Deadeye (30 page)

Lee glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Amanda was correct. She eased off the throttle and fell back next to Omo. Her plan was to warn him but there was no need to do so as one of the pursuing bikes pulled up beside him.

Lee saw the gun, accelerated in order to take Amanda out of the line of fire, and heard a series of pops. She glanced back and was happy to see that Omo was still in the saddle. The initial shots had missed, giving him an opportunity to brake and pull in behind the gunman.

A scabbard and sawed-off shotgun had been attached to the bike when Omo stole it. He pulled the weapon free, allowed the barrel to rest on his handlebars, and fired. The rider was thrown forward, his bike went down, and Omo swerved to avoid it. A horn blared, and the semi braked, but it was too late. There was a horrible screeching sound as the bike was sucked under the big rig and dragged along the highway.

Meanwhile, Lee had problems of her own. Bikers had pulled up on both sides of the motorcycle and were trying to force her off the road. They couldn't shoot . . . Not without hitting Amanda or each other. Their purpose was clear: to recapture the girl.

They were motioning for Lee to pull off the highway when Amanda took charge. She had the Glock, and her arms were free. So as the riders continued to close in, she fired. Not at them, but at their tires, and at close range it was impossible to miss.

A bike swerved, turned sideways, and flipped. It was still turning end for end when Amanda switched to the other side and fired again. A black-clad rider fell off his motorcycle, and Omo's front tire hit the body. The deputy caught some air, landed on his rear tire, and found himself in a wheelie. He forced the front wheel down and raced to catch up. The border was only a few miles away.

*   *   *

Thanks to the drone that was following the fugitives, Nickels had been able to watch the entire debacle via the laptop perched on his knees. He was furious. So much so that he would have cheerfully killed Chief Dokey had such a thing been possible. But it wasn't since the entire operation was being carried out by members of the Tucson Police Department. “Shoot the detective,” he ordered. “Maybe Amanda will survive the crash and maybe she won't. If she dies, we'll send one of her hands to the bishop and freeze the rest of her.”

Dokey gave an order, and the SUV accelerated up an on-ramp and onto I-8 westbound. They were ahead of the motorcycles at that point and in a position to cut them off. Nickels was forced to move aside as the sunroof slid open, and a police officer stood. “Slow down!” Dokey ordered. “Get next to them!”

Nickels understood the necessity of that. If the officer fired straight back and hit the detective, the bullet might pass through her and hit Amanda.

But as the cop pointed his pistol at the lead motorcycle, Amanda stood on her foot pegs, and took hold of Lee's collar. That left her right hand free. Thanks to the low-flying drone, Nickels could see the whole thing via his laptop. He ducked but the police officer standing next to him couldn't. Two of the bullets that shattered the rear window hit him waist high, and a third nicked the driver's throat. The SUV swerved alarmingly as he brought both hands up to stop the sudden gush of blood.

Fortunately, Dokey managed to lean in and grab the steering wheel. Then, with no pressure on the accelerator, the truck started to slow. The SUV was slow rolling as the bikers raced by. Nickels looked out the window just in time to see Deputy Omo flip him the bird. Then they were gone.

*   *   *

Lee saw the line of cars and trucks up ahead and knew they were waiting to enter Pacifica. By all rights, she and Omo should get in line and wait, but to do so could be fatal, so she steered the bike between two lanes of vehicles. Omo followed. That caused people to honk, shout threats, and open their doors to block her.

Lee didn't care. Her goal was to reach Pacifica, and nothing else mattered. She saw three kiosks, all manned by heavily armed soldiers and drove straight at them. They tried to wave her off, and one raised a weapon, but he was forced to jump out of the way or be hit.

Then they were across the border but far from safe. Lee knew it would only be a matter of seconds before the soldiers opened fire, so she braked, and killed the engine.

Amanda was smart enough to see the danger and hurried to get off the bike. “Raise your hands,” Lee told her, “and keep them there. I'll do the talking.”

Omo had arrived by then and was quick to do the same thing. But none of them were given an opportunity to talk. Orders were shouted, searches were carried out, and the presence of so many weapons led the soldiers to all of the wrong conclusions.

Finally, after being taken into the adjacent administration building, they were separated and placed in holding cells. There were other prisoners as well—most of whom were mutants.

Hours passed as different interrogators came and went. All of them asked the same questions over and over again: “Who are you? Where is your ID? Why did you force your way into Pacifica?” And so forth.

Lee was careful to keep her answers consistent and hoped that her companions would do the same. Eventually, she was given a meal, some disposable toiletries, and allowed to lie down. The overhead light was eternally on, the mattress was thin, and there was a lot of noise. Sleep came quickly though, and when someone called her name, she was reluctant to wake up. “Detective Lee? You have a visitor.”

Lee swung her feet over onto the floor and stood. Two people were waiting on the other side of the bars. An army sergeant and Deputy Chief of Detectives Ross McGinty! “Well I'll be damned,” McGinty said. “It
is
you! We thought you were dead.”

Lee felt an unexpected desire to cry but held the tears back. “Deputy Omo is here, too . . .
And
Amanda Screed.”

McGinty nodded. “Her father will be thrilled. Perhaps you would like to make the call.”

“No,” Lee said harshly. “I think a surprise would be best.”

McGinty's eyebrows rose incrementally. “I get the feeling there's a lot to catch up on.” He turned to the sergeant. “Open the cell. She's one of ours.”

TWO DAYS HAD
passed since Lee and her companions had crossed the border. During that time, they had been flown to LA, where they were debriefed by the chief of detectives, the chief of police, and the mayor. All of whom were eager to call a press conference and pat themselves on the back.

But they couldn't. Not so long as Amanda maintained that her father was responsible for the kidnapping—and not so long as two police officers were there to back her up. So the best the authorities could do was to get on the right side of the situation by bringing charges against Screed and allowing the poop to hit the fan. Members of the Church of Human Purity would be furious. But could the church survive in the wake of Screed's arrest? Only time would tell.

So finally, after what seemed like an endless sequence of meetings, Lee was allowed to go home for the third night in a row. She took a shower, put on a robe, and made some tea. Then she went into the living room to sit on the couch. Everything was fine, or should have been, but she felt guilty. She could have invited Omo to stay with her. Come to think of it, why hadn't she? And if not him, then
who
? He was funny, brave, and in love with her.
And you sure as hell aren't getting any younger,
Lee thought to herself.

But deep down Lee knew what the answer was and didn't like it. Omo was a mutant, and that meant both of them would have to wear masks all of the time. And if either one of them made a mistake, she would be at risk of contracting
B. nosilla
. It was a daunting prospect. So fear was part of it.

But the truth lay even deeper. Try as she might, she couldn't forget the horror that was Omo's face. She should ignore it,
wanted
to ignore it, but couldn't. Lee felt a sudden and overwhelming sense of grief. Sorrow for him and for herself. Because in the final analysis, Lee wasn't the person she'd hoped to be. She was something less, and the realization hurt.

Or did the truth lie elsewhere? What if she loved Omo,
truly
loved him, would that make the necessary difference? The problem was that she didn't know. Which was why she curled up on the couch and cried. Pictures of her father looked on, but as always, they were silent.

*   *   *

The police sealed off the block on which the Screed mansion was located at 0500 hours. Shortly thereafter, uniformed officers went door to door and told neighbors to remain in their homes. Once that process was complete, two squad cars pulled up in front of the house. Uniformed officers got out, ordered the guards to stand aside, and opened the gate. That allowed three unmarked vehicles to enter the grounds and pull up in front of the house.

While other officers hurried off to secure various exits, and a helicopter hovered overhead, McGinty, Lee, Omo, and Amanda approached the front door. They were in plain clothes, and Amanda's face was hidden by a veil. As Lee rang the bell, she could hear a muted beeping sound. Was that an alarm? Triggered by one of the gate guards? Yes, that seemed likely. And there was a porch camera. That meant the Screeds could see the people standing outside.

The beeping noise stopped, and a male voice came through the speaker mounted over their heads. Lee thought she recognized it as belonging to Bishop Screed. “Chief McGinty? Is that
you
?”

“Yes, it is,” McGinty replied. “Please open the door.”

At least a full minute passed before the door opened to reveal Bishop Screed. He was dressed in burgundy robe, gray pajamas, and expensive-looking slippers. But his ginger-colored hair was tousled, and he was clearly angry. The shotgun was held over the crook of his left arm—like a hunter in the field. His eyes flicked from Omo to Amanda and back. “
Mutants?
You have the nerve to bring mutants to my house? Damn you, McGinty . . . The mayor will hear about this!”

“We have a search warrant,” McGinty said. “Please surrender the shotgun. You can give it to Deputy Omo.”

Like a father confiscating something dangerous from a child, Omo stepped forward to take the shotgun. “That's better,” McGinty said. “Why don't we step into the parlor? Then I can explain.”

Screed frowned, started to say something, and apparently thought better of it. He did an abrupt about-face prior to leading them into a room filled with overly ornate furniture. “Now,” Screed said, “what's this silliness about a search warrant? Surely you can't be serious.”

“Oh, but they
are
serious,” Amanda said as she removed the veil. “Hi, Daddy,” she said. “Did you miss me?”

Screed stared, and his face went pale. “Amanda? You're alive? Thank God! Our prayers have been answered.”

“Have they?” Amanda inquired sweetly. “I don't think so. You gave me over to a man named George Nickels as collateral for a loan that you didn't intend to repay. And you knew what that would mean. Eventually, Nickels would send you some of my fingers in an attempt to get his money back. And when that failed, he would kill me. But you didn't care—and now you
are
going to pay.”

“That's a lie!” Screed roared. “I don't know where you heard such nonsense—but none of it is true.”

“Yes, it
is
true,” Lee said as she spoke for the first time. “Both Deputy Omo and I were present when George Nickels described the agreement with you. And his admission was consistent with the evidence gathered during the days that led up to the statement. That's why you will be charged with kidnapping and a variety of other crimes, including drug trafficking. Place your hands on top of your head . . . You are under arrest.”

That was when Cathy Screed spoke. Lee hadn't noticed the woman's arrival and turned to look at her. Mrs. Screed's blond hair was in disarray, and she looked older without any makeup. Of more importance, however, was the anger in her eyes and the chrome-plated semiautomatic pistol clutched in both hands. It was pointed at her husband, and the barrel wavered slightly. “You rotten, lying bastard!”

Bishop Screed held both hands palms out as if to stop any bullets that might come his way. “Don't believe them, Cathy . . . None of it is true. I
forced
the mayor to put Detective Lee on the case. You know that.”

“He was trying to cover up,” Amanda said coldly. “And he assumed that Cassandra would fail.”

There was a series of loud reports as Cathy Screed pulled the trigger. She managed to fire three shots before Omo grabbed her arm. The fourth bullet went into the ceiling. Bishop Screed jerked as a bullet hit an arm, another smacked into his chest, and the third struck his left shoulder. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell over backwards. There was a loud thump as the body hit the floor. McGinty went to check on him.

“Good shooting, Mom,” Amanda said coldly. “The bastard deserved to die.”

Lee went over to where Cathy Screed stood and gently removed the gun from her palsied hand. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Screed, but it's my duty to arrest you for the murder of your husband.”

Uniformed cops surged into the room with weapons drawn. Cathy looked at them and back to Lee. Her eyes were empty. “I didn't know.”

Lee turned to a female officer. “Search her, read her rights, and take her downtown.”

“Can I go with her?” Amanda inquired.

“No,” McGinty said. “But you can get her some lawyers. Maybe, if they handle this correctly, your mother can get off with a light sentence.”

McGinty turned to Lee. “Go downtown and file a full report. Then you'll be on leave. I'd give the same set of orders to Deputy Omo if I could.”

Lee and Omo left the house, drove a sedan back to the headquarters building, and flashed their new badges to get in. “I've got to check in with Arpo,” Omo said, as they took an elevator up to the sixth floor.

“That'll be fun,” Lee replied.

“Yeah,” Omo said. “It will.” Then, after a pause, “I'd like to take you to dinner.”

Lee looked at him. “That would be nice, Ras. Kind of like the old days.”

“There's a place in Freak Town,” he said. “A restaurant with special booths. We can eat there.”

“Okay,” Lee replied. “What time?”

“I'll pick you up at six.”

Lee spent the next couple of hours filling out reports; and then she went home. There was plenty of housework to do, and she left the TV on while she did it. Word of the murder at the Screed mansion was out by then, and the press was having a field day. The mayor was giving serial interviews flanked by the chief of police and the chief of detectives, and everybody was waiting for Amanda to release a statement.

Lee's phone began to ring around 3:00
P.M.
And it continued to ring until she turned the ringer off. That was a sure sign that her role in bringing Amanda home had been mentioned, which, when combined with the still-recent bank shootout, would be enough to set the media on fire. A quick glance outside confirmed her suspicions. Three remote trucks were lined up in front of the apartment house.

So she closed the blinds and went back to work. Then, having completed her chores, she put in a call to Omo. It was only fair to warn him. She was ready by the time Omo pulled up in an unmarked car with lights flashing.

Lee left the apartment, locked the door, and made her way out through a storm of flashing lights to the car at the curb. “What was it like in the red zone?” a reporter shouted. “Is it true that you killed a bunch of cops in Tucson?” another demanded. Followed by, “I love the skirt! Where did you get it?”

Then she was in the car, and they were pulling away. “I ran into the same thing,” Omo told her. “They're calling me ‘the masked mutant,' and styling me as your sidekick. As for you, you're the killer cop who eats nails and shits fire.”

Lee laughed in spite of the empty feeling at the pit of her stomach. She
had
to tell him,
had
to hurt him, and wanted to cry.

Omo took an indirect route in an attempt to shake any members of the press who tried to follow them, but eventually pulled into the area called Freak Town and drove down the main street. There was lots of neon, and as Lee looked out through the passenger-side window, the area and the people who lived there no longer seemed strange. Not after weeks spent in the red zone.

Omo pulled in behind a restaurant called the Back Booth and parked the car. Then he escorted her in through the rear door. The main room was divided up into boxlike enclosures, all equipped with interior blinds. Some were up, and some were open, allowing Lee to see glimpses of people sitting across from each other.

A hostess in a burqa-style “baggie” appeared and showed them to a booth. Once inside, Lee saw that a partition of antibacterial mesh separated one side of the enclosure from the other. Omo's blind was down. But once he raised it, she saw that he was wearing a different mask. A formfitting affair that hid his disease-ravaged skin but revealed his mouth. But could
B. nosilla
have entered the enclosure with her? Lee was wearing nose filters but still had to breathe. All she could do was hope for the best.

The mesh did very little to block sound, so they were able to communicate freely and discuss what they planned to have. Orders were taken via an intercom system. When their drinks arrived, Omo hoisted a bottle of Arriba beer. “To us! We made it back alive.”

Lee raised her gin and tonic. “Yes, to us.” The words sounded flat and empty. And she regretted the need to utter them.

“So,” Omo began. “I spoke with Arpo.”

“And?”

“And he reamed my ass. It seems Chief Dokey wants to charge me with murder, among other things.”

“Uh-oh,” Lee said sympathetically. “That's bad.”

“It would be,” Omo agreed, “except that somebody shot Dokey in the head. My guess is that Nickels hired someone to do it. It's an object lesson for the rest of his employees.”

“That makes sense,” Lee agreed. “And Nickels?”

Omo shrugged. “The bastard is in good health as far as I know. Anyway, McGinty asked the mayor to call Maria Soto. You may remember that she's president of the Maricopa Board of Supervisors. And she wants me back . . . More than that, she promised that Arpo will give me a promotion.”

Lee grinned. “Arpo will be thrilled.”

Omo laughed. “No, but he'll go along to get along.”

“Congratulations, Ras . . . You deserve it.”

“Thanks. But there's another possibility as well. Chief Corso offered me a job here . . . Leading a unit that will be focused on mutant-related crimes.”

Lee could feel the walls closing in on her. “That's terrific, Ras! You're in demand. What's it going to be?”

Lee couldn't see all of Omo's face, but she could look into his eyes and saw the pain there. She could beg him to stay but hadn't, and he understood what that meant. “I'm going home,” he said. “There's my family to think of—and a new job to do.”

“Yeah,” Lee said, as a lump formed in her throat. “Who knows? Maybe there will be an opportunity to shoot Arpo's son again.”

Both of them laughed, then the food arrived, and talk turned to their past adventures. The media trucks were gone by the time Omo dropped Lee off, and she knew it was good-bye. “Take care, Cowboy . . . I'll be thinking of you.”

“You too,” Omo answered. “Watch your six.” And with that, he was gone.

Lee watched the taillights dwindle to dots and disappear. Then she made her way up to the apartment, unlocked the door, and went inside. It felt cold and lonely. So she turned on some music, made some tea, and sat on the couch. It was time to cry. But the tears never came.

*   *   *

Rather than remain in LA and spend all of her time hiding from the press, Lee decided to leave town. The first step was to test-ride her bike and check to make sure that it was tracker free. Then she packed clothes and other necessities into the Harley's twin panniers, turned her phone off, and hit the road.