Working Stiff (10 page)

“Bright side,” he agreed, and conveyed the order. “Might as well get extra cheese with that.”

The smell of the food filled the cab as they pulled away from the payment window, and Bryn realized that she was actually hungry. Funny, she hadn’t expected to feel that at all, for some reason. Sensation, yes, but needs? It just seemed strange.

French fries still tasted as salty-delicious as ever. She munched on them as Fideli drove the last two miles to her apartment. It wasn’t much, a lower-middle-class kind of neighborhood with hardworking people. The apartments were generic and cheaply made, but affordable. Fideli didn’t ask what building she lived in, which indicated a little more knowledge about her than she felt strictly comfortable with; he parked the big SUV and said, “You mind if I take off? I like to eat with the family when I can.”

“Sure,” she said. She felt strange, suddenly, as if she were looking at a building she didn’t know, facing an evening with a total stranger: herself. She took her Coke and bagged food, but made no move to get out of the truck. It idled gently, waiting. Fideli watched her in silence.

“Hey,” he finally said. “Better idea. How about you come with me?”

She jerked a little in surprise, because she really hadn’t expected that. She’d been waiting for him to impatiently order her out. “What?”

“Home,” he said. “You look like you don’t need to sit alone and watch your burger get cold, Bryn. It’s been a pretty full couple of days for you, I’d say.” What he wasn’t saying was that he saw the fear in her. Fear of facing life alone, the way she was now. Whatever she was.

“Joe …” She didn’t mean to use his first name; it was just instinct. She bit her lip. “Mr. Fideli … there’s no chance I could be … contagious, is there? I mean, I don’t want to put your family in any danger.”

He shook his head. “Can’t share the nanites, even through an open wound. They’re keyed to your DNA, cease to function outside your body. I wouldn’t let you around the kids if there were any risk, believe me.”

“And you’re sure that I’m not going to get a craving for brains or anything.”

He laughed this time. “You let me know if that happens. But no. It ain’t your zombie apocalypse scenario, not this time. You’re just … you. On permanent, portable life support.” That was a sobering thought, and even he stopped laughing. He put the truck in reverse. “No arguments—you’re eating with us. We’ve got a guest room, too. Kylie’s got some stuff that’ll fit you.”

Bryn wasn’t really in the mood to stand her ground, not tonight. She was, deep inside, sobbingly grateful to him for the kindness. If she’d faced those blank, generic walls of her apartment alone …

She wasn’t sure what she would have done.

“Hey,” she said. “Can I bring my dog?”

Fideli raised his eyebrows. “Sure.”

The messes inside the house really weren’t something Bryn wanted to face, but she forced herself to clean up the worst of it. It wasn’t the dog’s fault, after all; she’d been busy getting herself killed and revived for almost a full day. In fact, Mr. French, her bulldog, was well behaved even in Fideli’s wildly interesting SUV; he contented himself with sniffing the interior door and then poking his head out of Bryn’s passenger window, tongue out and ears flapping all the way.

Fideli’s house was a rambling ranch style in a typical suburban neighborhood, nothing really special about it except the old-growth trees that made it seem hidden and protected. There were more signs it was a house with kids that she spotted as soon as she drove up—the mommy van in the driveway, a boy’s bike lying on its side in the grass, a brightly colored Big Wheel nearby. A candy-colored plastic playhouse made for a little girl.

The windows of the house glowed with warmth.

Bryn put Mr. French on his leash and carried her own food as she followed Fideli up the walk to the side door—the kitchen door, as it turned out, and the kitchen was busy. Bryn had to immediately back up against the wall to avoid a pair of running children, a boy and a girl, who whizzed by. The girl stopped to awkwardly pat Mr. French on the head, then dashed off.

Mr. French woofed and sneezed, then sat down with his head cocked, assessing his new situation.

“Jeff, Harry, I’m
warning
you, one more time….” The woman from Fideli’s picture book rounded the corner carrying a stack of dirty dishes and stopped, glancing from Joe to Bryn and back again. The hesitation lasted for only a second, and then she came up with a bright, nearly genuine smile. “Hey, honey. Who’s this?”

Joe took the dirty dishes from her and put them down in the sink, then kissed her. It was a warm, comfortable kind of kiss, not self-conscious at all, and then the kids came racing back around yelling and flung themselves on his legs, and he hugged them.

Bryn stood there clutching the leash, her Coke, and her bagged food, feeling like this had been a massive mistake, feeling more isolated than ever … until Kylie came forward, wiping her hands on a towel, and took the Coke and bag from her to put them on the counter. “My husband doesn’t know how to introduce people,” she said, “so I’ll just jump in. Kylie, and that’s Jeff and Harry. Harriet, but we all call her Harry.” The two kids, one blond, one dark, waved. “The baby’s still in her chair in the dining room—honey, check her, would you?”

“Yep,” Joe said, and walked out of the kitchen trailing children.

The noise level dropped to almost nothing, and Bryn felt awkward again. “Hi,” she said, and held out her hand. “I’m Bryn. Bryn Davis. I, ah …” How was she supposed to explain any of this? How top-secret was it, anyway? “I work with Joe. Oh, and this is Mr. French. I promise he’s housebroken.”

Kylie smiled at the dog, then shook hands. She had fine blue eyes, and Bryn sensed a sharp, lively intelligence behind them. “I never heard him mention you before.”

Joe appeared in the doorway again with a baby on his hip, comfortably braced in his big arm. “She’s new,” he said. “Honey, take her a minute; I have to lock up the boom sticks.”

“Jesus, Joe, you’re walking around with her and your guns?” Kylie rolled her eyes and took the little girl, who cooed and nestled against her with more trust than Bryn thought she’d ever had shown to her in her entire life. “Go. Shoo. Get less dangerous.”

“Impossible,” Joe said. “I’m a lethal weapon, baby.”

“Shut up.”

He blew her a kiss and disappeared again. Kylie jiggled the baby—Juliet—on her hip and exchanged another smile with Bryn. “So,” she said, “he talked you into the heart-attack special, right? I hardly ever let him eat that stuff, which is probably why he’s running late. Here, let me get you a plate; go on into the dining room.” She raised her voice to a yell. “Jeff, come in here and rinse the dishes!”

“Mooooooom, the show’s starting!”

“It’s recorded, honey; put it on pause and just do what I tell you.” Kylie handed Bryn a plate, picked up the food and drink, and followed her into the dining room. It was a warm kind of room, all earth tones and wood, with family photos on the walls. Bryn felt a little odd eating fast food there, until Joe Fideli came back, plunked his own down on the table, and began digging in. Kylie settled in across from him.

Bryn found out quickly that she wasn’t just hungry; she was
ravenous
. The burger disappeared, and so did the fries. The fizzy sweetness of the Coke tasted so good it almost made her weep.

She didn’t feel quite as dead anymore. Especially when Mr. French stretched himself out in a warm blanket across her feet.

Kylie and Joe chatted about family stuff, occasionally asking her a question or two; it was all unforced and comfortable, and Joe finally got around to telling his wife that he’d invited Bryn to use the guest room. That got another second of hesitation, as if she were trying to figure out his motivations, and then a quick agreement. Kylie got up to fix the room while Joe slurped the last of his drink.

“Do they know?” Bryn asked softly. “I mean, about what you do.” Whatever that was.

“They know I’m in corporate security,” Joe said. “And that my work is top-secret. So she won’t ask you any questions. She’s just going to assume you’re someone I’m protecting. Which is true.”

“Do you usually bring people you’re protecting home to meet your family?”

“Not ever,” he said. “Hope you feel special about it.”

He started to get up from the table. Bryn put a hand on his arm, holding him in place. “Joe.” She got his full, alert attention. “Thanks. You’re sure I’m not putting anybody in danger by being here?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really think I’d bring you within a mile of my kids if I thought there was any chance at all of that? Bryn, you’re a nice girl, and I admit, I got you brought back mostly because I felt I’d let you down. But you ever pose any danger to my family and I’ll make you permanently dead, and I won’t hesitate for a second.”

She believed him. She let go, and Joe picked up her empties and cleaned up the table, just like a normal guy.

“If I ever did pose a danger to them, I’d want you to do it,” she said. “You’ve got a lovely family.”

“You say that now; wait until you spend a couple of hours with the little terrors,” he said. “Come on. I owe Jeff a video game or two.”

Normal life.

Bryn wondered if she would ever have this again, this taste of a future, of life, of family.

Well, she thought,
if this is all I get, I might as well enjoy it.

In the morning, the family had breakfast, and Joe drove Bryn to drop off Mr. French at her apartment, and then to see what was left of Fairview Mortuary.

It was a grim sight. Most of the building was still standing, but the other part was blackened and had collapsed in on itself. The serene little garden out front had been trampled into mush by firefighters and emergency crews.

“When you stage a rescue, you don’t go about it subtly, do you?” she asked. Joe shrugged.

“I tried that,” he said. “Fairview had hardened the doors. Only choice I had was to break down the loading-dock wall, and I had to use explosives to do it.”

“And you just carry those around with you.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I do. In my job, it pays to be prepared.”

“Like a Boy Scout.”

“With C-four.”

There were a substantial number of trucks pulled up in the driveway, unloading materials. Repairs, it seemed, were already under way, and a work crew in hard hats was swarming around the place looking purposeful. Bryn got out of the SUV and walked toward the building, then stopped. She turned to Joe. “What about the bodies?” she asked.

“Which bodies?”

“Fairview, Fast Freddy, Mr. and Mrs. Jones, Mr. Garcia …”

“The basement bodies. They were removed already.” Joe cleared his throat. “Mrs. Jones and Mr. Garcia were special problems. They were, ah, cleared separately.”

He meant dismembered. Or burned. Or both. Bryn felt a little wave of faintness come over her, and had to grip Fideli’s arm tight for a second until it passed. He didn’t say anything about it, which she appreciated. Once she felt steady again, she started to walk on—and then stopped, stock-still. She turned to look at Fideli. “Just those two?”

“Yeah,” he said, and his brows came down to a level, concerned line. “Why?”

“Because Fast Freddy was the same. Like me, I mean. Revived.”

“Fuck,” he spat, and pulled out his cell phone. He turned away and marched off, talking softly but quickly. She waited. He finally finished and came back, looking even grimmer. “Should have done a blood test. Damn it. Body’s already been processed and sent off for cremation.”

“Well—that’s okay, then, right?”

“Would have been,” he said, “except that nobody had any warning ol’ Freddy might get all better, get up, and walk away. Which he did. He’s in the wind.” He shook his head. “Listen, Bryn, I’ve got to get back—”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be fine, Joe. Thank you for … for everything.” Including, she thought, the clothes on her back … a gift from Kylie of a butter-soft tan sweater and jeans that fit like a dream. Even the shoes—loafers again— were her size, or close enough. Kylie had gotten her sizes and gone on a midnight shopping run, and that woman had some clothing feng shui, no doubt about it. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about Freddy.”

“You had other things on your mind, and I never asked. This one’s on me,” he said. He climbed in the truck and started it up, then leaned out the window. “Forgot to tell you, your ride’s over there in the lot. It’s the black one.” He tossed her a set of keys, which she caught automatically, still not understanding. He grinned at her and backed out, then gunned the engine to a full roar on his way out of the parking area and onto the main road.

Bryn watched until he was out of sight, then looked around again. She wasn’t quite sure what her role here was supposed to be, considering the damage that had been done—or she wasn‘t, until a big Cadillac sedan made the turn off the road and pulled up in the lot near her.

Lucy, the receptionist, got out and stood there, staring. “Lord,” she said. “I was told, but I didn’t believe it. Is it true? Mr. Fairview, gone?”

“And Freddy,” Bryn said.

Lucy tore her gaze away from the damaged building and glanced over at her, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m not crying over
him
. Oh, you didn’t meet him, did you?”

“No,” Bryn lied. “I went home. After … after what happened to Melissa.” That, Fideli had told her, was the official story, and it made sense. More sense than what she’d done. “I guess Mr. Fairview and Freddy were working late. They say it was some kind of explosion and fire.”

“Some of those chemicals are real nasty,” Lucy agreed. “It’s just awful. Well, I suppose both of us are out of a job.”

“No.” Bryn took a deep breath. “I … I was Mr. Fairview’s niece.”

“You
what
? Why didn’t anybody tell me?”