John Locke - Lethal People

“Fuck you!” he screamed.

I shrugged. I was beginning to get used to the unblinking stare. To Victor, I said, “Do you need to frisk me? Make sure I’m not wearing a wire or tape recorder?”

Victor said, “Not … neces … sary. I … scanned … you … already.” He lifted his head slightly to indicate the screens.

I didn’t believe for a minute that he had the ability to scan me or he would have mentioned the gun I’d taped to the small of my back.

Victor said, “Just … don’t … reach for … the gun … behind … you.” Then he said, “Hu … go will … do most … of the … talking … for ob … vious … reasons.”

“That’s fi ne,” I said, wondering what else his wheelchair could do. “So tell me: how did you hijack the spy satellite?”

“That’s proprietary,” Hugo snapped. “Military experiment. Need-to-know basis only.”

“Yeah, well I need to know,” I said. “I’ve been ordered to find the people who breached the satellite’s computer system, and kill them. I’m asking you nicely here, but this is nonnegotiable.”

Hugo sneered at me as if I were an insect. “Is that a threat?”

I sighed. “I came here hoping to strengthen our relationship, but if it’s not to be, I can always just snap your necks.”

Hugo still hadn’t blinked, but he turned to face Victor. “May I approach?” he asked. Victor nodded. Hugo unzipped Victor’s jacket. Victor’s entire torso was covered with explosives.

I tried to act unaffected, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. But I don’t think I fooled anyone. Still, I pressed on. “Where’s the detonator?”

Hugo looked down at the table. At first I didn’t understand. Then I said, “You’re joking.” I slid my chair back a couple of feet and slowly lifted the tablecloth. There were two midgets under the table. One had a .38 pointed directly into my crotch. The other had a detonator taped to his left hand. His right index finger hovered just above a large red button. I took a deep breath and nodded to the two midgets under the table. “Relax, okay?” I said. Then I put the tablecloth back the way I’d found it.

“Actually,” I said, “I don’t care how you hijacked the satellite. I just want to be able to tell my boss why it won’t happen again.”

“He already knows. They installed a patch to block us.”

“Does it work?”

“It does,” Hugo said. He smiled and added, “For now.”

Victor said, “We … won’t … breach it. I pro … mise.”

I studied my vertically challenged employer a moment. He had a boyish face, made puffy from what I assumed to be years of drug use. I was about to say something when he suddenly flashed a smile. Not just any smile, or a creepy one, but a full, genuine, winning smile. Encountering it this way, in such an unexpected manner, startled me more than seeing the explosives on his body or the midgets under the table. Victor scrunched up his face in a way that reminded me of kids on a playground, him being the last kid hoping to be chosen for a team, the kid no one wants to pick. Then, in a small, vulnerable voice, he said, “Can we … just … be friends?”

It was an amazing moment to witness, an instant transformation from deadly to helpless. At that moment, he seemed sweet, almost adorable. If Kathleen had been there, I’m sure she would have said, “Aw, how cute.” But Kathleen wasn’t there, and she didn’t have a gun aimed at her crotch.

“Good enough,” I said. “I’ll try to keep my people off your backs. So what happened to Monica?”

Hugo said, “You know Fathi, the diplomat?”

“Father or son?”

“Both. But the father, the UAE diplomat, we sold Monica to him.”

Victor and Hugo were full of surprises, so why should I have been shocked? But I was. In fact, I was so stunned, I couldn’t think of a sensible question. So instead I said, “Was she alive at the time?”

Hugo laughed. “He wouldn’t have much use for a dead sex slave.”

I tried to wrap my brain around it. “Is she still in the country?”

“Her body is.”

So she was dead after all. Darwin would be pleased. But something still didn’t compute. “You hired me to kill Monica, and I did. Then you tracked me on spy satellite, grabbed her body, brought her back to life, and sold her as a sex slave. Now she’s dead again, right? Well pardon the pun, but that seems like overkill. Why didn’t you just hire me to kidnap her?”

Hugo said there were two reasons. First, it would have been a conflict of interest, since they planned to sell her to terrorists and I’m a counter-terrorist. Second, they wanted to see if they could bring her back to life after a trained assassin had done his best to kill her.

“So I was what, part of a medical experiment?”

“Yes.”

Hugo reminded me that their army of little people included scientists, microbiologists, and specialists in almost every field of research. One of their people had developed a revolutionary antidote to botulinum toxin, and since they had targeted Monica anyway, she would be their first test. They figured I’d give her the most potent injection possible, which I did. If she survived, they’d sell Monica to Fathi. If not, they’d keep working on the antidote.

“And it worked,” I said.

“That is correct. We intend to make one hundred million dollars selling the antidote to the military.”

“Our military?”

“Ours, theirs, whoever.”

“Back to the conflict of interest,” I said. “I’m not comfortable working with you if you’re also working with terrorists.”

Hugo sneered. “That is absurd. Your government works with terrorists every day. They call it infiltration. We do the same. We infi trate them for our own purposes, which shall not be revealed to you.”

Though my head was swimming, I managed to ask him about the two other targets they wanted me to kill. Hugo said they were part of a social experiment.

“First a medical experiment, now a social experiment.”

Hugo said, “That is correct.”

“Can you give me the Cliff s Notes on that?” I asked. Hugo looked at Victor before answering. Victor nodded. Hugo turned back to me and said, “Victor wishes to understand the true nature of evil. Before you injected Monica, we gave her a chance to name two people who caused her pain in her life. You will kill those two people and get two names from each. Victor believes we all have at least two people who have caused irreparable harm in our lives. You will exact vengeance for all the victims.”

“He started with Monica because of her husband, the doctor.”

“Yes. We could not have you kill the doctor. It would be too easy to link Victor to the crime. There is a saying: ‘If you would hurt your enemy, punish the one he loves.’ Since Monica was innocent, we gave her a choice: live in captivity or die in the van.”

“And she chose life.”

Victor and Hugo nodded together.

“But you knew the Fathis planned to kill her.”

Hugo and Victor nodded together. Hugo clarified, “We knew they would not use proper restraint. We knew they would not give her time to recover.”

“So why have you involved me in all of this?” I asked.

“We’ve got big plans for you, Mr. Creed.”

“Such as?”

“You’re going to help us take over the world.”

“Well, why not,” I said. Then, for whatever reason, I thought of Joe DeMeo. I said, “I’d love to help you take over the world and all, but I’m going to be busy robbing and killing a very powerful crime boss.”

Victor said, “Maybe … we can … help.”

I thought about that a minute and said, “You probably could. You hijacked a spy satellite. Do you have access to drones?”

“Killer drones?” Hugo asked. “Loaded? That is impossible.”

I laughed. Maybe they weren’t as crazy as I’d thought. “I was thinking maybe you could divert one of the weather drones off the coast of California or a surveillance one flying between Alaska and Russia.”

“To where?”

“Hills of LA,” I said. “Just for a few minutes.”

Hugo walked to the other end of the room with his cell phone. He was gone a couple of minutes. When he came back, he looked at Victor and nodded. Victor nodded back. “Yeah,” Hugo said, “we can do that.”

“Really?” I asked.

Hugo nodded.

“What will it cost me?”

“What’s … the … take?” Victor said.

“Tens of millions, I think. If we do it right.”

Victor thought a moment before replying. “We … don’t want … the … mon … ey,” he said. “We’d … ra … ther bank … the fa … vor.”

“Works for me,” I said. Then I dialed Joe DeMeo’s number.

“Well, you said you’d call,” DeMeo said. “So it must be Tuesday.”

“You killed a lot of people in that hotel trying to blow me up,” I said.

“Creed, listen to me. If you’re still worrying about that ten million for the burned kid, I got a better idea. I did some checking,” he said. “Turns out she’s got all kinds of life-threatening injuries, so I’m wondering maybe we should see if she survives before you and me ruin a good relationship.”

“She’s well-protected, Joe.”

“Yeah, I heard your giant was there. A face like that, he ought to fit in with the rest of the burn patients.”

We were quiet awhile. Then he said, “Are we done here or is there something else you want to say?”

I said, “I’m coming to get you, Joe.”

“Oh yeah?” he said. Then he laughed. “You and what army?”

I looked at Victor and Hugo, thought about the guys holding the gun and detonator under the table, thought about the mini scientists who could hijack spy satellites and create an antidote for the deadliest poison known to man. I thought about the dwarf who worked on the White House kitchen staff.

I nodded at Victor. He winked at me and nodded back.

“I got a hell of an army,” I told Joe DeMeo.

Hugo’s posture went ramrod straight, and his chest swelled with pride. He saluted me.

I hung up the phone. Hugo said, “Well? What did he say? Did he laugh when you said that part about the army? I bet he laughed. Tell me he laughed. Just say it, just tell me he laughed and I’ll kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands. I’ll rip his ears off his head. I’ll …”

“He laughed,” I said.

Hugo looked at Victor. “They always laugh,” he said. He seemed to instantly deflate.

“Don’t let it get you down,” I said. “They don’t know what they’re up against.”

“Ac … tually … they … don’t,” Victor said.

CHAPTER 36

There is no scent of freshly baked bread in Little Italy, no Italians singing love songs or speaking boisterously while flapping their arms in the air. Still, enough charm remains to inspire a walk, if you’ve got the time. I did, so I told my driver to wait while I headed down Mott, and Mulberry, and Elizabeth and Baxter.

The area is gradually being swallowed up by Chinatown, and most of the people who can speak Italian have long since moved to the Bronx. But the streets are still lively and colorful, and the fire hydrants are painted green, white, and red, the colors of the Italian flag.

I didn’t find anything to buy, but I had a decent lunch and managed to clear my head after the meeting with Victor and Hugo. I didn’t think for one minute Victor and Hugo’s army of little people could take over the world, but I was gaining confidence that they could help me take down Joe DeMeo.

A couple hours after lunch, I found my driver and had him push his way through the traffic to the Upper East Side of Manhattan, where I got a room at the Hotel Plaza Athenee. By five, room service had delivered an incredible panini sandwich filled with fresh spinach, mozzarella, and roasted red peppers. They also brought me a bottle of Maker’s and a heavy glass tumbler. I ate the sandwich and washed it down with three fingers of bourbon. By six, I’d had a hot shower and was freshly shaved and dressed. I watched the news on Fox for twenty minutes and still had more than enough time to walk the quarter mile east, to Third and Sixty-Sixth.

It was Tuesday, after all.

“For me?” she asked.

There was an empty chair waiting for her at the tiny table I’d staked out at Starbucks, and Kathleen had instantly spied the raspberry scone on the small square of wax paper across from me. To my utter surprise, she rewarded me with a radiant smile, removed her coat, and joined me at the table.

“Who’d a thought it?” she said.

“What’s that?”

“There’s a romantic component at work here,” she said, “one that might even rival your desire to separate me from my panties.”

“The mystery never ends,” I said.

“Do I want to know where you’ve been since Wednesday, what you’ve been up to?”

The angel on my shoulder urged me to tell Kathleen everything and let her run out of my life so she could find true happiness. Of course, the devil on my other shoulder said, “When in doubt, just smile and change the subject.”

“Can I get you a coffee?” I asked.

Kathleen frowned and shook her head. “That bad, eh?”

“I’ve had worse,” I said, and immediately realized I was telling the truth. I thought, What a rotten thing to have to admit, even to myself. I looked at Kathleen across the table. Her eyes were locked onto my mouth, as if she could read my thoughts by watching me speak the words. If that could possibly be true, I wanted to give her something better—a happier thought, one she might enjoy hearing. It would have to be something sincere.

Lucky for me, I had one. “I missed you,” I said. I’d wanted to say more about it, wanted to say it better, but at least I’d said it.

Her eyes remained fixed on my mouth while she processed the validity of my comment. Then she slowly twisted her lips into a smile, and I felt that thing I always felt in her presence.

Hope.

Maybe I still had it in me to be a better person than I’d been. Maybe I hadn’t yet descended so deeply into the pit that I couldn’t experience a woman’s love, capture her heart, have a decent life.

She took a bite of her scone and made a production of licking the sugar from her upper lip. She gave me a sly smile. “You really like me, don’t you!” she said.

I laughed. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Oh, I can get cocky,” she said. “Judging by the way your tongue is hanging out of your mouth, I can get cocky anytime I want!”

“That’s pretty big talk,” I said, letting my tongue hang out of my mouth.

“Pretty big what?” she said, laughing.

“Keep talking like that and you’re never going to get me in bed.”

“Oh, yes, I will!” she said.

CHAPTER 37

The Arabelle is the Plaza Athenee’s signature restaurant. It was also far too ostentatious, Kathleen felt, for the way she was dressed. “However,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at me, “the Bar Seine was voted ‘Best Spot for Romance’ by the New York Post.”