Fly With Fire (42 page)

She went down to the
fifteenth floor and after a second’s scan saw the stairwell. Quietly she went
up the steps. She was still fuming with indignation at Zack with the added sting
of her usual animosity towards Al. She pushed the bar on the fire exit door.
She’d half expected it to hold firm but it opened and she peeked around the
edge of it. No one was in sight. She thought she heard a muffled voice as she
approached three geodesic domes. She rounded the domes with a hand up to block
the sun. The strong breeze blew wisps from her braid.

Mo stopped as she noticed a
triangle of steel missing from the last dome. That’s an odd shaped door she
thought. Blinded by the light she tried to look inside. Spots floated in front
of her eyes as they tried to adjust to the dark. She leaned in putting her
hands on the edge of the opening. She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them.

A hand fell on hers and she
nearly jumped out of her skin. A big black hand grabbed the edge and up came
Al. “Do I have to handcuff you?” He squeezed his large body through the
triangle then threw up his hands and walked to the edge of the roof.

Suddenly Zack appeared from
around the dome. “The elevator was being blocked from use so we could check
this out. You were supposed to stay put. But for your information, your admirer
was using this to access the roof and hide quickly. I found these dummy bolts
on this plate. Evidently the stairs were too high exposure. Our guy’s been
riding this elevator up and down for who knows how long spying on you. Us.
Guess he got frustrated with its limitations and repelled down to the window
for a better look. Lucky for us there’s a service ladder running inside the
shaft. Al, you find anything?” Al was barking at someone on his phone. “Satisfy
your curiosity or would you like a better look?” He stepped aside and waved as
if she were on a game show. He was puffing with pain but she was too angry to
have much sympathy. Actually, she was bursting with curiosity.

“No.” Ass. She turned on her
heel as Al came toward them. “Not one word.” She went around the dome as Zack
followed. Al punched briskly at his phone with large fingers. “Ben-Ghury!” he
snapped into it.

“You going to put me under house
arrest too?” She jerked at the door. She was almost flung back by its solid
resistance. Zack caught her arm. She jerked it away. His fingers darted on the
keypad like little bullets of irritation and pulled the door open. “While
you’re at it you might as well make sure you bleed to death.” She jerked a nod
at his shirt. A small red spot threatened. She took the stairs two at a time
and went through the door into the hallway. Let him get the door for himself.
Anything to prove himself the macho police detective!

Mo smacked her hand onto the
elevator button. She didn’t look at him while they waited wordlessly. In
silence they rode up the one floor to the suite. They looked at each other
before stepping off. Her eyes flared but his were twin detonators. She bit her
lip. He swung out his good arm in a ‘you first’ motion. Meese looked up in
shock. He’d turned a ball game on low, never knowing she was gone.

“Out.” Zack thrust a thumb.
Meese looked at Mo. He was on her company’s dime. She gave him a nod and went
into her bedroom.

“All packed and ready to fly
out the door? Good. After what I saw last night I can’t think of anything I
want more. You go back on down to your condo and pick up where you left off,
because all I want is my life back.”

“Nothing would please me
more. I don’t like being lied to Mo. Withholding is the same as lying in my
book. You think this is all a game? You don’t have to be honest or go by rules
set up for your own protection? You may not like cops or having bodyguards but
no one applied for the job of being your babysitter. The least you can do is
respect what we’re trying to do enough not to flaunt your snobbery.” Zack put
his hand on his side. His face was white with pain. “If you don’t like what you
saw last night, fine by me. I’ve never been perfect, and I’m even less perfect
now. Way less. You talk about trust like it’s a candle on the altar, but you
blow it out whenever it’s convenient for you.” He leaned against the doorway.
“You want your life back? You got it.” He turned and struggled across the
sitting room.

“Zack, stop, you’re hurt.” He
picked up his bag. His fist could not have knocked her back harder than the
look he gave her. Her fury regained its head of steam. “I was just a pit stop
on your way back to your precious job. If I hadn’t shown up at your door you’d
have been just as satisfied with Cherry, Cherie, whatever the hell. Just
thought you’d take a walk on other side of the street. Something a little
different from your big haired bimbos?”

Zack snorted wearily, his head
was pounding from an opiate hangover. “Yeah. I hope you enjoyed slumming. Glad
to be of service. You got yourself another notch, congratulations.” He realized
he couldn’t press the elevator button with his bag in his hand. He was too weak
to use the elbow now. The plate holding his clavicle together felt like it was
going to burst through his skin. He dropped the bag and hit the button.

Mo watched him with a fist in
her gut. The pain and insult fused into blind rage. She grasped the handiest
weapon. “You don’t know anything about slums compared to what I know. But I do
know that you’ve got to prove to the world that Zack Burnham is not his father.
Even if it kills you.”

Her eyes grew large as Zack
half stumbled toward her. She stepped back as she gauged the pyrotechnics in
his eyes. Then Zack stopped, the fire guttering out to a cold ashy defeat. He
turned as the doors opened and pushed the bag in with his foot. The last Mo saw
of him his body was supported by the back of the elevator. His head reared back
in pain as the doors closed.

“Fuck, Burnham, did you not
hear me say not to use the elevator?” Al Simpson looked down into the car. He
swung his feet into the opening and jumped down, amazingly agile. He watched
Zack pant against the wall. “Where you going? You need to go back and…oh, that
bad.” He spied the bag and pressed a code into the service box. “I had them
lock it down this time. Where do you want to go?”

“I… I can’t. Just get me in a
room. Please.”

Mo knew she had struck an
irrevocable blow. The victory was beyond hollow. It bored a hole into her out
which the angry energy poured. The swish of the doors shutting brought a rising
flood of regret. She tried to cling to the rage but it was pulled away like the
umbrella in her dream, lost on a cold wind of despair. Zack had punched through
her control with the remark about a notch. Just a stupid, very stupid,
offensive parry. But she had pulled out the heavy artillery. He didn’t know
Tyler had told her about his father. Not only had she dragged out the very
thing that had motivated his life and ground his face into it. She’d exposed
another lie. The sin of omission. At least according to the book of Zack.

She looked at the clock. The last
thing she wanted to do was work. That did not happen often. She worked no
matter what. Even when she had the flu. Mo wanted to crawl into bed and cover
her head with a blanket. She wanted to go after Zack. Hell. She didn’t know
what she wanted. Let them both cool off. Let him go back to his condo and stew.
Maybe he’d actually get some rest if he were away from her. She was so glad to
have a few minutes alone. She would get ready and go practice, why waste the
day. Just a few minutes of alone time. Then she’d go to work. She wouldn’t
think about him. She’d clear her mind and head for the coliseum. She plopped on
the sofa and leaned her head back. Just as she tried to attain her center the
elevator doors popped open.

The look on Simpson’s face
almost had her holding out her wrists to be cuffed. Okay she gave up. Guilty.
Guilty of anything, everything, he wanted to charge her with. He plopped on the
other end of the sofa with a weighty thud. They sat there a few moments without
speaking. Finally she looked over at him. A weary man.

“Any news? Find anything
helpful in the elevator?” she sighed sadly.

“Found Burnham. Wasn’t
helpful at all.” He scratched behind his ear. “Where’s Meese, I thought…”

“Zack sent him packing,” she
found great interest in the ceiling light.

“He’s in that kind of mood
today.” He flipped open his phone and pressed a button. “Get Meese back up
here.” He listened a moment then clicked it shut. “You snuck out on Meese. You
embarrassed him.”

Mo did a double take. “What
is up with you guys? Do you all do a secret handshake and swear to be moody,
judgmental and tight assed to become cops. Are you so rigid in your fear of
being perceived as weak that it causes you suck yourselves into a black hole
from which not even common sense can escape?”

“Huh?” Al looked at her. He’d
seen a lot of pain and the pain of her face was emphasized by the shaky anger.
He couldn’t bear to look into her eyes. Her eyes embodied every scalded emotion
that had ever bubbled up through the morass of human suffering. What could he
say? He looked down and mumbled, “Guess it’s a cop thing.”

Mo bolted straight up and
flew into her room slamming the door.

Al heaved a sigh and waited
for Meese.

Riggers, pyrotechnicians,
lighting, sound and atmospheric technicians; acrobatic performers, singers,
musicians, magicians, makeup and costume experts. All these professions and
more darted, lifted, pushed, shoved, wired, plugged, tested and retested,
hurried, scurried and rushed in the last few minutes before the opening music
began. The lights went down to the lowest level at which the human eye could
comfortably see. A beam of light hit the floor. The music queued Trollie to
come out and warm up the audience with his combination of humor and irony. The
audience anticipated. The spot of light remained stationary while the music
requeued. People started to stir. The stirring became a murmur.

Where the hell was Trollie?
Roddy looked around. Trollie was not at his queue. What the? The audience was
growing impatient. “Les.” He called the security guy over. “Trollie’s not at
his queue. Check it out.”

“What are you going to do?”
Haaken asked; his Swedish accent thick. He didn’t get an answer. Roddy jumped
on Trollie’s little bicycle and pedaled toward the spot of light.

“What is he doing?” Haaken
asked Juan.

“Roddy knows everybody’s
role. He’s filling in.” Juan stretched indifferent to Haaken’s look of wonder.

Mo sat in her dressing room
alone trying to focus. The boys were outside the door. She could hear the music
queue Trollie then restart. Then another start. She went to the door see what
was going on. As she opened the door a large square box was arriving. The boys
seemed anxious to check the contents. The music had started to flow properly
and the audience could be heard laughing. Mo reached out for the card putting
up a hand to stop the men from opening the box. The card said simply, “I’m
sorry.” She breathed fast breaths of anxious excitement. True hell had been
realized that day. She wasn’t even sure she’d get through the show. Now her
glittered heart raced with shining hope. “Zack.” She grabbed the box and locked
the door before they could object.

Everything was in place.
While the buffoons spent the night and day at the hotel on a wild goose chase,
he had finalized his plans. Mo was in for a surprise. All of them. All those
who he had seen cast their eyes on him and found him wanting. Not as good as
them. Not good enough. Especially that whore. She’d teased him endlessly. She
knew he wanted her and she’d made it a point with every move to lead him on.
Her smiles. Her dark eyed looks whenever they were near each other. The way she
moved her body.

She had betrayed him with
that stupid cop. He wasn’t the first. Rasta and who knew how many others. Now he
would have his revenge. Of course it was the end of the line for him too. But
so what? He’d been the company joke for long enough. It was time to bring
everything to a head and be done with it. He wasn’t afraid. Life changed, as he
knew more than anything. It was just a new phase of existence. But how they’d
howl before he made his exit. They’d be the ones burned in the end. And best of
all, Mo would be getting what she deserved very soon.

Zack turned toward the window
and saw night. He’d been asleep for hours. Pain hammered his shoulder like a
woodpecker gone berserk. His side throbbed as if he’d been caught in a
vise.  Al had given him a pain pill and called the doctor. “Seepage. Stay
still for God’s sake. What’s wrong with you? Call your own doctor next time if
you’re not going to listen.” Mr. Whitney’s doctor had indignantly snapped his
bag shut.

He squeezed his eyes and
shook his head trying to clear it. It repaid him with a pounding that seemed to
go through the top of his head and slice out his eyes. He lay hopeless and
immobile. But he could think. And his thoughts made him wish his skull would
crack open and he’d be done.

In the distance he heard
sirens. They seemed to get closer. From the window the coliseum could be seen
across the huge parking lot. He edged up slowly. Lights, oh god, painful
lights. A blast of pain like shrapnel blasting into his head seized him. The
room spun as he stood. No more pills he managed to think when his brain turned
on again. His synaptic outage left his memory fragmented. He floundered
mentally. Oh. The lights at the coliseum.