Bad Monkeys (18 page)

TRUE WAS WAITING FOR US AT A
roadside diner just outside the Vegas city limits. A waitress with a name tag that read
HI THERE! I’M JANE!
took us to his booth, then hovered while Wise decided between the blueberry and the chocolate-chip pancakes. I spun my wheels, impatient to ask the question that had been gnawing at me for the past three days; but when the waitress finally left us alone, True beat me to the punch.

“It’s time we had a talk about your brother,” he said.

“Fine. Let’s talk. Let’s start with the fact that you know about him. You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

“Of course.”

“And you never thought to mention it? Like when you were recruiting me, maybe? ‘By the way, one of the reasons we think you’ll be really good at hunting down scumbags is because one of them took your brother.’”

“That
is
one of the reasons we thought you’d be good at it, as a matter of fact.”

“Then why not say anything?”

“If I’d told you we knew about your brother’s kidnapping, you’d have wanted to hear what else we knew. Then I would have had to lie, which I don’t like to do, or put you off, which would have made us all unhappy.
You’re a difficult enough person to deal with when your wishes are being granted.”

“Why would you have to lie to me?”

“To preserve operational security.”

“You mean this operation? It’s got something to do with Phil?”

“Yes.”

“Then Phil is…He’s alive? He’s OK?”

“He’s alive.”

I must have blanked out for a minute, because suddenly Jane the waitress was back with our breakfasts. When she started talking to Wise about syrup flavors, I gave her the eyes of death and said: “Fuck off. Now.” She did, and I turned back to True: “Tell me everything.”

True prodded one of the eggs on his plate with a fork, dimpling the yolk.
“Omnes mundum facimus,”
he said. “We all make the world…And we, the organization, try to make it better. Have you asked yourself yet whether there might be
another
organization, devoted to the opposite goal?”

“What, a bunch of people trying to make the world worse? No. It wouldn’t make sense.”

The yolk broke and started bleeding over True’s plate. “Why not?”

“What would they get out of it? I mean, OK, it can be fun to cause trouble, and there are people who get off on destruction in a big way, but you can’t build an organization around that. When bad people work as a team, it’s for something like money, or power.”

“You’re saying that evil is a means to an end, never an end in itself. But what if evil was more than just a label for antisocial behavior? What if evil was a real force working in the world, capable of drawing people to its service?”

“I already told you, I don’t believe in God.” Then, anxious to get to the point, I said: “But what do I know, right? You’re saying this anti-organization exists?”

“It exists,” True said. “We believe it has
always
existed, in one form or another. In its most recent incarnation, it styles itself the Troop.”

“The Troop? Like a monkey troop?” I started to laugh, but then I remembered: “Arlo Dexter’s notebook.”

“Yes. Until we recovered the briefcase, we couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a coincidence, but it’s clear now the Troop recruited Dexter.”

“OK…But what does this have to do with my brother?”

“Not everyone who joins the Troop does so willingly,” True said. “The foot soldiers and support staff are volunteers, but in every case where we’ve positively identified a Troop leader, that person has turned out to have been abducted as a child.”

“Hold on…”

“The Bible says that if you train up a child in the way he should go, when he is old, he will not depart from it. It may be that the Troop shares that philosophy, and crafts its leadership from an early age in order to ensure loyalty. But we think the real reason they steal children and turn them into monsters is because it is such an awful thing to do.”

“You’re telling me my brother’s a bad monkey? That’s bullshit! Phil was a good kid.”

“Of course he was. Corrupting a
bad
child wouldn’t be nearly as evil an accomplishment…Your brother
is
a high-level Troop member, working for their equivalent of Cost-Benefits.”

“Well first of all, I don’t believe you,” I said. “And second of all, I haven’t forgotten my job description. If you think I’m going to kill my own brother…”

“We don’t want you to kill him. We want you to help us find him.”

“Right, so somebody
else
can kill him? Sorry, I pass.”

“Your brother has grown up to be a very dangerous
individual, Jane. The Ozymandias operation—the murder of the clients, the sabotage of the facility—that was his handiwork.”

“No it wasn’t! That was
your
guy, Carlton.”

“Jacob Carlton was seduced by the Troop,” True said, “and perhaps we do share some responsibility for allowing that to happen. But he took his final orders from your brother.”

“Right. But you don’t want to
kill
Phil for that, you just—”

“We want him stopped. Your brother is one of the Troop’s most effective strategists. Depriving them of his services would be a major achievement. But we—I—would like to accomplish something more. I’d like to try to save him.”

“Save him…You mean like deprogram him?”

True nodded. “I have to tell you up front that the odds of success are slim. What we know of Troop indoctrination methods suggests that they are very thorough and very difficult to break. Your brother may prefer death to redemption. But because he didn’t choose the path he is on, redemption is still a possibility. I’d like to give him the chance.”

“What if he doesn’t go for it, though? Let’s say I bring him in alive, and he tells you to stick your redemption. What then? You let him walk?”

“No. If he’s truly beyond saving, we obviously couldn’t let him go. But we don’t have to execute him, either. We can keep him contained, indefinitely.”

“You mean lock him up somewhere? I thought you didn’t—”

“It’s not our usual policy with irredeemables. It ties up resources and creates a security issue. But we can do it, if circumstances warrant. So what do you say, Jane? Will you help us try to save Phil?”

Of course I was going to say yes. I just needed a minute to let my brain catch up, to process everything I’d
been told. But I guess True read my hesitation as uncertainty.

“There is another factor you may want to consider,” he said. “We chose you for this operation because we believe you are uniquely suited to draw your brother out into the open.”

“You think I’ll make good bait, you mean.”

“Yes. And there’s already evidence that your brother is moving to take that bait.”

“What evidence?”

“The Ozymandias operation. I understand you were upset about the script.”

“That business about Wise and me having a son named Phil? Yeah, I was upset.”

“Yes, well, we didn’t write that. The two of you
were
meant to pose as man and wife, but the script we composed in Cost-Benefits said nothing about a dying son or a disobedient daughter.”

“So someone rewrote the script before Wise got it…And you think that someone was Phil?”

“More likely a deep-cover agent working on his behalf.”

“And what’s his point? What’s he trying to tell me?”

“Obviously he’s aware you’re working for us. This could be his way of letting you know that he knows. Perhaps he hopes to recruit you. Or…”

“Or?”

“You understand, the indoctrination process your brother was subjected to would have been extremely unpleasant. So while he may be a committed Troop member now, that doesn’t mean he’s grateful for being delivered into the Troop’s hands in the first place.”

“You’re saying Phil’s
mad
at me?”

“If he is, can you blame him?”

“I…No. No. But if he wants revenge, why wait until now?”

“Perhaps he felt the life you were living before you
joined the organization was revenge enough. The point is this: we can’t force you to accept this mission. But saying no to your brother, whatever he has planned, may not be so easy.”

“Well, that works out just great for you, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t misunderstand. We’re not going to abandon you to the Troop if you turn us down. But your best and safest course is to work with us on this…There’s also the matter of atonement. I don’t know how much you care about that, but—”

“Atonement? I let Bad Monkeys Incorporated steal my brother, True. How do I atone for that?”

“By stealing him back. Will you do it?”

Like I even had a choice. “Where do we start?”

“With the man who took him. John Doyle.”

“
He’s
still alive?”

“Not for lack of trying on our part,” True said. “In the weeks before he kidnapped your brother, Doyle was the target of a Bad Monkeys operation. He survived one execution attempt, and then, after abducting Phil, he disappeared completely. That was our first clue that he was more than just a lone predator. In the decades since, he’s popped up periodically—usually on some mission for the Troop—only to vanish again before we could get to him. Then, a few days ago, Doyle checked into the Venetian Hotel on the Vegas Strip…” True set a wrinkled newspaper, the
Las Vegas Tipster
, on the table. Under the headline CASINO GUEST AIDS IN MANHUNT was a face I’d last seen in a police mug shot twenty-three years ago. Doyle’s hair was white now, and he’d lost some teeth, but there was no question it was him.

My palms were suddenly sweating. “When did you spot him?”

“Almost immediately,” True said. “It is Sin City, after all: our surveillance coverage of the Strip is more com
prehensive than the casinos’ own. Also, he registered under his real name.”

“Sounds like I’m not the only one being used as bait. You have his room number?”

“He’s staying in one of the penthouse suites.”

“OK, then. Let’s go see him…”

Wise, who’d been quietly eating his pancakes this whole time, put down his fork and cleared his throat. “Not so fast,” he said. “Before you go to the Venetian, we need to make a stop at Harrah’s.”

“What for?” asked True, looking annoyed.

“Love wants to meet her.”

“Who’s Love?” I said.

“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to have this sort of interference,” said True.

“I don’t know what
you
agreed to,” said Wise, “but my orders come from the man himself. Love isn’t happy with the way the Ozymandias op played out. Before we take this any further, he wants to be sure of her.”

“And he couldn’t have met with her yesterday, or the day before?”

“He’s got a full schedule. This is when he had time.”

“Who’s Love?” I repeated.

“The Trickster-in-Chief,” said True. “The leader of the Scary Clowns.” To Wise: “Very well. We’ll go see him.”

“Not ‘we.’ Love wants to talk to her in private. You’re welcome to wait in the casino, but she goes up to the Mudgett Suite alone.”

At that point, True got more pissed off than I’d ever seen him. He bitched at Wise about how totally unacceptable this was. Wise listened impassively, like he knew True had to complain for the sake of form, even though it wasn’t going to change anything.

A new waitress came to collect our plates. Once we’d settled the bill, Wise was in a hurry to get going, but
when we got outside, I broke away from him and followed True to his car.

“What’s this Mudgett Suite?” I asked him. “And what did Wise mean about Love wanting to be sure of me? Am I going to have to do another one of those shibboleth tests?”

“I don’t know,” True said, still steaming. “As you may have gathered, I wasn’t consulted about this.”

“Well OK then, let’s just blow him off. Go straight to the Venetian.”

“No. That won’t work.”

“Jane!” Wise called. “Come on!”

“True…”

“No.” He shook his head firmly. “Go with him. I’ll meet you afterwards.”

I could see there was no point in arguing, so reluctantly I let him go. As I headed back to the SUV, I heard True get into his car, start the motor, and drive off. The sound of the engine was just beginning to fade with distance when the world changed color again.

I was far enough from the blast this time that I didn’t fall down, just stumbled. When I caught my balance and looked back, I saw True’s car rolling to a stop in the middle of the road, with all its windows gone and no one in the driver’s seat.

I ran for the SUV. Wise had the door open and was reaching for something. He came out holding a fire ax. Then he dropped it and collapsed.

“Wise?” I crouched down to check on him, then looked up, sensing another presence. But the parking lot was empty.

And then it wasn’t. Maybe five yards off to my left, the air seemed to shimmer, and this person just…
materialized.
It was Jane, the waitress. She’d swapped her work uniform for a pair of black jeans and a T-shirt silk-screened with a mandrill face, and she was holding an orange pistol.

I jumped up, raising my own gun to fire, but the air shimmered again, and suddenly she wasn’t five yards away, she was right in my face. She slapped my gun aside. She punched me, two quick jabs that dropped me helpless to my knees. A hand cupped my chin, and a plastic pistol muzzle pressed against my forehead.

“Welcome to Las Vegas, Jane,” she said. “Little brother sends his regards.”

She pulled the trigger.

The world went away for a while. When it came back, I was lying in a morgue with my skull blown open. That was my first guess, anyway: I was stretched out on my back on a hard, cold surface; I was paralyzed, blind, and had a headache a hundred times worse than anything I’d ever experienced.

A couple centuries went by while I waited for someone to either cut my chest open or dump me into a coffin. Then the pain lowered a notch, and I could see again—not
well
, but enough to know that I still had eyes. The feeling came back in my arms, and I ran my hands over the thing I was lying on. It wasn’t a metal slab. It was lumpy, and covered in some kind of stiff hide: a leather couch. I raised a hand to my scalp. It hurt, but it was still there.