the resulting fire to the memories of the dead man on Uncle Willie’s floor. She wondered how many others would be hurt or killed before this was over.
It was now three A.M., and raining. Lily’s wipers kept the glass clear in rhythmic time. They were riding around Dayton’s inner city. Faded billboards touting cigarettes and cognac stood on tall poles above store-fronts and empty lots. There were very few people out. The ones she did see were hurrying to cars to get out of the rain. Two female streetwalkers were the exception. Wearing Daisy Dukes, spike heels and filmy transparent blouses, the sisters looked wet and miserable. “Where’s your friend live?”
“About fifteen miles south of here.”
“In the city of Dayton?”
“No, suburbs.”
“Then why are we cruising the neighborhood?”
“Just making sure we aren’t being tailed again. My friend won’t appreciate us showing up with cockroaches on our shoes.”
“In other words, we’re taking the Drunkard’s Path.”
Saint grinned and wondered if she knew being witty was also high on a cheetah’s list of preferred attributes in a mate. “Exactly.” He also wondered if now might be the time to discuss the car crash. “There was nothing we could do about that car back there.”
Her voice was resigned. “I know, and I keep telling myself those people will hurt me if they get the chance, but, seeing a crash like that isn’t something you can just up and forget.”
“I understand, but the folks after us will hurt you, Narice. Don’t ever lose sight of that, okay?”
She met his eyes.
“It’s real important.”
“I haven’t forgotten what they did to my father.” And she wouldn’t.
He drove them around for another thirty minutes. When he was finally convinced there was no one behind them, he left the inner city and headed west.
They rode through suburbia with its condos and wide four-lane streets lined with car dealerships, restaurants, and strip malls. They drove past drugstores, electronic stores, and mile-wide discount outlets. Narice waited for him to turn in somewhere, but he kept driving. In fact, he drove until the streetlights vanished and the road they were traveling became dirt and rutted with holes large enough to make Lily rock back and forth like a toddler taking its first steps. Out of her window Narice could see nothing but black. “Where are we?”
“Farm land.”
“Your friend lives on a farm?”
“Owns the farm to be exact.”
Because Saint impressed Narice as being overwhelmingly urban, it never occurred to her that he might have friends who farmed; she certainly didn’t.
She sat silent when he turned onto a narrow dirt road and drove on another few miles. He lowered his speed to a crawl, then made another turn onto another dark, narrow road. Eventually the headlights illuminated a house that appeared to be a good-sized two-floor place. The structure was a weathered gray and had a wide old-fashioned sitting porch on the front.
Saint blew the horn. Twice. A light mounted on the roof of a big barn right in front of them came on and the beam lit the surroundings like day for night. A few moments passed, then the barn’s corrugated metal door began to rise, and as it did, he drove in.
Once they were inside, Narice could see that the barn was filled with tools of all kinds: shovels, hoes, rakes, wheelbarrows. There were handtools like saws, hammers, and screwdrivers hanging from a board on the wall nearest her side of the Caddy. Narice tried to pick out more of the interior’s details, but her attention was grabbed first by the barn door slowly closing behind them, and then by the wall they were sitting in front of. It began to rise, not horizontally as the barn door had done, but separating vertically into two. She stared curiously at the halves now sliding farther and farther apart, and at the lighted corridor she could see ahead. “Where the heck are we?” Being around him was like traveling with a human amusement park.
“Underground.”
She stared at the shiny metallic walls lining the passageway; walls that certainly weren’t put in by any farmers. The place resembled more the entrance to a secret installation or bunker. Lord, where is this man taking me now?
A woman with Hispanic features, maybe in her fifties, waist-length black hair with silver streaks stood at the end of the passage. She had on a long multicolored robe and was leaning on a cane, but what really drew Narice’s attention were the two huge black-and-brown Rottweilers seated statue-like on either side of her legs. Their heads were big as ponies, and they looked powerful enough to take down a grown man. Oddly enough, both canines were wearing heavy vests around their massive bodies. The garments reminded Narice of bulletproof vests, but who would put that on dogs?…Curiouser and curiouser, Alice said to herself.
Saint smiled at the welcoming committee and was glad to see Portia up and around. She still had her cane, but she’d assured him when he talked to her last week that she was healthy and on the mend. Jesse and James looked healthy, too.
He sensed Narice’s curiosity, but right now he cut the engine, then leaned his weary head back on his seat and let the adrenaline slide from his soul. It’s good to be home, he noted genuinely. For a few long moments he savored the relief of arriving here in one piece, then turned his head Narice’s way. “Stay here for a moment. Have to prepare the dogs.”
Narice didn’t know what he was talking about, but complied and remained in the van when he stepped out. She watched the woman on the cane give him a strong hug that, yes, made Narice wonder about the woman’s identity and her role in his life. Not that it was any of her business; but still…Reminding herself that she had no ties to Saint, she waited to see what would happen next. He clapped his hands and the dogs charged. Startled for a moment by the sight of the dogs eating up the short distance, then knocking him down, Narice relaxed when she realized he and the dogs were playing. He wrestled them and rolled on the ground while they played, barked happily, and repeatedly licked him in the face. It was obvious the man and dogs were friends. He finally stood, gave them both a scratch behind the collars, then signaled them to follow him over to Narice’s side of the car. He opened the door and said to Narice. “I want you to step out kinda slowly, then ball up your fingers and let the dogs smell the back of your hand. Okay?”
Narice eyed the dogs. “Okay.”
“Are you scared of dogs?”
“Not usually. No.”
“Good. Come on out, slow though.”
Narice did as she was told. She exited, then held out her hand for the dogs to sniff. They approached her individually. Saint introduced her to the first one. “This is Jesse.”
Narice extended her curled up hand. Jesse sniffed the skin, looked up into her face as if memorizing it, then sat beside Saint.
“And this is James.”
Narice stood silent for the second encounter. James checked her out much the same way Jesse had, then went to sit down on the other side of Saint.
“And I am Portia. Welcome to our home,” the woman said with a Spanish-inflected voice.
Narice looked to the beautiful woman whose long thick hair almost hid her face. “Thank you. I’m Narice.”
Portia gestured towards a metal staircase. “Come. Would you like something to drink or eat?”
Narice asked for the facilities instead and Portia said, “Of course. Right this way.”
When Portia turned her head, hair fell back to reveal the left side of her face and an ugly red scar that ran from just below her eye to her chin. The wide scar marred the otherwise unblemished beauty of a woman in middle age. Narice dropped her eyes so she wouldn’t embarrass herself or Portia by staring. When Narice looked up again, she found Saint watching her from behind his shades.
Metal stairs framed by wooden walls led up from the underground room, so after Saint retrieved the quilt and Narice’s suitcase, humans and dogs began the climb. Narice looked back to see the lights goin
g out behind them. It soon became so pitch black, the Cadillac appeared to have disappeared.
At the top of the steps was a wall of wood. Portia pushed on a panel and the wood slowly swung inward. She led Narice and the rest of the small party through the opening and into a dimly lit pantry. A surprised Narice watched the wood swing close again and realized it was the pantry’s back wall. A few steps later, past shelves of canned goods and other food stuffs, they stepped out into a large shadowy kitchen lit only by the light on the stove.
Portia said kindly, “This way, Narice.”
Narice was shown to a restroom near the kitchen. When she returned, the kitchen was lit up and an apron-wearing Saint was at the stove cracking eggs into a bowl. Portia was seated in a chair at the table. The dogs were lying on the floor at her feet.
Saint said to Narice, “I’m making omelets. Want one?”
“No. Thank you, though.”
Narice took a seat at the table and wondered if he had lied to her about having a wife. Rather than make herself crazy, she let the subject go and concentrated on what he was doing. He was going in and out of the fridge and pantry gathering items for cooking as if he lived here. The proverbial lightbulb went on above her head. She asked without ceremony. “Is this your home?”
She thought she saw a smile flash across his outlaw’s face for just a second, but she decided it had to have been her imagination.
He glanced over at Portia, who appeared impressed that it hadn’t taken Narice long to figure out the situation. “How’d you guess?”
“You look like you’re real comfortable cooking over there. You know where all the pots and pans are, and where the food is stored. Then, there’s the dogs.”
“What about the dogs?”
“They were so happy to see you.”
He looked over at the dogs. “You guys hear that? You blew my cover.”
Jesse barked. James didn’t move.
Portia reached down and patted Jesse’s head. “This lady’s real smart, isn’t she Jess?”
Jesse barked again.
Portia laughed. “You’re right, much smarter than that model he had with him last summer.”
Saint cracked, “Both of you need to see a pet shrink.”
Portia met Narice’s eyes and winked.
A short while later, Saint sat down at the table to eat his omelet and toast. While eating, he checked out Narice and wondered what it might be like to have her at his table all the time. Granted it was fantasy; Narice was far too fancy for a man raised in foster care, but fantasy was all he had. He wanted her and he wanted her bad. He glanced over at Portia. “So what’s been going on?”
“I should be asking you. All the chatter says you’ve upset quite a few people over the last few days.”
He shrugged. “So what else is new?”
Narice studied them. Was Portia privy to his secrets, and what had she meant by chatter?
Saint bit into toast. “I ran into our old friend, Gus Green.”
Portia’s eyes flashed distaste. “That bastard. Did you slit his throat?”
“No, we were in a bookstore. Narice didn’t want blood all over—” He looked at Narice, “Who were those people again?”
Narice chuckled softly, “Clifford the Big Red Dog and Dora the Explorer.”
Saint waved his fork. “Yeah, them.”
Portia dropped her head in what appeared to be amusement at Saint’s ignorance of children’s books and programs. “You were right, Narice. My granddaughters love them.” She then cocked her head and asked, “Do you have children?”
“Yes, about two-fifty.”
Portia’s eyes widened.
Narice laughed. “I run a school.”
“A teacher?” she said with surprise. She then bent and said to Jesse, “Did you hear that, Jess? She’s a teacher.”
Jesse barked, twice.
Portia replied to the dog. “You are so right. It is about time he brought home someone with an IQ higher than James over there.”
Narice laughed.
Saint rolled his eyes and went back to his food.
Ten
Once Saint was done eating, he turned to Portia. “Now, tell me about this chatter.”
In response she gave him a questioning look, but Saint nodded for her to continue. He knew Portia was concerned about Narice being privy to their conversation, but he wanted her included. Narice was smart and a member of the team. Keeping her in the dark would be disrespectful to her and to her intelligence.
Portia silently deferred to his judgment, then spoke: “I heard your old friend Gus Green cursing over the wire earlier, so I sat down and listened.”
“What was he cussing about?”
“You,” she said with a smile. “Come. I recorded it. You can hear it for yourself.”
They rose and Portia and the dogs led them down a hall that led to a large metal door. Portia then reached into the pocket of her flowing robe and pulled out a small gray device. Holding it like a remote, she pointed it at the door. In response the door slowly swung wide, showing that it was as thick as the door on a bank vault.
The first thing Narice noticed when she stepped inside the room was the coolness of the air. The second was the jaw-dropping display of electronic equipment. It was as if she’d stumbled into a wizard’s workshop. There were computers and scanners, printers and monitors. There were large audio speakers against one wall and components with dials and screens that glowed with green light. The equipment filled tables, sat on shelves and on boxes. All of it seemed to be pulsing with life, but Narice had no idea what most of it was used for.
Saint gestured her to a seat.
Narice sat down and stared around like a tourist in the command center at Kennedy Space Center. “This is very impressive, Cyclops. Very impressive.”
His response was pitched low. “Glad you like it.”
His voice was as vivid as his shaded eyes, and Narice’s heart tripped over itself. Needing some calm, she turned her attention to Portia only to see a very knowing smile on the woman’s scarred face. Portia didn’t say anything, however, instead she took a seat at one of the tables and hit a button on one of the units. Electronic static came over the speakers and filled the room, followed by what sounded like people arguing. A second later, a man could be heard clearly shouting, “How the hell am I supposed to know how he did it? Just find his ass! No! Leave the damn fence there! The techies will pick it up later. There they are! Get the car!”
The sounds of footsteps and car doors slamming followed that.
Portia pushed another button. “Now listen to this. It’s a phone call Gus placed about an hour ago.”
Green was saying, “No, sir. He managed to elude us.”
An electronically altered male voice spoke next and said, “Explain to me how he got away again.” In spite of the distortion, the speaker’s impatient tone was very clear.
“The tech people say it’s some kind of spray. It melts fences.”
“Melts fences?” the other man demanded skeptically, disbelievingly.
“Yes, sir.” Gus’s voice was small. His guilty voice reminded Narice of the children sent to her office for discipline.
The echoing voice then asked Gus. “Do you know where they are now?”
“No.”
“Then dammit, find them! Kill St. Martin if you have to, but bring me that woman.”
“Easier said than done, sir. St. Martin’s no chump.”
“I don’t care if he’s Batman. Get him out of the picture and bring me the Jordan woman, or I’ll get somebody to do it for you.”
Narice felt fear run down her spine. Who did the voice belong to? Was there yet another player at the table of this deadly game?
Portia turned it off and looked up at Saint. “So, now you know what the chatter was about.”
Narice was almost afraid to ask. “Who was the man speaking with Green?”
Portia shrugged and admitted. “I don’t know. I should have his iden
tity in another few hours.”
Narice wanted to ask how, but decided she didn’t want to know.
Saint asked Portia, “Have you heard anything from The Majesty?”
“Yes, she called in by pic phone this morning. Look over at that monitor there.”
Portia rolled her chair over to a keyboard and began to type. A few moments of silence followed, then The Majesty appeared on the screen. She was veiled and robed in her signature purple and black. “St. Martin,” she said from the monitor. “I hope you and the Keeper’s daughter are well. The cockroaches have been so bold as to try and poison me, but did not succeed.”
Narice was shocked by the news, but glad to hear The Majesty had survived the attempt on her life.
“Keep me abreast of your progress. May the Eye keep you safe.”
Then she was gone.
Saint said, “That’s it?”
Portia nodded. “Yep.”
He then said, “Do we know who Gus is working for?”
“So far, no. And no one wants to claim him. My preliminary contacts think this is a rogue operation.”
Narice looked to Saint for an explanation.
He said, “It means, Gus and his buddies were sicced on us by someone without proper authorization.”
Portia added, “Somebody that probably doesn’t want to be found, but we’ll find him. I’m really hoping it’s someone tied to Ridley.” Then she added venomously, “I knew he wasn’t dead. I would have felt it if such evilness had left the earth.”