Peak Oil (3 page)

“Can we play?” Neil asked, jerking his head toward the pool tables.

“Knock yourself out,” the barman answered and stooped below the counter. He placed a white ball and chalk on the counter. “Five dollar deposit, includes the first hour. Two dollars an hour after.”

Neil placed a fifty dollar bill on the counter and picked up the ball and chalk. “Run a tab until it’s done.”

The barman nodded, picked up a glass, and started wiping it dry.

They carried their beers to the pool tables. Neil switched on an overhead light suspended from the ceiling above one of the tables and started packing the balls.
 

Alexa broke, shattering the cluster of balls and sinking a stripe in the corner pocket. She lined up her next shot, glancing up at Neil. “I went through the intel Laiveaux sent me.”
 

She positioned herself, leaning over her cue, one eye squeezed shut as she took aim, and sank the yellow in a side pocket. She stood up and rubbed some chalk over the tip of the cue and blew the excess away. “Metcalfe sent an e-mail to Fitch with a downloadable link to a snuff film. Fitch, or whoever was monitoring the mail account, downloaded the movie a couple of days ago.”
 

She lined up another shot, and the white cracked into the side of orange, bouncing it off the side of the table and sinking it into a side pocket.
 

Neil sighed.

She took a long shot at blue and pocketed it in the corner pocket. She looked up with a smile and saw Neil grimace. “How do we know that it was Fitch who downloaded the movies?”

Alexa shrugged as she considered her next shot. “We don’t. But the mail was addressed to him. It’s the only solid lead we have to go on.” She took a sip of beer. “Frydman traced the location of the computer to approximately thirty miles east of town. The IP address points to Refatex, Fitch’s refinery.”

Alexa proceeded to clear the table. She was about to break for the second game when the bar door crashed open. The silhouette of a large man blocked the blinding outdoor light.
 

The guy entered the bar, and a second man followed him inside. They wore leather biker clothes with long ZZ Top beards. They walked up to the barman, and a seemingly urgent conversation ensued. Alexa observed them casually, leaning on her cue as the barman nodded his head toward the pool tables. The two men looked up and strode purposefully toward them.

Alexa leaned forward to take her shot.

“Nice ass,” one of the guys said and slapped it.
 

Alexa closed her eyes and sighed, and then she stood up and faced the two men. She cocked her head toward the guy who had slapped her and grinned, blinking twice. “Ugly nose.”
 

He frowned, about to reply, when Alexa’s shoulder snapped forward, and she rammed the palm of her hand into his nose. He fell to the floor in a convulsing heap, blood gushing through his fingers.

“See, ugly nose,” she said to the man on the ground and turned around to complete her shot. He looked up at her through teary eyes, blood dripping from his broken nose.

The other guy looked at Neil in bewilderment. He took a step toward Alexa. “Why, you . . . you little—”
 

“Oy,” Neil called. The biker slowly shifted his gaze from Alexa to Neil. Neil drained his beer and put the glass down firmly on the table. “Give the lady a chance to finish her shot first.”

The man stared at Neil blankly.
 

Alexa broke the balls and sank one into the corner pocket. She glanced up at Neil accusingly. “What, no help?”
 

He smiled and shrugged. “You started it.”

She scowled. “I did not.” She pointed at the guy on the floor with her cue. “He slapped me first.”

“All right, then. Your ass started it,” Neil said with a chuckle. “It is handsome, by the way.”
 

Alexa sauntered up to him and punched his shoulder. “Screw you.”

“Hey. I’m still here,” the second biker said. His friend was trying to pull himself upright against the man’s leg. The biker pushed him away. “Just wait,” he said with an irritated tone.

“Oh, sorry,” Alexa said and walked toward him, the cue slung over her shoulder. She stood in front of him, her chin jutted out and her arm hanging by her side. “How may I help?”
 

The man shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the next. He glanced at her and then back over his shoulder to the barman, who was busy on the phone.

“Um, I hear you’re snoopin’ around, askin’ funny questions,” he said as he thrust his face close to Alexa's, their noses almost touching. “What do you want, bitch?”

Alexa jabbed a finger in front of his face. “That’s no way to talk to a lady.” She threw an accusing glance at Neil. “Are you going to allow this piece of snake shit to talk to me like this?”

Neil just shrugged.

The biker shoved her chest. “What’d you just call me?”

Alexa growled. “Touch me one more time and you’ll be leaving here in a body bag.”
 

The card players stood up, mumbling, and shuffled toward the door.

“Oh yeah? You and which army, bitch?” he said and shoved her again.
 

She looked back at Neil, who was leaning against the pool table, obviously enjoying the show. She pointed at him, holding the cue to her side. “You’re next.”
 

Neil shrugged.

Alexa flicked the weighted bottom of the cue upward and caught the man flush in the balls. He crouched, clutching the family jewels. She grabbed his beard and ripped his head toward the floor. She jerked a knee up, connecting solidly with his nose. She looked down at the second man writhing on the floor and then pointed at them with the cue. “Now you two look like twins.”
 

She swung the pool cue over her shoulder and sauntered toward Neil. He held his hands up in a defensive posture.

The card players opened the door, and sunlight flooded in. Neil heard the familiar wail of a police siren outside. The car screeched to a halt in front of the bar, and car doors opened and slammed shut. A cop ran in, scanning the room, gripping a gun with both hands. The barman pointed toward them, and the cop nodded and marched toward the pool tables.

“Now, who is the troublemaker?” he bellowed.

The two men on the floor pointed at Alexa.

The cop marched up to Alexa, removing his cuffs from a buckle on his belt. He started reciting Alexa her Miranda rights. A female cop kept a close eye on them from a distance, her gun pointed to the ground.

Neil walked in between Alexa and the cop. “Officer, you’re taking this too far.” He nodded at the two men on the floor. “These rednecks harassed my girlfriend.”

The cop glanced at Neil and then at the men on the ground. His name badge said “Morris.” He grinned at Neil. “Yeah, sure looks like it.”
 

Neil grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled the cuffs from his hand.

The female cop pulled a Taser from her holster and pointed it at Neil. “Do not make me use this . . .”

Neil glanced over his shoulder. “Try.”

Alexa gently pushed Neil aside. “Let it go, baby.” She held her hands in front of her. “Let’s get this over with.”

Neil pursed his lips but did nothing. He slapped the cuffs into Morris’s open palm and then snorted in disdain.

They cuffed Alexa, and the female officer led her outside.

Neil followed the patrol car to the station. He steered to a curb beneath a shady oak and cut the engine.
 

He saw a well-maintained, white two-story with wide glass doors that slid open as people entered or exited. A large shield had been sandblasted onto the doors. The letters “DCPD” were written on a ribbon that flowed over the center of the escutcheon. “To Protect” was written at the top, “And Serve” at the bottom.

Neil studied the terrain. Manicured lawns surrounded the building and extended all the way to the back for as far as he could see. Squirrels played in the sheltered branches of shady trees. In the middle of the circular driveway in front of the building stood a bronze statue of a large cat. Water burbled from its mouth, cascading into a small pond below.
 

The two cops climbed out of the patrol car. The female officer walked to the back and opened the door, motioning to Alexa to climb out. Officer Morris stood guard at the entrance to the building, a thumb hooked into his belt, the other hand on his holster. Alexa climbed out uncomfortably, her hands cuffed in front of her. The female officer held her by her elbow and steered her toward the door.

Neil climbed out of the car and cupped his hand in front of his eyes to look up the shimmering road. The early morning sun beat down relentlessly, and he could feel his T-shirt sticking to his back.
 

He ambled toward the statue. A black plaque was tacked to the white concrete pedestal on which the cat was standing. He leaned closer and squinted, trying to decipher the writing on the dull surface.

It described the color, build, and weight of an ocelot, as well as its habitat and the fact that they were rarely seen in the area anymore. The cat’s balls had been rubbed to a golden sheen by thousands of tourists. He leaned over and rubbed them as well. He made a wish, shrugged, and walked toward the sliding doors.
 

The doors opened as he came closer, and they sucked closed behind him. He was hit by a blast of cold air as he walked inside. Alexa was being processed by one of the officers at a counter. “Do you have any weapons?” the man asked without looking up.

Neil stood closer.

Alexa shrugged, removed the Glock from her shoulder holster, slipped out the mag, and slapped it down on the table. She held up the gun. “You mean like this?”
 

The man looked up and his eyes widened. He nodded.

She placed the gun next to the magazine. She slipped a boot knife from the holster on her calf and slapped that down on the table as well. “Or something like this?”
 

She fished around in her leather jacket’s inside pockets and removed a pair of knuckle dusters, and then she slipped the hunting knife from its sheath at the back of her belt and slapped them both down purposefully on the table as well.

The man swallowed. “Shit, lady, you a hired killer or something?”

Alexa smiled sweetly.

“Anything else?”

Alexa cocked her head to the side and then held up a hand in the air. “Merde, I almost forgot.” She fumbled in the side pocket of her jacket and pulled out a Sig Sauer P238. She dangled the small pistol in front of the man, holding it by the grip between her thumb and forefinger. “Does this qualify?”

Neil smiled as the cop’s lower lip started trembling. “Is that all?”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

He ducked behind the counter and pulled out what looked like a metal briefcase. He fiddled with a lock and opened it. “Put it in there.”

The cop watched in awe as Alexa carefully packed her weapons inside the padded box. The cop led her to the side of the counter, took her fingerprints, and gave her a whiteboard to hold up in front of her chest. He scribbled her name, the date, and the time on the front with a black felt-tip pen. She was instructed to hold it beneath her chin, and he positioned a camera in front of her. Alexa winked and pouted her lips as the flash went off. “Don’t do that,” the cop ordered.

Neil took a chair in the waiting area as the formalities concluded. Alexa was requested to turn sideways for a profile picture.
 

The policeman gave her a transparent plastic bag to put the rest of her belongings into and scribbled something on the side. He clipped the bag, a sheet of green cardboard paper with the fingerprints, and some paperwork to a board and shoved it inside a drawer. He picked up the metal briefcase, walked around the counter, and took Alexa by her arm, leading her to a door behind the counter.
 

The officer unlocked the door, and Neil saw barred cells through the opening. Some men in a cell whooped and jeered as Alexa entered. Neil heard a cell door open and slam shut again. The officer came out and walked straight to Neil, eyeing him suspiciously. “You family?” he asked.

Neil shook his head. “Nope, colleague.” He stuck out his hand. “Neil Allen, pleased to meet you.”
 

The officer nodded and shook it. “Harvey. Deputy Dwight Harvey.” His jowls bounced as he spoke.
 

“What are you booking her for?”
 

The policeman shrugged. “Disorderly conduct, I guess.”
 

“How do I get her out?”
 

The officer nodded. “If you have $500, you can bail her out.” His brow twitched slightly as he spoke.

Neil nodded and pulled out his wallet from his back pocket. He counted out five bills and dropped them on the counter. “Where do I sign?”

Dwight Harvey pulled a sheet of paper from a tray on the counter and clipped it onto a clipboard. He stabbed the paper with his finger. “There—there—and there, on the X.”
 

“How long till you release her?” Neil asked.