Chapter Twenty-eight

“Are you going to kill me or what?” a tired and bored Arje Dekker asked me an hour later. I sat across from him in the holding room. He was chained to the wall in a way that allowed him to move around a cot, chair and toilet. I was perfectly safe. A little drunk, but okay.

“I just don’t get it,” I droned on for the fortieth time. “How did I miss it?”

Dekker rubbed his eyes. “I’ve told you, I don’t know. I thought she was this naive little schoolgirl too.”

I sat up. “I never thought she was naive.” I poured Arje another paper cup half-full of scotch and withdrew to a safe distance.

He drained it in one gulp. That made me sad inside. It was no way to treat such a good single-malt.

“Look, Bombay, what does it matter in the grand scheme of things? We’re men of action.”

I giggled at his words and he smirked.

“Men like us don’t get used by women. We use women.”

“I don’t use women, Dekker.”

An ugly smile crossed his face. “Oh, no? Ronnie said you had all kinds of rich-housewife carney groupies. Are you telling me you weren’t taking advantage of their fantasies to get laid?”

“You know,” I said a little too slowly, “your English is really good for a Dutch mercenary.”

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, then just leave so I can get some sleep before I’m killed.”

I shook my head. “Extra sleep isn’t going to help, my friend.”

“And drinking yourself into a stupor over that little bitch isn’t helping you either.”

“Hey! Don’t call her that!” I rose to my feet to…to do what? I sat back down.

We didn’t speak for a moment. I did refill his cup. To his credit, he drank slower this time.

“I don’t know why you are talking to me about this,” Dekker said quietly. “I’ve got no experience with feelings toward a woman.”

I lifted my glass to the light and turned it slowly, examining the amber fluid. “Well, I guess I just needed someone to talk to.”

He snorted. “And you thought that someone was me? I am surprised. After all, you see me as some kind of genocidal monster.”

I was a little defensive. “I’ve seen your file, Arje. I’ve seen what you have done to women and children. Just for fun.”

Dekker shook his head. “Back to that, are we?”

“Are you denying it?”

That would be stupid. I don’t believe everything I read. But the Bombay network has always been completely accurate. Why would the council lie about Dekker’s history?

“Yes. I am denying it.”

“Well, that’s damned convenient,” I shouted. “Now that you face your death, I’m not surprised that you’d recant.”

“How can I recant something I never said in the first place?” Arje said quietly. “You are the one with the faulty source, not me.”

I started to pour more scotch, but stopped myself. “Let’s drop it. I shouldn’t have come down here.” I stood and collected my bottle.

He looked me in the eyes, causing me to sit back down. “I guess if I was to have any regrets, that might be the big one.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “It would’ve been nice to be in love. You got that over me.”

I snorted. “Yeah. And I really picked a good one.”

Arje Dekker got up from his chair, walked over to his cot and lay down on it. “Turn out the lights when you go. I need to get my beauty rest for the execution to come.”

I didn’t want to go. I wanted to talk more. But I did as he asked and left him. I took the bottle of scotch with me. I’m not a total idiot.

Sartre’s shrieks woke me from a dream where Dekker and I were in the Brazilian jungle fighting off a tribe of Amazonian women who all resembled Veronica Gale. Staggering from my bed, I pulled some fruit from the basket on the table and broke it up, tossing it inside her cage. While she jumped greedily on the mango, I had the distinct impression she was pissed off at me for my lack of presentation.

A knock at the door revealed my mother and father holding a platter of scrambled eggs, sausage and biscuits. I wearily let them in. After all, it had been a long time since I’d had eggs. There weren’t many chickens in Mongolia.

“That’s my boy.” Dad smacked me on the back, launching my hangover into overdrive. I excused myself to clean up a bit. One shower later I was clean. Hungover, but clean.

“Your mum says you aren’t yourself,” Dad said with a grin. “She thinks it’s because of some lady friend in Mongolia.”

“I’m all right,” I managed as I finished my second helping of eggs. The food was giving me a little strength. “It’s nothing.”

My parents looked at each other. They’d always been able to read me. I’d been lucky in that they never once questioned anything I did. They seemed just as proud of my decision to become a carney as they were when I got my Ph.D. from Yale. This prying into my emotional affairs was something new.

“Squidge,” Mum started, “I’m a little worried about you.”

“Why?” I’d given them no reason to worry. How did they know?

Mum handed half an orange to Sartre, who was our living centerpiece, before continuing. “You haven’t killed your vic yet. That’s not like you.”

Oh. This was pretty unusual for a Bombay. There had been rare occasions when one of us would drag a live one home, or there wouldn’t be holding cells on the property. But keeping one alive so I could get relationship advice from him must have seemed a bit strange.

“I saw the surveillance tapes and know you went in there, but we’re having some difficulty with the sound.” Mum frowned. “I don’t know what we were thinking, sending Missi off on assignment. Nothing works here without her.”

“You were spying on me?” I asked.

Dad nodded and my mother shot him a deadly look, causing him to dive into another helping of sausage.

“I was worried about you. Is there something you are trying to get out of him before you take him out?”

That sounded good. “Yes. He has some information I need and he’s not coughing it up.” She would believe that. Obviously a vic wasn’t going to spill his guts before we literally spilled his guts. He’d try to keep any information he had to prolong his life span.

“Oh. Okay.” Mum looked distracted. “So, when will you do it then?”

I sighed and leaned back from the table. “Soon. I promise. I just have to do a little research first. That’s all.”

We finished breakfast and, after kicking my parents out of my rooms, I hit my laptop. There were a couple of things I wanted to look up before I did anything else.

The next two days were a blur. I spent a lot of time online and calling in favors to get some information. My mother made frequent visits to see when I was going to clear my assignment. I didn’t see the other members of the council, but I knew she was getting pressure on this.

The hardest part was forcing myself not to find out who Drew was. It wasn’t easy, but I was so torn up about Veronica’s admission that I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Drew seemed like a nice guy. Who was I to say otherwise? Besides, cyberstalking him would probably just make me mad. And I might find out he’s a better man than me. That would suck big-time.

“So, what do you think?” I said to Dekker on one of my late-night visits to his cell. I made sure to permanently disable the sound on the surveillance cameras. It was just enough to confuse the council but not enough to incur Missi’s wrath when she returned.

Dekker rubbed his face. “Jesus, Cy. Will you just end it already? I swear that your drama is making me want to kill myself.”

“Come on, just one more answer.” He was right: This was beyond weird. I was the first to admit it. But something about these midnight sessions made me feel a little better. I thought that Dekker should be happy he was helping in some minor way. Apparently, he wasn’t.