Torch Song: A Kickass Heroine, A Post-Apocalyptic World: Book One Of The Blackjack Trilogy (23 page)

We stood facing each other. I could feel that my lip was curled in a snarl, but she was smiling.

“What the fuck was that about, bitch?” I wanted to kick her again, smash her face. I held my hands ready and aimed arrows at her eyes.

“Just checking your reflexes.”

“You’re crazy. Tell me, do the Colemans know you’re crazy?”

“I don’t know if they care. Do you?”

I didn’t bother to answer. “Maybe you need to get out of here.”

“No, let’s finish talking. You wanted to know why I was asking you about Jo.” She walked back to the bed, careful not to limp, but I could see the stiffness. Good. “I think you know these people better than I do. I can’t read Judith at all. I don’t think her boy likes me. Samm seems to trust me. But Jo— are you lovers? Are you planning to become lovers?”

“We’re not and I have no plans.”

“What about Samm?”

“No. Not him, either.”

“Well, maybe you can help me scope Jo out. Is it your experience with her that she conceals a lot or is she just what she appears to be? Smart but not careful? Ambitious but a little soft?”

“I have no idea.” And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, nut-bucket.

“I think you should seduce her. I think you’d have better luck at it than I would and it would look more innocent.”

“You telling me what to do? Last time I looked, I wasn’t working for you, Hannah.”

“Maybe you should be.”

I walked to the door and opened it. She didn’t move. “It was just a suggestion,” she said, “the thing about Jo. But you should keep in mind that it would gain me a lot of trust with the Colemans if I told them you were a spy.”

“You think you can force me to be lovers with Jo? Look, Hannah. I’m holding the door for you.”

“I just want you to know that I’ll use my leverage unless you do what I say.” There was that corpse-like grin again.

“I have as much leverage over you as you have over me. Now you do what I say and get the hell out of my room.”

I was very tired of this pissing contest. First the physical attack, now this. Maybe these tactics had worked for her in the past; they weren’t going to work now. She hadn’t won the fight, and she needed to know I’d out her in a flash if she tried to out me. As far as I was concerned, we had a stalemate.

She stood, but she didn’t walk toward the door.

“I told you to get out. Now run along and run for mayor. I’ll let you do that as long as you behave.”

“So I guess you think we’ve got a tie, here, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“I’m good at tie-breakers.”

“Your piss is dribbling down your leg, macha.”

She laughed and walked, carefully, out the door.

I was on my way to the restaurant, passing the front doors. I had just noticed Jo strolling toward me when a crash, an animal scream, and the agonized yipping of a dog turned me in my path and hurled me out the door, past Owen the blind barker.

The animal was large and black, a mass of curly hair. It was lying in the street, in front of a white floater with a red smear on the hood, crying and trying to stand, but it couldn’t put weight on its right shoulder, where the fur was matted with blood. It struggled partway up, leaning on its left front paw, and then fell again, crying. A man stood beside the car, cursing.

“Look at my car! Look what he did to my car! Goddamn dog!”

I knelt beside the dog. “There’s nothing wrong with your car a washing won’t take care of.” Even a deer couldn’t dent the glassy this floater was made of; a 60-pound dog sure hadn’t.

“Who owns the damned thing, anyway? I hurt my head on the disk and my car will need washing. Someone needs to pay.”

No one anywhere nearby admitted to owning the dog. His eyes were wild, flashing white from the mat of black hair, and he was lying there whimpering. I approached the driver.

“The dog is not mine but I’ll find the owner. Have you called anyone? A veterinarian?”

“Fuck you, lady!” He was young, maybe 25, and he stank of alcohol. Arrogant prick was probably a tourist from Rocky. I wanted to hit him but there were more important things to do. I turned back to the dog. Jo was beside him now, putting her jacket over the quivering black body. She reached to stroke his head and he snapped at her in pain and fear, but his teeth didn’t connect. She touched the top of his head; he laid it down on the street, closed his eyes and groaned. One of the Blackjack cashiers came out to see what was going on, ducked back inside, and came out again with a tall man I knew was a cocktail server. They both stationed themselves in the street, directing traffic around the idiot’s car, Jo, and the trembling black dog.

“Rica,” Jo said, “why don’t you go call the doc. He’ll know the closest vet or he’ll come and help himself.”

“I want to talk to the owner! My head hurts.” I could see the tiniest reddish mark on his forehead. Like a pimple. Maybe it was a pimple. “And I want to be paid for my car.”

“I’ll find the owner for you,” I lied. “Just stick around.” I thought he was probably stupid enough to do that. I leaned down toward Jo, muttering, “I’ll call the sheriff, too.” She nodded, not looking up from the dog, crooning to him softly.

The doctor said he’d leave a call for the vet and also come himself, just in case the vet was tending an animal and didn’t check in for a while. A deputy answered at the sheriff’s office.

“This is Rica Marin over at Blackjack. There’s a drunk driver stopped in the middle of the street outside our front door. Right near the dog he hit. He’s screaming and yelling. I think he’s violent. He may be crazy. If the dog has an owner he might want to press charges. If not, I will. At any rate, he should be taken off the road before he kills someone.”

The deputy, who sounded smarter than Frank himself, said she’d be right there.

When I passed Owen on my way out again, I noticed that his face looked pinched, anxious. I stopped to tell him what was going on.

He nodded. “I gathered most of that. You’re a nice woman, Rica. I was afraid he was going to start hurting people next. Anything I can do?” I told him things were under control and the deputy would arrive soon. He looked relieved.

The drunk driver was sitting on his hood, on the side without blood, glaring at Jo.

“How’s the dog?” I asked her.

“Alive. In shock, but maybe okay. Shoulder looks broken, but I can’t really tell.”

“Doc’s on the way. So’s the sheriff.”

Jo smiled at me, and it was a sweet sight indeed. “Good.”

“I’m due at the restaurant now.”

“Stick around for a few minutes. It’s okay. You’ve earned the right to see this finished.”

The deputy got there first. Marty Kaiser, her nametag said. She ordered the ranting driver to pull his car to the curb. When he’d done that, she told him to shut up, get out, and walk the center line. He wobbled along the line, cursing the dog. She told him to shut up again and when he wouldn’t stop yelling, cuffed him, told us she’d have the car hauled away and took him off to jail, still carrying on, indignant now that the dog, the real criminal, wasn’t being arrested. Or was it the owner he was complaining about? I liked this deputy’s style. If Jo wanted to replace Frank, she’d be the one.

Doc and the vet arrived at about the same time, and between them, strapped the shoulder down and got the yowling, snapping dog onto a stretcher, out of the street, and into the casino. Jo invited them to lay the dog out on the carpet, blood and all. The vet was a young man, about 30, with broad shoulders and a wide, cheerful face. He got a better look at the dog than I had and announced she was a young female.

“Never saw this little girl around here before. If she’s got a human he never brought her to me. Quite a specimen, though.”

“Of what?” I asked.

“Looks like a standard poodle, maybe a mix. Scrawny. Dehydrated. Paws are a mess. She’s been wandering for a while.” He’d given the dog a shot of some kind and she had calmed, then drifted into sleep. He took the temporary wrap off the shoulder, set it, put a cast on it, binding her forequarters in a way I was sure she’d object to when she woke. It was right about then that Drew and Lizzie showed up. I told them what had happened. Lizzie turned red with anger when she heard about the driver. Drew scowled.

Other than the broken shoulder, the vet said, the dog seemed to be okay. But she’d need care. Who would be responsible?

“We will,” Jo said, not hesitating for a second. “Lizzie’s especially good with animals. Shouldn’t be hard to find a home for a dog who might be a full breed. And she’s pretty and seems smart and gentle. How about giving her a haircut while she’s under? She smells bad and we won’t be bathing her any time soon except maybe with a sponge.”

So Jo was both compassionate and practical. What a combination.

The vet laughed. “I’m no groomer, but the closest one I know of is in Oakland. Guess I can do a little something to make this young lady more adoptable.”

He’d already shaved the shoulder and foreleg to put on the cast. He asked for some scissors. Lizzie ran to her mother’s office and brought some back. Using those, and his own clippers, he gave the snoring dog a simple short haircut. Two of the cleaners showed up just as he was finishing, one with a broom, a big waste can, and a dustpan, the other with a vacuum and a bottle of liquid cleaner.

The pooch was skinny, her hip bones protruding, and she had a few sores where the long fuzzy fur had matted. But she was handsomely built. The vet looked at her teeth and said she was about two years old.

“She’ll sleep for a couple of hours. See to it that she drinks plenty of water and give her little bits of food, several small meals a day, until she gets built up a bit.”

Jo turned to Lizzie. “Hear that, Liz?”

“Heard it, Jo.” Lizzie was grinning. She looked eager to start.

These damned Colemans. Hard not to like them.

Jo turned and met my eyes. “Good job, Rica. I guess you can go to the restaurant now. If Waldo has any complaints about your lateness, send him to me.”

I was hoping he’d complain. He glared, but he didn’t say anything.

He’s after her underside

Drew was lying in his room reading an old history book he’d scavenged from a dumpster up at Zephyr Cove. It was published in 2021. Not very good, badly written and barely edited, if at all, but it was published right on the edge of the time when the world began to collapse, right after the Euros started trying to expel all their Muslims. Like a new Inquisition. The authors of the book, a pair of professors from Montana, clearly believed the expulsion was necessary and therefore a good idea. Drew, with the benefit of hindsight, knew that it hadn’t worked.

Things got much worse. Trying to curb the sporadic terrorist only brought more insane violence in reaction. More bombings and killings and poisonings, and then the dissolutions started. France. Spain. Germany and Britain. The Scandinavians and Slavs didn’t try to expel anyone, but the violence and death crossed their borders. The United States fell, less than a year after the assassination of the last President. All by 2023. It took another couple of years for the rest of the world to run to chaos. China had been the last holdout.

“Drew!” Banging on the door. Lizzie. Home from school. What did she want, anyway? A man could hardly take the time to think any more. He swung his legs to the floor, still carrying the book, and went to open the door.

“What?” He didn’t invite her in.

She looked antsy, hopping from one leg to the other like a little kid. “I want to talk to you about something I heard at school.”

Oh good. High school gossip. “What?” he said again, still patient but showing his disinterest by glancing down at his book.

“Don’t just stand there saying ‘what’, slug-boy. Let me in. It’s about Billy Scorsi.”

He sighed. Jesus. That spotty nutbucket? What was he up to now? Drew really didn’t care.

“Oh, please— you want to talk about Billy?” But she was flushed and scowling. He opened the door wider and his sister came in and threw herself on the bed. Drew slipped a bookmark, the jack of diamonds, into his book and set it on the desk, dropping into a chair and folding his arms across his chest like an impatient parent.

“Okay. What?” He sighed when she laughed at his third “what,” then grinned back. He knew he was acting like a Newt.

“I heard from Nancy Tricot that he was bragging to her about how he was going to ‘get’ Hannah Karlow. He’s after Nancy’s underside, you know.” That was more than Drew wanted to know. Billy was sick-fish ugly as well as crazy and Nancy was kind of cute, for a 17-year-old.

“Go on, please, but leave off the sex part.” She smirked. She was such a kid. Two years could make a big difference.

“He was talking about how she was our candidate for mayor and he was going to do everybody a big favor and get rid of her. That was the way he put it, she said. ‘Get rid’ of her. And here’s the other interesting part. Even though she insisted Billy didn’t exactly in so many words say so, she got the feeling he was hinting he might have had something to do with Mayor Madera’s killing.”

“He’s just bragging. I can’t imagine Newt Scorsi would send a scroop like Billy to kill Madera.”

She thought about that for a moment. “You’re right. But maybe he didn’t send him, Drew.”

That struck him. Was it possible? He didn’t think Billy could have gone off on his own and done something that big, but he could see Ky or Newt Junior or both of them deciding it would be fun to kill someone and using the family as an excuse. And he could absolutely see Billy hanging the body from a tree.

He nodded. He was glad he’d listened to Lizzie. This could be nothing, a rash-ass trying to make an impression. Or it could be important. “I think we should talk to Mom. And Jo. Tell them what you heard.”

* * *

Jo looked around the room. Samm was there, this time. He was worried, she could tell, his brow furrowed, his eyes downcast. Judith, too, was taking what Lizzie had heard very seriously. She made the kid repeat every word Nancy had said to her and asked everyone in turn, what they thought of the gossip.

Drew said he thought it could all be true, true that Billy was going to try to kill Hannah, and true that the boys had killed Madera. But, he said, it was hard to know with Billy, since he was a braggart as well as beyond strange. Lizzie nodded energetically when he said that.