Bad Monkeys (21 page)

The house was just a shell; beyond the front door, metal steps led down into an underground complex. The first room we came to was a cross between a bomb shelter and a den: the walls were reinforced concrete, but there was a gas fireplace and a fully stocked bar.

“I’ve got sandwiches in the refrigerator if you’re hungry,” the bad Jane said. “And mineral water and juice to drink—I’d offer you something stronger, but I’m guessing your head’s in a weird enough space as it is.” When I didn’t answer, she shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.
I
definitely need a little something…”

While she rummaged in the fridge, I went over to the shelves that flanked the fireplace, drawn by a familiar row of yellow book spines: Nancy Drew mysteries. Tucked into a gap in the line of books was an autographed photo of Pamela Sue Martin.

“There you are,” the bad Jane said, holding up a glass vial filled with clear liquid. She fitted it into an auto-injector and shot the full dose into her arm. “Ah-h-h…” Her outline got fuzzy, then snapped back into sharp focus. “That’s better.” She ejected the empty vial into a
trash bin. “You wouldn’t
believe
how expensive this stuff is…And before you get any ideas, you should know that it’s DNA-specific. If you’re not me, all it’ll do is give you a really bad trip, the kind you don’t come back from.”

“So when are you going to tell me why I’m here?” I said. “What does Phil want from me?”

“What does
Phil
want?” She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t about Phil, Jane. It’s about you, playing for the wrong team.”

“You want me to join the Troop.”

“No, that’s backwards.
You
want to join
us.
And we’re going to grant your wish.”

“My wish? My
wish
is to get my brother back, and for you to go to—”

“Are you auditioning, Jane?” She grinned. “Trying to show me what a great bullshit artist you are? Trust me, I know you’ve got
that
down cold. And hey, it’s a useful skill, we can definitely put it to work for the Troop, but right here and now? I need you to start coming clean with yourself.” She pointed to a door at the end of the bar. “In there.”

“In there what?”

“The thing you’ve been denying for the past twenty-three years. Your true nature. Go on in and check it out.”

I looked at the door. I didn’t move.

“Go on,”
she said, and the door opened on its own, and then I was moving—not
walking,
you understand, just moving. I passed through into this darkened space, and the door slammed shut behind me, so it was like total blackout, and that was bad, not for the dark itself but because I knew it wouldn’t last. She gave me a few seconds to think about what was coming, and then she said, “Now
look
,” and the lights came on, and there he was, staring at me from every angle. John Doyle.

His wanted poster, you mean. The one from the post-office lobby.

Yeah. Officer Friendly may have kept one copy, but the Troop had a million of them. Every inch of wall space in this room was plastered with them. The ceiling, too, and I didn’t even need to look down—I could feel the paper crackling under my feet.

“He really was a creepy guy, wasn’t he?” said the bad Jane. “Some child molesters, you know, they’re actually very sweet when they want to be, but J.D. wasn’t one of those. He was more the come-with-me-now-kid-or-else type.”

“Did Phil…He told you what I did?”

“At the post office? Yeah, that’s still kind of a sore spot with him, but he told me. Showed me the tape, too.”

“The—”

“The surveillance tape. Probably you guessed this already, but the organization doesn’t have a monopoly on Eyes Only technology. We’ve got our own version. Have had for years.”

“The wanted poster…?” I said. She nodded. “And that’s…how you find victims?”

“Recruits,” she said. “Yeah, that’s one of the ways. You think about it, it’s not a bad profiling strategy: show someone the face of evil, see how they respond. Your brother’s reaction was classic. That look of vulnerability on his face, like he was just begging someone to come in and start rewiring his brain—I can see why the powers that be snapped him up. What I don’t understand is why they didn’t recruit you at the same time.”

“Me?”

“Jane…” Suddenly she was right behind me, with her hands on my shoulders. “Don’t be coy, now. You know what I’m talking about.”

“No.”

“You were standing behind Phil, just like this, whispering in his ear, saying…Let’s see, what were your exact words again? Oh yeah: ‘That’s the guy, Phil, the
one who kidnaps little kids for the gypsies. I told him all about you: where you live, where you play, where you
sleep
…’”

I shut my eyes.

“‘…and when he comes for you, Phil, you’d better not scream or try to run away. That’ll just make him mad, and then he’ll
hurt
you. And don’t go crying to Mom about this, either. She can’t protect you. He’ll hurt her too, maybe even kill her, and he’ll still take you away afterwards.’”

“I was just messing with his head!” I said. “I was teasing him! I didn’t know—”

“
Teasing
him?” She touched the side of my face and I flinched. “I think you’re teasing
me
, Jane. I mean, I saw the tape. Phil was practically pissing himself from fear, and you: you were into it. Teasing! You were
being evil.
You
liked
it. You were
good at it
. Good enough to make a casual observer think that maybe you’d had some
practice
…”

“Fuck you! I wasn’t—it was just that one day.”

“Yeah, right. That’s a hell of a coincidence, Jane. The
one time
you give in to a sadistic impulse, put on a performance that couldn’t have been better if you’d been
trying out
for the Troop, and we just happened to be there to record it…You know what I think? You had ten years with Phil before we took him, and I bet if we picked any day out of those ten years and put J.D.’s poster in a room with the two of you, we’d have caught something just as telling. Jane being evil? Hah. How about Jane being Jane?” She touched my face again, and whispered: “Bad monkey.”

This time instead of pulling away I turned on her, but my fists punched empty air. I heard the sound of her laugh off to my left and lunged for it, still swinging.

“Open your eyes, Jane,” she said. “I know you don’t want to see, but you’re never going to catch me blind.”

I opened my eyes. She was right in front of me, and this time I actually managed to get my hands around her throat before she melted away.

“Stop
doing
that!” I complained, as she rematerialized, just out of reach.

“All right,” she said. “You want a fair shot, I’ll give you one. Here, I’ll even give you a handicap…” She brought out the knife she’d used to kill John Doyle, and tossed it to me. “Now come on,” she said, showing me her empty hands. “No tricks this time, I promise.”

“OK,” I said. “Just one other thing…” And I lunged at her, leading with the point of the knife blade. She sidestepped, caught my wrist, and threw me face-first into the nearest wall.

“So where did it all go wrong?” she asked, pinning me effortlessly. “After such a promising start…Were you actually
sorry
when Doyle took Phil away? Or was it that business with Whitmer? I mean, no offense, that was pretty impressive for a fourteen-year-old, but still. You think taking out a serial killer makes you some kind of
saint
?”

She released me and stepped back, and I whirled around, slashing with the knife.

“Or was it the organization?” she said, dancing clear of the blade. “Talking to Catering on the phone, I can see how that might have an effect on a young girl, even a bad seed. Weird though, how they waited so long before actually recruiting you…Why do you suppose that is?”

I cut at her again, and this time she ducked beneath my arm, hooked a boot behind one of my ankles, and jerked my feet out from under me.

“Was that just a bureaucratic oversight, you think? Or did they maybe have a reason for not rushing to take you on?”

“I had a life,” I gasped. “They hoped…They wanted me to do something with it.”

“Oh,
that
line.” She laughed. “So why
didn’t
you do anything with it?”

When I’d landed on my ass, I’d dropped the knife. I tried to pick it up, but she got there first and toed it out of my reach.

“They
did
recruit me,” I said. “Maybe it took twenty years, but—”

“Yeah, and how’s that been working out? Word from our spies is, not great. Your mission failure rate is kind of an embarrassment. And why is
that
?”

I made another try for the knife. She kicked me in the face.

“What’s the problem, Jane? Are you just a titanic fuckup? Or could it be that your heart’s not really in it?”

As she hauled back to kick me again I sprang up and locked my hands around her throat. I felt her try to pull away and thought:
Got you now, you bitch!
But then her own arms came up, breaking my grip, and she spun me around and slammed me into the wall again, eye-to-eye with John Doyle.

“Yeah,” she said. “I really think that’s it, your heart’s just not in it. And I think you’ll feel a whole lot better once you admit it…Say it, Jane.”

“Fuck you!”

“Say it…” She pressed up against me, belly to back, like a full-body hug from behind, and then—the intimacy of it was hideous—our clothes, our
skin
, just dissolved, and we started to merge…

“Say it,”
she commanded, her voice inside and outside now.

(I’m evil.)

“What’s that? I didn’t catch that, Jane. Say it again. Say it
loud
.”

“I’m—” I said, and then fought it, pushing back until the pressure in my skull was just too great to resist: “I’m evil!”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

She pulled back,
withdrew
, and I collapsed to the floor.

“First time’s always the hardest…” She squatted beside me, hands balanced casually on her knees. “So listen up, Jane, I’m going to tell you what your options are. Option one, you can deny what you just admitted. Go back to Vegas, try and square things with Love—or just run like hell, which amounts to the same thing, except he’ll be even less likely to believe you when he catches you. Option two, you can think it over some more. No one knows about this room but me—not even Phil—so you’ll be safe here, long as you like. But the lights stay on.

“And then there’s option three. You can stop hiding from yourself. Embrace what you really are, what you’ve always been. Join the Troop, and start making the kind of difference in the world you were
meant
to make. Now”—she leaned forward, lowered her voice—“
I
know what option you’re going to pick, because I know which one you
want
to pick. But I also understand you don’t want it to look too easy, don’t want to seem like you’re caving just because I kicked your ass. So we’re going to pretend you’re going for option two. You stay in here, ‘think it over’ as long as you need to, to save face—only not too long, OK, because we’ve got stuff to do. I’ll be waiting for you outside when you’re ready…”

When I dragged myself back into the den twenty minutes later, a black case was sitting on the bar. It was smaller than the case the Troop had given to Arlo Dexter, but the style was identical.

“You know one of the great things about evil?” the bad Jane said. “You can’t fake it. I mean, think about it, there isn’t a good deed you can name that an evil person couldn’t do, and still be evil afterwards. But it doesn’t work the other way around. You pass
our
shibboleth test, and there’s no question that you’re one of us.”

I popped the latches on the case, lifted the lid. “You expect me to use this?”

“‘Expect.’ When you say it like that, it makes it sound like there’s room for doubt. I have faith in you, Jane.”

“Who do you want me to kill?”

“Just some people. Nobody important. It’s part of an op you’ll be doing for us. For Phil, actually. He’s throwing a party next week, and he wants a Clown for the entertainment.”

“You mean Love? You want me to kill Robert Love?”

“No, I’m going to kill him. You’re just going to bring him in so Phil can talk to him first. And this”—she patted the case—“this is going to help you get him.”

I shook my head. “Even if I was willing to do that—”

“God, Jane, don’t start backsliding. You want to go another round in the poster room?”

“Even
if
I was willing to do it, there’s no way I could get back into the Mudgett Suite now.”

“Oh, you could probably get back into it. It’s getting out that’s hard. But that’s OK, you’re not going after him in the Suite, you’re going to hit him at the tables…He gambles,” she explained. “Baccarat, if you can believe it. I mean, of all the boring games…But that’s his thing, and tonight’s his usual night out. Of course he may have changed his plans after your little defection today, but I doubt it. We’ll know for sure in about an hour.”

“I want to talk to Phil.”

“You will. After you grab Love, I’m going to take you straight to him.”

“No, I want to talk to him now.”

“Sorry.”

“I
need
to talk to him, OK?”

“I get that you’re anxious,” she said. “If it helps any, you should know that Phil is going out on a limb, bringing you in like this. I mean, corrupting organization members is part of his job, but there are special rules
where family is involved. If the über-bosses knew he was going after his big sister personally, they’d be pissed.”

“Why? The Troop has a problem with nepotism?”

“It’s more a question of objectivity. Those old sibling bonds, you know, they can screw up your emotions. So this is technically a breach of protocol. But Phil figures if we bring in Love, the über-bosses will owe him some slack—he’s already gotten big points for taking out True and Wise. And with this”—she patted the case again—“there shouldn’t be any questions about your loyalties, either…So just be patient, Jane. Once you’re officially on board, there’ll be plenty of time for you and Phil to reconnect.”