Dues of Mortality (47 page)

“
How
come you get to wear all the cute stuff,” Glenda pouted, once
he'd emerged from the plane's bathroom.

“
You're
right,” Xavier answered. He then handed over two of the rings
and another bracelet he'd pocketed from his search. The accessories
matched perfectly the tan and brown Donna Karen drop waist knockoff
that Glenda wore with her even less authentic Dolce & Gabbana
heels. Her tinted glasses with a new and more pretentious-looking
frame display rounded out the ensemble. As far as anyone was
concerned, Glenda was just another rich housewife returning from a
weekend of kayaking on Lake Union.

Xavier
randomly scanned the crowds of people at Hopkins international
airport behind a pair of expensive RayBan sunglasses. This is where
things got dicey. Any shadows at the airport wouldn’t exactly
be advertising, at least not if they were any good. Xavier didn't
have to just
know
what to look for he had to
feel
it. There was no way Wallace didn’t know by now that the
“dynamic duo” back in Seattle had failed. That gave him
plenty of time to put someone at the airport to give it another go
or, at least, track Xavier and Glenda once they landed. Anyone who
looked at her more than five seconds was immediately suspect.

Glenda
took a seat in the terminal lounge, looking like a tourist who'd lost
her sense of direction. She lightly massaged her temples as the
display of her glasses' frames scrolled over her fingers. Xavier
remained several steps behind, still scanning. He wanted to take
position next to Glenda, but had trepidations.
They
would be looking for a man and woman together
, he reminded
himself.
I'll have to play it
up
.

Glenda
had only closed her eyes for a few seconds; an extended blink of
sorts, as she tried to rub away the onset of a headache. She never
even saw Xavier until it was too late.

“
Hi,
could you help me?” he chirped at Glenda. “I'm looking
for the car rental desk.”

Glenda
bit down on her upper lip. Her innards were crying for the sweet
release of laughter. And just when she needed it most, she thought.
God, he was wonderful.

“
You're
looking too stressed,” Xavier whispered. Then he picked up his
voice again, lisp and hand gestures coming from everywhere. “This
is my first time in Cleveland! I'm here to see the Rock Hall!”
He then sat down next to Glenda, cocking his head and gregariously
touched her knee with his fingertips.

“
Just
point and keep talking,” he said.

Glenda
tipped her wrist to the left, her outstretched finger pointing
nowhere in particular. “Like this?”

Xavier
scanned the crowd again before going on. The Raybans had cleared up a
few notches to coincide with the indoor light. He could now more
clearly see out without anyone else quite able to see in. “Yes,”
he answered. “Now smile like I just told a joke.”

Glenda
laughed somewhat openly instead.

“
Don't
overdue it; we still don't want to draw attention to ourselves.”

“
Uh,
huh,” she said deadpanned.

“
Try
not to have too much fun at my expense.”

Glenda
giggled a little longer before her ticklishness petered out like a
dying candle.

Xavier
kept up the hand gestures and crossed his legs as if he was trying to
prevent a free peek up his nonexistent skirt. “Are you okay?”
he asked. He slacked off on the lisp.

“
Yes,
I’m okay. I’m worried about my parents, though. They’re
the only ones we haven’t checked on yet.”

“
No
real reason to. Wallace would be crazy to make a play for them; he’d
have to bulldoze through the army of press outside their door.”

“
Something
tells me this Wallace asshole didn’t get to be where he is by
playing it safe. I still want to check.”

“
How?
You can’t just call them.”

“
I
could check the email address I used to send them that message back
at the trailer.”

“
Might
be risky. I didn't think it was a good idea before.”

“Our
com equips are prepaid. Nobody's
tracking us.”

“
But
your parents might not know to be checking from untraceable sources.
You were worried about that yourself.”

“
Please?”
Glenda asked, giving him the sad eye.

Xavier
looked back, hopeless.
How pathetic am I?
he thought. He
waited three seconds and nodded. No need to be a
total
pushover.

Glenda
turned up her comwatch and opened the email site. “I don’t
even know if she remembered this address,” she said. “She
might’ve assumed I canceled it, anyway. Oh God, please let them
be alright. After everything they’ve been through here I am
causing them more trouble! My mother’s gonna get shingles from
all...”

Xavier
suddenly took Glenda's hands into his own and she looked at him
almost like she expected a marriage proposal.

“
You
know what you’re problem is?” he asked.

Glenda
blinked at him, half-wondering where the question came from. “Well
of course I know what my problem is. I’m being hunted by a
maniac with unlimited resources, for reasons I’m not sure about
and against whom I can’t fight back. Does that answer your
question?”

Xavier
grinned coyly. “You worry too much.”

Glenda
now looked at him like he actually
had
proposed. “Oh really? Well excuse me. It’s just that
somehow, between dodging all the gunfire and the psychotic killers I
kind of got the impression that I had a lot to worry about.”

“
That
doesn’t mean you should do it. You know, in the army, they tell
us that what works best is to keep as cool a head as possible in any
given situation. You know why? Because, people tend to make bad
decisions under stress. Now you may think that doesn't make much
sense when you're in the middle of a war zone, but you
do
learn you're better served when
you can create rather than react. Remember, Wallace is far more
frightened of you than you are of him, whatever his reasons. If he
wasn’t he wouldn’t be trying so hard.” Xavier
paused and then said, “And don’t worry. We
will
make it through this. I promise.”

Glenda
sighed wistfully and cast her head down, removing her glasses.

Xavier
thought immediately that he might have said something wrong. “What?”

“
You
said
we
,
again,” Glenda answered faintly.

Xavier
made a point of smiling. “Well we are in this
together
.”
He nudged her chin with a finger, lifting her head up. “We
are
in this together.”

Glenda’s
mouth curled softly as she returned his gaze.

Xavier
sat frozen as he felt his heart whale like a one-man band against his
breast bone. He would have no defense, this time, against the
overpowering reverie that was Glenda Jameson. He was helpless as her
eyes seemed to sparkle with a celestial incantation that pulled them
closer and closer like a magnet to steel. They glimpsed each other's
lips and inhaled the other's breath. Xavier's quivering mouth
anxiously parted and Glenda closed her eyes, fully surrendering to
his carnal gravity. And then...

Beep boop boop!

Glenda's
comwatch had shit-lousy timing, but Glenda couldn't have been happier
to see its blinking icon.

“
There
is
a message,” she said.

She
punched up the email as Xavier put his head on a swivel. How long had
they sat there, looking like they actually knew each other, like a
real couple?

The
email read: THANK GOD, YOU'RE OKAY. DADDY AND I HERE IN THE MALL.
THINGS TOO CROWDED AT HOME. MADE IT TO A NETSTAND OUTSIDE THE LADIES
ROOM WHERE THE LOOKY LOUS HAVE TO GET PAST DADDY TO SEE ME. DON’T
LEAVE A REPLY IF IT’S NOT SAFE. HOPE YOU GET THIS. LOVE YOU,
LOVE YOU, LOVE YOU.

“
Mom,
you rip,” Glenda almost shouted. “Good girl!”

“
What’s
the other one?” Xavier asked.

“
What?”
Glenda took a closer look at her watch's screen. A second message
icon was blinking in the bottom left corner. She pulled up the
message, holding her breath unconsciously. It read: IF YOU WANT TO
STAY ALIVE, COME ALONE TO WHERE THE SALT AIR TAKES CONTROL. THE MOON
MAN.

Despite
his “pleasant” personality, Ian Shaw always came home to
an empty house. An eight-bedroom villa in the lovely posterior of
Beachwood, Ohio—another feeble excuse for a pretentious suburb
that never let him forget he was still living in Cleveland. Shaw
hated Cleveland, hated everything about it; the people, the weather,
the sports teams.
The sports
teams
—jeez were
they
shit!
Get a fucking offense
already, all of you!
But there was absolutely nothing
about Cleveland he hated more than that jerk of all pricks,
Miles
Gabriel.
Mr. Bend-over-and-smile, Mr.
Give-me-an-inch-and-I’ll-take-your-first-born. No wonder, the
local Red Cross was always short on blood; Gabriel was probably
sitting in his living room every night, slurping down the supply with
an aged French cheese.

Well,
let him
, Shaw thought.

The
way things were going with Wallace, Gabriel would soon be up to his
ears
in the shit
.
Serves him right, the asshole. Gabriel and that miserly old bastard
had cost Shaw his best meal ticket, left him having to do favors for
every member of the bar and their mother's to get back in with the A
list clientele.
Fucking
Gabriel!

Shaw
tossed his coat over the rack as if it wasn’t worth hanging up
properly and headed straight for his study. Those transfers had
better been completed; he wasn’t in the mood for more excuses.
The day had been quite long enough and lounging under that
forty-four-year-old stripper's silicone until closing time hadn't
done much to smooth Shaw out. To top things off, his stomach had
begun doing a number once he left the club. He couldn’t wait to
pop a couple extra Mitacodone and head to bed. Shaw opened the door
to his study and ordered the light before noticing he didn’t
have to.

“
Evening,
Ian,” said a voice with noted civility.

Shaw
screamed like a banshee, choking on his own air.

The
voice belonged to Miles Gabriel. He was perched stoically in the
center of Shaw’s desk, with one foot on the floor, his Armani
everything glistening under the soft light.

Shaw
was instantly enraged. “Gabriel, what the fuck?”

“
Door
was open, so I let myself in,” Gabriel said.

“
Are
you sick? It's after three o'clock in the morning! And what do you
mean the door was open? I don’t leave my house unlocked!”

“
I
meant the door to the study. Please, come in. We need to talk.”

“
You’re
inviting me into my own office? Well, how polite of you! What do you
think you’re doing breaking into my home like this?”

Gabriel
narrowed an eye. “Have a
seat
,
Ian.”

Shaw
took a step toward the single offsetting chair between him and
Gabriel. He passed a glance at the fliptop computer on his desk,
which he hoped Gabriel hadn’t noticed was still unlocked. “What
are you doing here, Miles? I have half a mind to call the police.”

“
In
that case, we should make this quick. I’m sure you wouldn’t
want them involved in our business.”

“
What
business? Haven’t I done enough of your throwaway tasks for one
century?”

“
This
isn't about one of
my
clients, Ian. It's about one of
yours
.
The one who, until recently, was in the Cayman Islands?”

Shaw
averted his eyes. Poker faces were not one of his strong suits, but
he would’ve given a small fortune to have a good one somewhere
under his bad skin right about now. “What are you talking
about?”

“
It’s
all right, Ian. I, too, have enough respect for attorney-client
privilege to do the word dance. It’ll take a little longer, but
integrity must be maintained, right? So, without naming names...”

Gabriel
whirled Shaw’s fliptop to face them, exposing the record of
overseas transfers that had been placed between Cleveland and the
Cayman’s over the last several days.

The
hunk of granite in Shaw’s upper GI moved to his throat.

“
Now,
I already know he’s no longer in the Cayman’s, Ian. What
I don’t know is where he is now. To make things easier for you,
I do have a pretty good idea that he’s here in Cleveland. And I
need you to tell me where.”

Shaw
ground his teeth.
Fuck you,
Miles
,
he thought.
He was tired of taking shit from him and
now Gabriel had nothing to hold over Shaw's head—nothing that
couldn’t be thrown back in his face. Shaw pursed his lips
tauntingly. “I still don’t know what...”