ARC: Peacemaker (22 page)

Breathing through my nose, I settled back on my pillows.

Slow and steady. Slow and steady.

He began with the key, explaining that the journal was divided in to essays, and recounts and reflections.

I started with the weekly recounts which covered park business but from a personal perspective: land erosion, battles with the executive, frustration with Bull’s fence-sitting on certain preservation issues. I could hear the strength of their friendship in Dad’s tone, and the depth of his disappointment that his friend would not support him.

Occasionally there was a note devoted entirely to me.

Hearing his worries about me was both humbling and distressing. At first, it focused on my lack of friends and propensity to solitude. But in the twelve months before his last entry, it switched to concerns about my safety. He seemed to be charting where I went and who I saw, flagging Caro as questionable.

I bookmarked the entries about me then went back and listened to each journal recount immediately before them.

Sometimes he used unfamiliar, confusing acronyms but clearly, he suspected the park was being used out of tourist hours. He found evidence of illegals having been at Paloma station, Los Tribos and Waco Spring.

Los Tribos seemed to bother him the most.

The disturbance at the Los Tribos is stronger than at Paloma and Waco. Seems whoever is using the Park has a particular interest there. The site was sacred to the indigenous peoples in years past, but those claims were revoked when Birrimun was created. More political bastardry. I don’t know if it’s possible to hate these people more than I do but for Virgin’s sake, I need to rein it in. She’s had no mother to soften the hard edges of my attitudes and my beliefs...As her guide, I should do better. Be more charitable…

To date, the scans show nothing. No illegals. Our young technician is good at what he does. I have no reason to doubt him. Which means they have found a way to avoid detection…

Then a few weeks before he died, the tone of the recounts changed again. His voice sounded strained. Urgent.

I think the park is being used for people trafficking. It sounds ludicrous when I say it out loud, but it’s the only explanation I have. Whoever is responsible has found a way to avoid the Park security and is bringing people into the country. I’m going to take leave and do a round the clock surveillance on Los Tribos. Maybe put a camera on the place too.

I stopped. Dad! He’d put the recorder at Los Tribos.

I listened to every entry from then until the day he died but he didn’t mention Los Tribos or the camera again, nor did he take leave because Bull denied it.

His monologues became more cryptic as though he worried he was being overheard.

Still there. Every time the crow flies.

And then day before he died.

I’ve run a trace on my essay. It’s been viewed from an address in Baltimore. Who are they? I need to make arrangements for Virgin in case.

I stopped there, sick at heart. Should have listened to these seven years ago. Here was proof that Dad felt threatened. But what would that have given me with no names, just unfounded suspicions and vague references.

I needed time to go through these journals and listen to everything. And his essays. Which one had he referred to? And the mention of Baltimore... it had to be connected in some way to Teng.

Shit! Why hadn’t he shared any of this? Seven years ago I was young, but hardly a child.

Something made me glance at the bedroom door. The handle was turning.

I pulled off the ear clips. “Yes?”

“Virgin?”

“What?”

“It’s after 7. When’s your date?”

I checked the time. “Gimme a few minutes to change.”

“You want food?”

“No.”

“Right.” The door handle released.

I got up, peeled the journal dot off, put it back into its slip case and stuck it in a rusted vent in the air-conditioner. Then I took a quick dunk under the shower until my mind was sufficiently in the present.

Washed and in a black dress, I emerged to find Sixkiller pacing. The inactivity must have been a drag for him because he’d packed the plates and glasses into the dishwasher and wiped down the benches. He’d also plaited his long straight hair, so that it lay on his shoulders in neat swathes.

I raised my eyebrows. “Thanks for cleaning up.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “But why don’t you look more rested?”

“Are you making a personal comment about my appearance, Marshall?”

“No…I just mean...” He shrugged, grunted and stalked out into the corridor to wait for me.

“Where are we going?” he asked when I came out after him.

“The Outfit. A club in the Quarter. I’m meeting Heart there.”

I followed him down to the front of the Cloisters and we caught the bus because the taxi rank was jammed. At least on the bus I didn’t feel compelled to make small talk, and clearly, neither did he.

The mutually agreed silence saw us right into the Quarter and to a bus stop a half a block walk from the Outfit.

We walked the rest of the way and stopped between the Outfit and Dang and Darn
–
an upholstery booth where you could get your boots and belts embroidered while you waited. “Can you wait outside, please?” I asked.

“S’long as you promise not to high-tail it out the back door,” he said.

I held up my right hand. “I’d swear in a dozen different languages, if I knew them.”

“So you and Williams: is it serious?”

I gave him an incredulous look. “You honestly expect me to answer that?”

“Just looking out for you, Virgin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have family you know, a sister and brothers. It’s not outside the realms of possibility for me to feel concern for another human being.”

His reply confused me. “You have a family?”

He actually smiled and it peeled years off his face. I wondered what he was like as a younger man, before all this.

“A whole bunch of them. Youngest brother rides rodeo, oldest is a teacher. My sister’s a bio-medical engineer.”

“Rodeo? Really?”

“Same as me until I joined the service.”

“You rode rodeo professionally?” Well that explained a lot.

“He’s better than me. They’re figuring him to win the NFR this year. Plan to be there to see it too.”

We’ve got our own National Rodeo Championships out here but nothing as grand as the NFR. The pride in his voice made Sixkiller seem far less zealous lawman, and far more a regular guy.

“You’re avoiding my question though about you and the dancer,” he said.

I shook my head at him in disbelief and walked right off into the Outfit without saying goodbye.

The club was half full and decked out with hay bales and pitchforks and gangsta motifs. Just one of the many mash-up themes places in the Quarter affected.

Heart stood over by the bar, talking to an attractive girl in a red shirt tied high to show her midriff. They were laughing together as she hung glasses on racks above her head. Their comfortable, carefree manner made my chest tighten. I was getting too used to having Heart around, and seeing him flirting stung.

I nearly turned right around and got out of there but he spotted me.

“Virgin!” His face lit up, salving my bruised emotions a little.

He beckoned me over and watched in an openly lewd manner as I made my way through the tables and chairs.

“Hey, you made it,” he said.

I pulled a face. “Left my chaperon at the door though. He’ll be collecting me later on. Unless of course, I have an escort home.”

“In that dress, anything could happen.” He leaned forward and kissed me in front of his female friend then pulled me down onto the stool next to him. “Freya, this is Virgin… my partner.”

“Welcome to the Outfit, Virgin. I’ll spare you the
yeehaw
. You look like you’ve been around the traps.”

I managed a stiff smile at her double-edged greeting. “I’m not new to the Quarter, no. Though this place is a little… young for me these days.”

“We’ve all been dying to see who’s been keeping Heart from us. You gotta know your boyfriend breaks hearts up and down the city coast.”

I opened my mouth to say he wasn’t my boyfriend then shut it again. Let it her think that if she wished.

Heart read my mind and seemed amused.

And that made me want to kick him.

“What’ll you have to drink, honey? On the house,” said Freya.

“Rum,” I said, feeling it all of a sudden. “A double with a shot of ginger ale.”

“Lady likes it sweet,” said Freya, lifting an eyebrow.

“Virgin?”Heart frowned.

I took the glass and knocked it down, not in the mood for another lecture on looking after myself. Reading Dad’s journal today had been a jolt in many ways, especially the fact that he worried about my ability to socialize. Was I really such a misfit?

“I’ll have another with a lager chaser please,” I said.

Freya lifted an eyebrow and obliged. Then she moved off down the bar leaving Heart and I alone.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“I’ve been reading my dad’s journals. Seems amongst other things that he thought his daughter was socially challenged. Hard to hear something like that from the grave,” I blurted out.

He took my beer and had a few sips. “That’s tough. ’Course I’ve always found you pretty darn cool.”

I polished off the second rum and took the beer back from him. “Sorry. Moment of self-indulgence has passed. But I’m really not much in the mood for this place. Maybe we can try and have a regular date some other time.”

I expected him to wave me off but he surprised me with, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Really,” I said. “You sure?”

In answer, he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the door.

I stepped onto the street while he stopped at the coat checker to leave a message or apology or whatever, to the others.

It was busy out here. Lots of hats and boots and shouts of laughter. Most of the people walking by looked like they didn’t have a care in the world.

I wanted that same feeling so badly. Two double rums and half a schooner of beer had loosened all the tight places in my body and I decided to suggest to Heart that we go somewhere with music. But what would we do with the Marshall? That thought made me chuckle and I looked around for my chaperon.

“Ranger! Here, Ranger!”

It wasn’t Sixkiller’s voice coming from the very narrow gap between the Outfit and Dang and Darn. Because I wasn’t wearing my gun, I moved towards the edge of the building warily. I was safe enough out here in public, I told myself. Heart was only a shout away. And the Marshall…

“Who is it?” I called.

A face appeared from the gloom. Chains ran from his from lip to his ear and cheek and forehead.
Kadee Matari’s man?

“
What do you want?” I said, sounding as shrill and shocked as I felt.

“We speak. Alone.”

I glanced back at the door, willing Heart to open it and end this moment.

He flashed a knife at me. “Ranger, you must.”

“You can’t kill me in public.”

“Don’t wish to kill you. Need your help.”

I couldn’t help but step closer at that. “What do you mean?”

“Here, please.” He vanished back into the narrow gap that was only as wide as my shoulders.

Maybe my judgment was clouded by the rum but I followed him to the edge and peered in. The poor excuse for an alley stank of cat piss and I couldn’t see in any further than a few feet. Face-chain guy was pressed against the wall, his face hidden in shadow.

“The Korax have taken Kadee Matari.”

“What? When?”

“Today during siesta. She said if that were to happen, you must get her back.”

“M-me?” I spluttered in astonishment. “Even if I knew where she was, why would I do that?”

“Because they also have the American Marshall.”

I took a step into the alley, so that I was up close to his face. “Not possible. He’s right here.”

Face chain guy slid slowly down the wall, reached into the dark and then stood up again. He had a Stetson in his hand.

I took it and turned to the light. It was Sixkiller’s.

“They took him from the pavement when you left him. Perhaps they planned to take you as well but luck was on your side.”

“How do you know? What were you doing here?”

“Following you, waiting for a chance to speak. You’re our best hope.”

“Why? I know as much about these people as you do. Maybe less. I have no idea where to find them, where to start.”

“Until you came to visit we had no trouble. Now the Korax seek to claim our place.”

“They’ve made a move on you? I thought you were working
with
them.”