The Wild Ways (30 page)
It hadn’t been difficult to find Carlson Oil’s Sydney office: the address was on their website.
It wasn’t the sort of business where people walked in off the street—if a person was in the building, that person had a reason to be in the building. Charlie probably would have remained unquestioned as she checked out the first floor even if she hadn’t been hiding behind the pleasant little melody she was strumming.
The most interesting thing on the first floor was a big room filled with maps and rocks and a table covered in a model of the drilling rig off Hay Island and the proposed refinery on Scatarie. The water of the painted sea was a uniform and unrealistic blue everywhere but under the model of the rig where it was a purplish/greenish/black, like a bruise, the edges feathering out into the blue as though both colors of paint were still wet. Although they weren’t. Why would an oil company paint in an oil spill under their own rig? Either it was a weirdly artistic bit of corporate sabotage, or one of Amelia Carlson’s employees had a warped sense of humor.
Other than the model, the first floor held only a few worker bees in worker bee cubicles. The queen would be on the second floor.
A glance left at the top of the stairs showed nothing but a hallway and doors. To the right, behind a set of open glass doors, an office that smelled faintly of fresh paint. On the far wall, another solid door, slightly ajar.
This was where Charlie’d planned to use the corporate sponsor story, fast talking her way past the assistant who should have been guarding the door. Looked like she could save the story for another day.
Hands by the strings but not actually playing, she crossed the office, paused, and slowly pushed open the inner door. The woman behind the desk looked up, obviously expected to see someone else, and clearly would have frowned had her forehead been capable of movement. Amelia Carlson’s attempt to remain at her media-inspired peak was a lot more obvious in the flesh. Charlie’d never seen anyone dig their artificial fingernails so desperately into their youth, although, she silently admitted, she didn’t travel in the kind of circles where it might be a common behavior. Gale girls knew where the real power lay.
“Amelia Carlson?”
The woman behind the desk ignored the question which, Charlie figured, answered the question. “And who are you?”
“I’m working for some people whose property you’ve taken.”
“I own the land in Pictou County free and clear. Now get out.”
“Not that property.”
“Oh, for . . . I gave Brandt a fair price for that warehouse. If you want to discuss it further, make an appointment with my assistant.”
She clearly hadn’t been acting out of character when she’d paid Auntie Catherine to steal from the Selkies. “Not that property either.”
“Then what . . . ?” Her lip curled, enough disdain to move the collagen. “You’re not a lawyer.”
Charlie glanced down at her guitar. “No, I’m not.”
Eyes narrowed, Amelia Carlson looked past Charlie to the door.
Considering how little of her face moved, Charlie had to guess what she was thinking.
If I tell you to go, you won’t. As I can’t make you, that would weaken my position. In order to remain in control, I must control the conversation and that means I issue the definitive statements, not you.
If I tell you to go, you won’t. As I can’t make you, that would weaken my position. In order to remain in control, I must control the conversation and that means I issue the definitive statements, not you.
Of course, it was equally likely she was thinking:
Oh, good, the half a dozen burly miners I employ to kick ass are on their way down the hall.
Oh, good, the half a dozen burly miners I employ to kick ass are on their way down the hall.
All right, maybe not as likely, but possible.
“Fine.” She sounded bored. “Why are you here?”
So much for the burly miners, Charlie thought a little sadly. She’d have known how to deal with those. “I want the sealskins back.”
Leaning back in a chair that looked like it should be on an episode of
Star Trek
, Carlson steepled her fingers and looked intrigued. “I assumed you’d be older.”
Star Trek
, Carlson steepled her fingers and looked intrigued. “I assumed you’d be older.”
“What?”
“You’re the one working for them, aren’t you? You’re like her.”
“Her?” Oh. Auntie Catherine. “I’m not like her.”
“Please.” Carlson waved the protest off with a manicure that probably cost more than Charlie made in a week playing with
Grinneal
. “She already told us you were like her.”
Grinneal
. “She already told us you were like her.”
“She’s wrong.”
“You’re very young.”
“I’m almost thirty.”
“Really?” A slow sweep took in Charlie’s flip flops, shorts, and Disneyland 2011 T-shirt.
Teeth closed on a verbal response, Charlie exhaled slowly and then ghosted her fingers over the strings.
Carlson shuddered and leaned a little farther away although she tried to make it look like she hadn’t. “All right. Fine. I don’t know what they’re paying you, but I can pay you more.”
“I don’t want your money, I want the sealskins. You must have seen the press conference; you don’t need them anymore. You’ve won.”
“Do I look stupid?” Relaxing back to her previous position, Carlson’s lip curled again. Something had clearly changed, but Charlie didn’t know what. “When they say public opinion changes like the tides,” Carlson continued, “they literally mean that twelve hours is the length of time people will hold an opinion without reinforcement. If I give you the pelts, I have no leverage. Next thing I know, that little environmental group is back at it and we go through it all again. So no, you can’t have the pelts. You’ll have to go to the police. Oh, wait, you can’t go to the police. It’s all up to you.” Her lip curled higher into a nasty smile. She spread her hands. “All right, then, smite me.”
“Say what?”
“Torture me for their location. Threaten me with retribution.” To Charlie’s surprise, she laughed. “You don’t have it in you.You showed me what you were, but not what you could do. You’re right. You’re not like her. The one of whatever you are that
I
have, she could smite and torture and threaten, but that’s not you. I’ve looked across my desk at politicians and the competition and my own board members and, in order to survive, I’ve had to know what I’m looking at. Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see someone who likes to hang out with her friends, have a few beers, play a few tunes. You have a good relationship with your family, but you don’t take their concerns seriously. I believe the word is: slacker. Play me a protest song, if you want, but you’re not getting those pelts.”
I
have, she could smite and torture and threaten, but that’s not you. I’ve looked across my desk at politicians and the competition and my own board members and, in order to survive, I’ve had to know what I’m looking at. Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see someone who likes to hang out with her friends, have a few beers, play a few tunes. You have a good relationship with your family, but you don’t take their concerns seriously. I believe the word is: slacker. Play me a protest song, if you want, but you’re not getting those pelts.”
Charlie pressed the fingers of her left hand down on the strings so hard she felt the wire dig into the bone, as though the calluses weren’t even there. She could read her audience as well and right now she knew she could play the pain the Selkies felt and Amelia Carlson would feel it, but she wouldn’t care. She’d consider it evidence her blackmail was succeeding.
If making her
feel
wouldn’t work . . .
feel
wouldn’t work . . .
Grabbing her, taking her through the Wood, and abandoning her—
Give me the sealskins or I’ll leave you here
—would only piss her off.
Give me the sealskins or I’ll leave you here
—would only piss her off.
The charms Charlie used most were to ease her way, some specially so she didn’t die in a fiery car crash, but usually just to make the world a more convenient place. She didn’t know how to say,
“Do what I want you to do,
” and mean it.
“Do what I want you to do,
” and mean it.
“You’ve got nothing, do you?” Carlson smiled. “Get out.”
The important thing to remember about slackers wasn’t that they spent their time lounging about doing nothing. If lounging was all they were capable of, they wouldn’t be
slacking.
No, the thing to remember about slackers was that, by definition, they weren’t living up to their potential. Amelia liked to think she had a good eye for potential. It was why she’d hired Paul. He’d wanted away from his working class background so badly that he’d accomplish the impossible to do it.
slacking.
No, the thing to remember about slackers was that, by definition, they weren’t living up to their potential. Amelia liked to think she had a good eye for potential. It was why she’d hired Paul. He’d wanted away from his working class background so badly that he’d accomplish the impossible to do it.
She’d seen potential in the woman with the guitar; the seeds of the same certainty that made Catherine Gale so terrifying. Catherine Gale had shown up in her office and announced she had a way of getting the worst of the environmental groups to back off, allowing the government to issue permits for the well off Hay Island with a clear conscience. At that point, with the news of the well about to break in the media, Amelia would have listened to a dwarf announcing he could spin straw into government influence.
The deal had been for cash. No paper trail linking Carlson Oil to Catherine Gale. Amelia had been told to leave four equal payments overnight in a locked desk drawer—one on July 26th, one on July 29th, one on August 1st, and one tonight on August 4th. Maybe Catherine Gale hadn’t wanted to make a suspiciously large, lump sum cash deposit. Maybe there was some sort of ritual in four payments three days apart. Amelia didn’t know and didn’t particularly care. Although the drawer had still been locked when she returned to her office every morning after having left the money as agreed, the money had been gone. It felt as though she were paying protection to the shoemaker’s elves or leaving one hell of a snack for Santa.
Amelia pulled the two stacks of cash from her top drawer, stared at the fifty dollar bill on the top of each stack for a moment, then she pulled out a piece of paper and wrote,
Two Seventy-five N sent her to my office. I saw on her face the curve of your cheek, the angle of your nose.We need to talk.
Two Seventy-five N sent her to my office. I saw on her face the curve of your cheek, the angle of your nose.We need to talk.
“Why didn’t you just make her do what you wanted?” Jack asked, peering suspiciously into his hamburger.
“What? Throw a charm at her that made her tell me everything? Because she’d have told me
everything
.” On the other side of the table, Charlie jabbed the ice at the bottom of her glass with her straw. “Tell me where you’ve hidden the Selkie skins that you had stolen in order to blackmail Two Seventy-five N into supporting you is just a little more specific than charms are.”
everything
.” On the other side of the table, Charlie jabbed the ice at the bottom of her glass with her straw. “Tell me where you’ve hidden the Selkie skins that you had stolen in order to blackmail Two Seventy-five N into supporting you is just a little more specific than charms are.”
“I didn’t mean with a charm.”
“Yeah, well, I could have sung the Selkie pain at her, but she wouldn’t have given a shit.”
Frowning, Jack set the upper bun to one side wondering if Charlie was being deliberately stupid. “You could have just asked her,” he muttered. When Charlie rolled her eyes, he added, “Okay, fine, if you aren’t going to
make
her talk, I could.”
make
her talk, I could.”
“You could make her pee herself, but I don’t think she’d tell you anything. What are you doing to that burger?”
“It has onions. I don’t like onions.”
“You ate your father.”
“Not with onions.” He reassembled his burger. “So if you weren’t going to make her talk, why did you go see her?”
Charlie snagged one of the rejected rings. “I thought she’d think she was winning and she’d tell me where the skins were.”
“Seriously?” Jack sputtered, spraying the table with sesame seeds. “You’ve never actually had enemies, have you?”
She thought about growing up surrounded by family, by people who loved her completely, unconditionally, fiercely. About discovering her way through the Wood and how her family had stepped back and let her go, let find her own path. About Allie who had been hers in all the ways that mattered since she was fifteen and about Graham who trusted her. “No,” she said at last, “I haven’t.”
“Duh. Enemies don’t defeat themselves for you; not even if you’re a Gale. You’re going to have to put a little effort in.”
“I don’t . . .”
“And again, duh. And next time, before you try stupid shit, talk to me. Twelve uncles, remember?” His eyes flared gold. “I know about having enemies. You going to eat those?” When Charlie shook her head, he dragged the last of her fries over to his side of the table. “So, what’re you doing tonight?”
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