Indelible Ink (14 page)

35

Stanley Yuko stood in front of the men at the door. He held up the grocery bag and waved it around. “Just bringing her some food and stuff.”

“Why?” The first guard said. “She’s not going to be around to enjoy it for long.”

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Yeah. But Marsh felt it was a good idea in the meantime. I mean, if we can’t prove Harper’s alive, Deena may never come in.”

“I don’t think a day without a meal will kill her.”

Stanley pulled out his cell phone. “Look, you want to ask Marsh why he wants her to have food, feel free. I’ll give you his assistant’s number.” He held out his phone to the man then pulled it back quickly. “Oh. Wait. That’s me. I’m his assistant.”

The guards both shifted uncomfortably.

“Would you like me to go ahead and put you through to him? I’d be glad to. I’m sure he’d love to explain his actions to you.” Neither of the men said anything. “No? You sure?”

The men opened the door without another word. Stanley reached into the bag and pulled out a couple of small bags of chips and handed one to each of the men. “Cheer up, guys. I’m sure you’ll get to rough someone up soon enough.” He stepped into the office, closed the door behind him and looked at the men standing on either side of Harper. “Good day, everyone.”

Harper was lying on a desk, using a sweatshirt for a pillow. “If you say so.”

The grocery bag landed with a thud on another desk. Stanley had dropped it slightly harder than he’d meant to. “I brought something to eat. Figured you’d be hungry.” He took out some chips and sodas for Harper’s captors and put them on the desk, then put the bag next to Harper. “There are some things in here for you as well.”

“I’m not terribly hungry,” Harper said.

“You need to eat.” This whole thing depended on Harper helping out. Stanley hadn’t had much time to think about a real plan. He hadn’t received any further instructions from the feds and couldn’t get them on the phone. Stanley was concerned that he hadn’t correctly conveyed to them the dire circumstances Harper was in. If they wouldn’t save her, Stanley would have to. He calculated his odds at successfully freeing her at well over fifty percent. “A drink would probably be refreshing right now. It would most likely change your whole outlook on things.”

“Are you saying you have a beverage in that paper bag that is so good, it would make me look forward to getting whacked by these goons?”

Stanley looked at the men. “Possibly.”

“Pass.”

One of the men stepped toward Stanley. “Look, I’ll take her snacks. I’m starving. What’d you bring?”

Stanley held out his hand. “Just. Just stay there. Harper? I really think you should drink this.”

Both of the men guarding Harper looked at each other, both still eating their chips. “What’s the deal here? Why are you so concerned with this?” One of them said.

“What’s in the bag?” The other asked.

Harper was still lying down, but looked up at Stanley with a raised eyebrow.

“Soft drinks.” Stanley tried to wink at Harper, but found he couldn’t.

“What the hell?” One of the guards asked.

Stanley hadn’t thought things through quite as well as he thought. “I need to take her downstairs.” It was an awkward statement and he knew it. He had planned to stick to his script, but the new lie just flew out of his mouth.

“What?”

“Marsh wants to talk to her about the bus job.”

The guard set his chips down and reached for the gun that was in his waistband. “Bullshit.”

Stanley pointed at the man. “Don’t do that.”

“Or what, you’ll go all Bruce Lee on me?”

The Asian reference angered Stanley. He was an accountant, not a thug, so the violence was all new to him. “First of all, I was born in Korea.” He reached into the grocery bag and pulled out two handguns—one in each hand. “Second, I have always been partial to John Woo.”

The guard grabbed his gun from his belt and raised it toward Stanley. He hadn’t considered the fact that he would have to shoot anyone; it made sense that they would surrender rather than be killed for such a man as Marsh. “Stop.”

“Shoot them,” Harper said. Stanley saw her drop from the desk to the floor. “Shoot.”

He did. Stanley pulled the triggers—alternating from one gun to the other. The automatic pistols roared to life and the stinging smoke of their discharge filled his eyes. He kept shooting and saw that some of the bullets found their target, though more seemed to dot the wall behind the guard.

Harper rolled toward the man as he fell then grabbed his gun. She turned and shot the other guard twice since both of Stanley’s guns had run out of ammunition.

“Did you bring more ammunition for those?” Harper asked.

Stanley hadn’t.

“The two outside guards are going to come in, and more from downstairs.” Harper pointed her gun at the office door.

As he held the guns up to his face, Stanley went over his statistics. It should have taken him just a couple of shots for each guard. And yet he had emptied two eight-shot clips on one man. He began to recalculate their odds when the door flew open.

36

Two hours later, Deena opened the door and stepped out. The hall was just as empty as when she left it. She bent to the water fountain and took big gulps. She was starving, with no idea how she was going to get ahold of nourishment in the foreseeable future. She’d thought she could make it home a little faster than this. She sucked down more water and hoped that would sustain her until she figured something out.

She walked quietly past the closed door where Taylor had been teaching class and then bounded up the stairs as quickly as her exhausted legs would carry her. Deena wanted to thank Taylor, but also didn’t want to impose on her any more than she already had. She also didn’t want to draw more attention to herself.

Deena reached out and shoved the door open. Outside, the air was cooler than she thought it would be. She was sure there would be an oppressive humidity that would slap her face as she stepped out, but there was nothing but a light breeze.

“Oh thank God. I thought I was going to have to put this stuff down,” it was Taylor, coming around the corner from the parking lot, her hands full with a giant cardboard box. “Could you hold that door, please?”

Deena stepped out of the way to let Taylor by.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming out of that room,” Taylor said. “Must’ve been even more full of stress than I guessed.”

Deena stood with the door in her hand as Taylor got down the steps to the hall. “Yeah. Thanks so much. I feel a lot better.”

At the classroom door, Taylor stopped again. “Uh, I hate to ask… but?” She motioned to the door with a free finger.

While she wanted to leave, Deena felt if she opened the door, maybe she’d be even with the woman for her help and she could walk away with a clear conscience—as clear as it could be after Deena had destroyed the training room, anyway. Maybe she could send some money to the center to cover it once she got settled. “Sure.” She walked down the stairs and grabbed the door for Taylor. “What’s all this stuff?”

“Oh,” Taylor put the box on a table. “There’s an open house tonight. In an hour or so, actually. I just have some decorations in here.” She started pulling things out and placing them on the table. “Some flyers on the programs I do. A couple of boxes of crackers, some cheese. I don’t go too crazy. Hardly anyone ever shows up for these things.”

“That’s too bad.” Deena tried not to stare at the cheese and crackers.

“Eh. The other instructors get some traffic. This is a small town, so Ed, the guy that teaches karate, usually gets some parents and their kids. Helen teaches art classes down th
e hall, she gets some older people looking for something to do in their retirement. The tax guy is always popular.” There was a sound in the hall of the door closing. They watched as a middle-aged woman in black tights and legwarmers walked by. “Hello Denise,” Taylor yelled. “That’s Denise,” she said quietly. “She teaches the exercise classes. She keeps the place open, there’s always a ton of people that want to lose weight.” She tore open a sleeve of crackers and nibbled off a bit of the corner. “She’s kind of a bitch, though.” She held the crackers out to Deena.

“Oh, I don’t think…”

Taylor gave her a “come on” look and Deena pulled one of them out and accidentally shoved the whole thing in her mouth without thinking.

Deena managed to score a couple of slices of cheese without seeming too desperate while Taylor was setting out her decorations and then announced she was on her way out. “I really need to get going. I’m hoping to catch the next bus. That should be coming up pretty soon.”

“You got a while yet. Tickets ain’t going to sell out or anything,” Taylor said.

“Still,” Deena said. “Thanks for the crackers, though.”

The other woman smiled.

“Sorry I can’t stay for the open house, you have some pretty cool decorations.”

“You worked up quite a sweat, you’re certainly welcome to use the showers in the locker room,” Taylor said. “Hate to stink out the passengers on that bus.”

There was no discreet way for Deena to smell herself, so she pressed on. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”

Taylor pulled out a flyer and handed it to Deena. “Here, if you ever find yourself out this way accidentally again, you’re welcome to stop by and beat the hell out of the padded room.”

“Thanks,” Deena nodded and walked through the doorway. She tried to hurry, so she wouldn’t get caught up again and feel guilty for not staying. She ran up the steps as fast as her weary legs could take her. At the top, she saw Denise coming up with her decorations and she nearly rolled her eyes. Would she ever get out of the building? “Can I help you?” she said as sweetly as she could to the woman in the tights.

“Little late, honey. This is the last of it. Where were you ten minutes ago?” With that the exercise queen of Carbondale, California shoved past Deena, bumping her as she went.

Deena could see why Taylor wasn’t fond of the woman.

Cutting across the parking lot, Deena noticed a little red sedan with a personalized license plate that read “WERKIT” with the trunk was open. She assumed it was Denise’s. She stared at the car for a moment, then looked around to make sure no one saw her staring. She was on the way out of the life of crime. She’d kept telling herself that since the plane. She’d already done a few things that weren’t anywhere near legal since she decided to go straight.

There weren’t a lot of other vehicles in the lot. A dented pickup truck, a van with the community center logo on it, and a small sport utility vehicle were the extent of her choices.

She looked around for any pedestrians and considered how lucky she’d been since the train. Marsh’s men and various law enforcement agents had to be closing in on the town, even if it was for a cursory glance. Stealing a car from a mildly annoying exercise queen would probably draw unwanted attention. Still. It would be harder to escape if she were walking. She stared at the car and found her reflection in the window. She looked like hell. Her hair was flattened with sweat and she had no make-up to speak of.

The car actually belonged to a person, however unsociable. That person would have to go through considerable time and effort to recoup their vehicle or its cost. Plus, if Deena stole it, she’d have to find a way to pay for gas. If she had the keys, it would be easy to take off with the vehicle, but she’d learned to hotwire long ago.

Suddenly, there was a thin black vein winding out of her index finger, no thicker than a piece of thread. Whether she’d been serious about it or not, she’d pictured a key and the Shadow Energy responded.

She watched the reflection up to the point where the dark line came in contact with the car window. From there it spread itself flat and climbed up the window, stopping only briefly at the top of the glass where it met the door. After a pause, Deena could see the blackness on the other side the glass. It dangled down, remaining in contact with the larger portion, enveloping the lock in darkness. Deena heard the click of the door unlocking and then another sound and the door opened slightly. The material tugged at Deena’s arm, then the door opened more, using the tension between the door and Deena for leverage. Before Deena could decide what she thought of this, more of the blackness wrapped itself around the steering wheel and with a click, the car roared to life, its engine idling high.

Denise was a bitch, wasn’t she? Deena thought. She reasoned that she could return the car when she was done, if she had to. What was a few hundred or thousand miles more on the odometer anyway, right? It wasn’t like she was killing Denise. That’s what she would have done in the old days. Was there a distinction between her old life of crime and casual use of her Shadow Energy?

Baby steps.

Deena closed the trunk, got in and, rather than flooring it, quietly drove out of the lot and onto the road. She let the exercise lady’s GPS device guide her to the nearest road that paralleled a major highway and took off at a sensible speed. She reached into her bag for the phone to try to keep in touch with her sister and was pleasantly surprised to find a sleeve of crackers and some slices of cheese wrapped up in a paper towel. She was not as excited to discover that she couldn’t remember if she’d taken them, or if Taylor had placed them there.

She crunched a cracker and let the crumbs fall all over Denise’s seat and floor.

Baby steps.

37

Stanley picked up the revolver just as the other guards burst into the room. Harper fired two shots and one of the men fell. The other slid himself behind the reception desk. Stanley pointed his gun in that direction.

“Don’t shoot unless you see him,” Harper said. “Don’t waste bullets.”

Stanley nodded emphatically, showing her he understood. Despite her reputation as a screw up, she’d been through a number of successful jobs and had only received that reputation due to a couple of unfortunate turns. He looked to her to think of a plan on the fly.

The second man popped up and Stanley pointed his gun. He watched as the man pulled the trigger, sending bullets flying Stanley’s way with a roar. The sound of those bullets embedding themselves in the wall behind him brought Stanley some solace, but his analytical mind began to compute the odds of all three of the shots missing him at such a close distance. He heard Harper behind him shout and Stanley accidentally pulled the trigger. He marveled as his opponent fell to the ground until he realized the man had simply dropped for cover. Stanley saw the wisdom in that, and fell back down himself.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harper said.

Stanley had no real answer. At least not one that didn’t involve him admitting that he’d stopped to figure out the statistics of victory and dodging bullets like some character from
The Matrix
. “I’m new at this.”

“Well it’s going to get old real fast if you don’t start shooting back at this guy,” Harper stood and fired, then climbed over the desk and crouched low as she advanced toward the reception area.

Stanley stared at the reception desk that the last man was hiding behind. He knew the company wouldn’t have ordered a good desk; they always used cheap furniture in offices other than Marsh’s personal suite. Stanley figured that the furniture was thin, cheap particle board or worse. Its bullet stopping power was probably next to nil. He pointed the gun at the spot where the man had ducked. After thinking over the odds that the man was still there, Stanley opened fire and continued to fire at the same spot until the gun ran dry. And he waited.

A second later, the man popped up at the other end of the desk, and Harper shot him in the face. The man fell backward, his arms flailing unguided. He landed with a thump, out of sight.

The hot stench of gunfire made Stanley’s eyes water and his nostrils burn. He stood with the gun still pointed at the same spot, and sulked at the miscalculation. He’d never been in a gunfight and the real-time variables confounded him.

“Thanks for flushing him out for me,” Harper said.

Stanley felt a sudden surge in his stomach and he vomited all over the plastic desk chairs nearest him.