The Austin Job (12 page)

Gwendolyn reached for the paper as if it were a coiled rattler. Taking it by the edge, she unfolded its entirety and spread it gently on the bed. “This shouldn’t exist.”

“Sorry hun, I’m pretty sure they do.” He started to leave the room.

“Not the tunnels. The map.” She shook her head. “Benjamin.” He stopped. “Just shut up and listen for a second. Yes, I knew about the tunnels, of their existence anyway. I too have a map.” She swayed toward the far wall where she lifted the corner of a painting to reveal a safe. After accessing it she returned to unfurl a much smaller map over the top of the first.

“It’s a partial.” Lickter spotted the overlap.

“There are five pieces. I have this one, encompassing the financial district.”

Lickter studied the logical quadrants of the remaining map. “So before the map was divided someone secretly made a copy.” He smiled coldly. “One even you didn’t know about.”

“This isn’t a joke.” She stamped her bare foot.

“Oh I understand. It leaves a sour taste, don’t it? Being played by another.”

“I made a mistake, okay? I’m sorry. I should have told you about the tunnels. But don’t you see? No one was supposed to be able to use them, not on this wide of a scale. Not until the five pieces were brought together.”

“And you never bothered to map the remaining tunnels yourself?” He wasn’t buying it.

“You don’t understand. The tunnels are dangerous. There’s more to it than what the map reveals. Traps, mazes…” She clutched herself by the shoulders, rubbing a chill from her arms, “guardians.”

Lickter didn’t like the sound of that last one. He took several steps back to her side. “What sort of guardians?”

~~~

After several minutes describing the lore behind the tunnels, Gwendolyn stopped in mid-sentence, apparently arguing with herself about what to share next. Whether she was winning or losing, Lickter couldn’t guess. “You want a give and take?” She exhaled, her tall, slender frame seeming frail to him for the first time.

“Business is business. I get it.”

“No you don’t.” She shivered, still wearing nothing but the satin nightgown.

“Here,” he grabbed a robe from the back of the washroom door.

“I didn’t exactly take my father’s identity with his permission, or even intentionally. Not at first.” Lickter sat on the foot of the bed while Gwendolyn chose to pace. “It was the person he’d raised me to be,” she shrugged. “I couldn’t be that person as a woman. My parents’ death happened so suddenly. They’d made no preparations, left no instructions. So I set everything in order, scoured over my father’s notes, his books, every minute detail.”

She finally stopped rubbing her arms and instead slipped her hands into the robe’s pockets. “I didn’t find the section of map for a year. When I did, I knew it to be a critical connection between my father and his most important work—a clandestine partnership with four other individuals. After six months of searching I placed the map here in Austin. I moved here, in part, to discover the mystery of my father. Becoming him has only made me more desperate to understand him.”

Lickter tugged on a boot.

“Don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t.” He tugged on the other. As much as he’d wondered about her past over the years he’d known her, his pride had been injured, and none of this information would help him perform his immediate job.

“Since finding the map, it’s been my mission to take my father’s place within the cabal of five—to prove to the remaining four that I am my father’s daughter. All this time I thought the connection between my father and the others must have been political. The capitol was in the middle of the map.” She paced more quickly. “But this proves it must have been the university.”

Lickter stared at her blankly. “Look, I’m tired.”

“I’ll use short sentences.” She rolled her eyes. “It can’t be coincidence that Oleg had this map.”

“So he found it in some dusty drawer.”

“No. I assure you, he didn’t. Someone wanted him to have it.”

Lickter perked up. “A rival.”

Gwendolyn folded her section of map and placed it back into the wall safe while Lickter folded the complete version. She caught him as he slipped it back into his pocket. “Or a member of the cabal. It means they’re watching, and that I’m closer than I’ve ever been.”

She took a moment to relax. “What’s important is that you’re right. Oleg is out of my control. Someone else has been pulling his strings all along.” He shook her off and strode back to the bar for his hat. She followed. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t use him.”

Lickter shook his head. “If you say so, but—”

“Tonight was just a statement. He’s lashing out like a spoiled child. The plan still works.” She grabbed his hand. “Set up the vault. Use the map to find Oleg’s lab. After the auction the plan works as good with him dead as alive.”

“You realize he’ll know that. He’s not going to hang around for a bullet sandwich.”

“As eloquent as ever, Benny.”

Lickter shrugged. “And the mystery men?”

“Leave the cabal to me. This could be an attempt to eliminate me, or it could be a test. It wouldn’t be a first for either.”

“Hey, I’ve got a job to do. I’ll get it done.” He twiddled his toothpick. “You paid good money.”

“Oh good. A professional.” He turned to leave. “Wait.” He paused, his hand on the knob. “Here.” She tossed him a key he hadn’t seen her pick up. “Trade me.”

He took the key she’d given him earlier and handed it back.

“Turn that one to the left and the elevator will drop past the basement. It’s the only entrance.”

“That you know of.” He stepped into the hall, “Good evening, ma’am. Thanks for the drink,” and shut the door.
This keeps getting better
.

~~~

Starr tapped his glass of water on the surface of the bar before resting his head on its rim.
What the hell am I doing?
Jerking his head up, he hailed the bartender. He’d been sober for seven years.
But after tonight—

“I thought you didn’t drink.” Lickter took the stool next to him at the Antler Bar and Grill, just off the lobby of the hotel by the same name. The barkeep stopped directly in front of them.

“A drink for my friend.” Starr gestured toward the sheriff without looking up.

“Whisky, double.” The two men sat in silence until after Lickter’s drink arrived. “Rough night.”

Both men were still wearing their getups from the gala. Seconds ago Starr had planned on passing out in his. He had hoped the morning might reveal the last twenty four hours to be a terrible nightmare. But then what about Daisy? “This is all bullshit.” Starr turned to face Daisy’s father, a man he’d hoped to respect. “Oleg’s revolution, the needs of the people, the good of Texas. You preyed on my ideals, my naiveté.”

“Sorry, boy. But you wouldn’t even recognize it if you weren’t already a player.”

“A player. What in hell is that supposed to mean? What game are we playing, Sheriff? ‘Cause I don’t feel like I’m playing a game.”

Lickter slammed back the rest of his drink. “Look, you’re right. The cover story’s bullshit, but the game is real. And you’re a player now whether you want to be or not.”

“Son of a bitch. You set me up. A job at the bank, dinner with your daughter, breakfast with Oleg. Now I’m supposed to be your poster boy for some industrialist paradise?”

“Can the church talk. You did this to yourself and you’re getting exactly what you want in return, so get over this cock and bull self-pity and man up for what has to be done.”

“Man up?” He slammed his glass on the bar and lowered his voice. “In the last three hours I’ve witnessed people burst into flames. I’ve been shot in the ass with a dissolving bullet, been chased by local law enforcement, stumbled upon a hidden system of tunnels and survived an attack from two dadgum scorpions the size of steers. And you have the gall—”

Lickter gripped him by the shoulders, eyes like full moons. “Where’s Daisy?”

Starr knocked away the sheriff’s hands. “She’s fine. Sleeping upstairs, no thanks to you.”

Lickter took a deep breath. “Go back. You found the tunnels?”

“You knew about them.” Starr shook his head, the feeling of treading dangerous waters returning.

“No, dammit. I just found out tonight.”

“And I’m supposed to—”

“Look, Starr. You’re a good man. Ms. Lloyd saw that in you. For all her faults, she’s a good judge of character. She chooses winners, sometimes even helps to make them just to ensure she ends up on the winning side. That’s your game. That’s politics. But there are other games. In some of ‘em I’m a pawn like you.”

“Bull—”

“Look at me.” Lickter threw out his arms. “I’m a middle-age hired gun. Slow, soft around the middle. The only reason I’m still alive is that I’ve accepted my role, and I play the game better than the rest. I’m a winner,” he paused to emphasize each of his next words, “just like you.”

Starr stood, pushing into Lickter’s face. “So what exactly is
your
game, Sheriff?”

He didn’t bat an eye. “I’m the gloves. I handle things. Things like Oleg.” Starr felt a poke in his stomach. “Things like you.” He looked down to see Lickter’s .38 stuck in his gut before the sheriff slowly put it away. Starr sat down, wincing when his wounded cheek contacted the stool. “The first thing you need to learn is that no one holds all the cards. Not me, not Ms. Lloyd, certainly not Oleg. You just need to know as many of them as possible and predict their order.”

Starr stopped him. “Tell me one thing, and I’ll keep listening. Or don’t, and I’m going to bed.” Lickter nodded. “What’s Oleg’s card? What is it that he’s holding that Ms. Lloyd wants so badly?”

“Now that’s a good question.” Lickter pulled the map from his pocket and spread it over the bar.

TWELVE

Starr, James Starr

Starr awoke in the morning to the rap of a delivery boy at his front door. By the time he opened it, a reminder of his new life dangled from the knob—a tailored mourning suit with pinstripe pants from the most auspicious shop in town. After inhaling an unsweetened bowl of oatmeal and sponging off with the remaining lukewarm water left on the stove, he tried on the suit. It fit better than the one he’d ruined the night before. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, the truth of Lickter’s speech at the bar churned the oatmeal in his gut.

He had come to Austin and run for office to make a difference. Now the finery of representative had been whittled away to that of a tawdry pawn. He kept coming back to what Lickter had said about being a winner. Unapologetically, Starr wanted to win. He’d been a winner in the arena. He’d be a winner now. Besides, the only other option was allowing Oleg to threaten, terrorize and kill. If winning the governorship happened to be the result of doing what had to be done, then all the better.

G.W. Lloyd was conniving, dangerous and powerful. But Lickter was right. She was offering him everything he wanted. Sure, he’d been set up, but the only way out now was forward. He’d have to be smarter. Win the girl, win the people and win the office. He was no longer a rube from the country, the child of tenant farmers. He’d be the next governor of Texas, the youngest the state had ever known.

He reloaded the .38 Ms. Lloyd had given him and spun the cylinder before slipping it into the shoulder harness. For a fading second Starr thought of his younger brother in the trenches. Instead of facing an enemy of sweaty men face-down in the mud, he’d be rubbing elbows with wealthy industrialists intent on a different kind of warfare.

Lickter had explained G.W.’s plot to bring Oleg and his machines of war out into the open by hosting an exclusive auction attended by the Southwest’s wealthiest investors. He’d given him instructions to keep an eye on both Oleg and Daisy. Starr relished the opportunity to look Oleg in the eye using his new found perspective. If he was going to win, he needed to read the man. Forget the bread crumbs Lickter and G.W. were dropping. Why was a Ukrainian refugee really sparking anarchy in Austin, TX?

Their breakfast together had painted Oleg as less of a vapid idealist and more as a man with a bone to pick. So what did he have to gain from an auction? Money didn’t seem a likely answer. A desire to instigate violence via propagating machines of war seemed too vague for a man so otherwise calculating. No one was giving him the whole story, so he’d have to read between the lines. He dropped his bowl into the basin and turned down the sheets on his bed, hoping the mundane movements would jar his thoughts.

If Ms. Lloyd wanted the technology, then what did Oleg want? His roving mind returned to the chaos of the gala. Oleg had approached them with purpose. How could he have missed it? The show had been staged with G.W. Lloyd as the intended audience. So whatever existed between Ms. Lloyd and Oleg was mutual. She wanted to ruin him. He wanted to ruin her. But why? And why were they being so indirect?
I’m the gloves
. Starr recalled another bit of his conversation with Lickter.

They each had something over the other, Starr was sure of it. Of course Yuri Medved and G.W. Lloyd both had something to hide while Oleg Rodchenko and Gwendolyn Winifryd were threatening to reveal the secrets. But he still couldn’t figure what Oleg had to gain from any of it.

He shook out the shoulders of his new suit, swelled his chest and drank in the power that came with responsibility. Already, he craved it more than he ever had spirits. He ran the back of his hand across his cheeks, feeling the stubble from yesterday. He thought the day-old growth spoke of a man with grit. Let the sheriff continue to handle things. Gloves had never really been his style. Starr had exchanged his chaps and spurs for a three-piece suit, but he could still take the bull by the horns.

~~~

On his way to pick up Daisy, Starr stopped by the stables to feed Willy a can of molasses oats as an apology for his second consecutive day of tardiness. News of the burned bodies on the capitol lawn had spread throughout the city, creating even more tension between the locals and the striking farmers, who were seen as the source of the problem.

The owner and operator of the livery seized Starr to grill him about the event. Starr joked that if he told him he’d have to kill him before assuring the man he’d pass along any news. The look in the livery owner’s eyes told Starr the horses would be unattended by afternoon if tensions got any worse. Maybe getting out of town was the right idea. If he’d had family in the area, he would have instructed them to do just that.