No Shelter (21 page)

Two women enter the room with paper towels and bottles of cleaner. They get down on their hands and knees, start spraying and wiping the floor.
 

Xerxes says, “Roland was a very close friend of mine.”
 

“So I’ve heard.”
 

“He was like a mentor to me.”
 

“That’s sweet.”
 

“He taught me everything I know.”
 

“Does that include sucking cock?”
 

The women pause in their cleaning, stay motionless for a second or two, start up again.
 

Xerxes shakes his head. “You are a very arrogant woman.”
 

“That’s what people tell me.”
 

“You should have taken your plane ride back to America. You should have walked away.”
 

“Like I told you, I thought this was a karaoke bar.” Thinking, how does he know I’m already supposed to be headed back to the States?
 

The women are quick and concise. Less than a minute after they’ve entered the room, they have cleaned up the blood, gathered their things, and exited.
 

“How is Philippe anyway?” Xerxes asks.
 

“He still blames you for his parents.”
 

“Pathetic. I had nothing to do with his parents’ passing.”
 

“Of course you didn’t.”
 

“I wasn’t even in the city when it happened.”
 

“No, you’re much smarter than that.”
 

“Just as I won’t be anywhere close by for your unfortunate death tonight. Not that anyone would suspect me.”
 

“Of course they wouldn’t. You’re a model citizen. Drugs, weapons, whores, pornography—I’m surprised they haven’t given you the Nobel Peace Prize yet.”
 

“Again, you are very arrogant. Aren’t you afraid to die?”
 

“Not really.”
 

He leans forward. “What about me—do I scare you?”
 

“What scares me about you is your breath. Really, have a Mento or a Tic Tac or something.”
 

He’s faster than I take him for. He slaps me once across the face, then leans back and takes a sip of his drink.
 

I sit there a moment, trying not to give him anything. A couple seconds pass and I shift my gaze down at the glass beneath my feet. I can see the dance floor. I can see the people moving frantically about. And I can see Nova moving through those people, moving with purpose.
 

Xerxes says, “What is it like?”
 

“What is what like?”
 

“Being a murderer.”
 

“I’m not a murderer.”
 

“No? Then what is it you call yourself? You kill people for a living, no? You take their lives away. The last I checked, that was called murder.”
 

“Work is work.”
 

“So you’re just a drone then, is that it? A puppet who waits for her strings to be pulled?”
 

“What I do is try to keep the world safe.”
 

He smiles, actually chuckles. “Oh come off it.”
 

“People like your father figure are evil sick fucks that don’t deserve to live.”
 

“Hmm, that’s interesting. You believe Roland was evil. You believe, I assume, that I am evil as well.”
 

“Among other things.”
 

“And so in your mind if you eradicate Roland and me and the rest of the evil men and women in the world ... what—the world will suddenly be a better place?”
 

He waits a moment for me to respond, and when I don’t, he grins.
 

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Holly. Everyone’s evil. Even you. And not considering yourself a murderer is simply naïve. After all, killing is killing. Don’t you agree?”
 

He’s wrong, of course. I do consider myself a murderer. I’m not proud of the fact, but murdering people is what I do. And I’m good at it. One of the best. And I’ll be damned if I have some pink-shirt-wearing-ice-rattling cocksucker tell me otherwise.
 

“Are you in denial then?” I ask.
 

“About what?”
 

“About being a terrorist.”
 

“
Terrorist?
” He laughs, shakes his head. “No, I am no terrorist.”
 

“Then what would you call yourself?”
 

“What I call myself already. Xerxes, which means—”
 

“Douche bag?”
 

He takes another sip of his drink, again rattles the ice around in the glass.
 

“Terrorists for the most part want to destroy the world. But that’s not my ultimate goal.”
 

“What is your ultimate goal?”
 

He looks at me like the answer should be obvious. “Why, to rule the world of course.”
 

He leans forward, places his lips to my ear.
 

“Roland was my friend,” he whispers, “and I loved him like a brother. And while I mourn his death I can’t help but also be happy. Because now I have the chance to advance. Now I have the chance to take his place. And it’s all thanks to you, Holly. Not like you knew what you were doing at the time—after all, you’re just a drone, aren’t you?—but you helped secure my place in history and ... well, I just want to say thank you.”
 

He leans back in his chair, takes another sip of his drink. He just stares at me then, waiting for me to speak.
 

I say, “Did someone really buy the code today?”
 

“This morning, yes. It was done electronically.”
 

“And the boy?”
 

“One of my runners.”
 

“So the entire thing was just meant to be a huge waste of time.”
 

“Not entirely. We still wanted to send you a message.”
 

“How did you know I would even be here?”
 

He smiles again. “You can’t even begin to imagine how much I know.”
 

I glance around at the men watching us. I think about options, possibilities, causes and effects. I think about Nova somewhere downstairs, trying to find me. I think about Philippe somewhere close by too, either outside or in.
 

“So now what?”
 

“Now I’m afraid we part ways.” He sets his glass aside, stands up. “It was a pleasure finally meeting you. You are a very attractive woman and I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”
 

“Yeah,” I say, standing, “like you would ever have a chance.”
 

“Perhaps.” Xerxes smiles again. “But what you have to remember about men like me, Holly, is that we always get what we want.”
 

Three men approach. Two of them take my arms, turn me around. They steer me toward the elevator that’s already standing open. They push me into it. The doors slide shut and we start to descend. I think about options again, possibilities. The men haven’t let go of my arms. Their grip is tight. They may not know my entire background, everything I can do, but they witnessed me take out one of their own so they know I’m capable.
 

I think about struggling but know it’s not worth it. It would just waste time, burn energy, and right now I want to save up as much strength as I can.
 

We pass the first floor, continue down to the basement. The doors open, revealing a parking garage. A car is parked in front of us. Reed and Boylan stand beside it. Reed has a gun in his hands, Boylan a plastic zip-tie.
 

“Thank you, boys,” Reed says. “We’ll take it from here.”
 

40

They force me to put my hands behind my back. Then they put the plastic zip-tie around my wrists. Next thing I know I’m being shoved into the backseat next to a large man with a double chin and a cane who smells like cheap cologne.
 

He barely even looks at me.
 

Reed and Boylan get into the car. Reed slides into the driver’s seat, starts the engine, and then we start driving though the garage.
 

“Boris?” I ask.
 

He turns his head slightly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He says nothing.
 

“Where are you and Rocky and Bullwinkle taking me?”
 

Still no answer.
 

“You know, you’re a lot fatter than I pictured.”
 

He’s much faster than he looks. One moment his hand is on the tip of his cane; the next it flies up to backhand me across the face. Then it’s back on the tip of the cane, like it never moved at all.
 

Boylan shifts in his seat, glances back. “Just shut the fuck up, Holly. Okay?”
 

We drive up the ramp to the exit. Reed pauses for the gate to open.
 

As it does I play around with the zip-tie. When they placed it around my wrists I’d balled my hands up into fists and kept them together. Boylan hadn’t seemed too worried about it, because otherwise he would have noticed this gives me more room when I move my hands so the wrists are touching. It doesn’t give me a lot of room, but it gives me some, enough to start working the zip-tie.
 

The gate opened completely, we drive out into the rain.
 

“So where are we going?”
 

Nobody answers.
 

“You seriously don’t think Philippe isn’t going to figure this out?”
 

Still no answer.
 

I think about it a moment, then say, “Unless Philippe is in this with you guys too.”
 

Then I shake my head, say, “No, he wouldn’t be that corrupt.”
 

I say, “Philippe is a good guy. A true good guy. Not a poser like you fucks.”
 

Boris does his lightning-quick handwork again. This time I’m ready for it and turn my head away. His backhand hits me in the ear. And because it hits me in the ear, he grunts with frustration and punches me again, this time in the ribs.
 

We turn down one street, turn down another. I have no idea where they’re taking me. All I know is that when we get there they are going to kill me.
 

I keep working at the zip-tie behind my back.
 

“At least tell me what the appeal is. From what I could see, Xerxes isn’t all that charming. Why would you guys want to be in his pocket?”
 

Reed brings the car to a stop at a traffic light. He flicks the turn signal on.
 

I stare out my window, at the cars parked along the street, at the lights in the stores. “Abraham and Kenneth. Delano never had anything to do with them. At least, he never had men try to come in and kill you all.”
 

The light changes. Reed presses his foot down on the gas, bringing us into motion again.
 

“By that point Delano had already gotten to you. He’d made a deal. Probably offered you money.”
 

The windshield wipers screech back and forth, back and forth.
 

“He probably offered you a lot of money. And maybe you didn’t want to split it between five people. Or maybe you knew Abraham and Kenneth would never go for it in the first place.”
 

Up in the passenger seat, Boylan tilts his head from the left to the right, from the right to the left. In the heavy silence of the car the pops are like gunshots.
 

“Yeah, you knew they wouldn’t flip, that they would be good until the end. So you had to take them out. You had to kill them. Yourselves. Except ... except Boris and Boylan were shot in the process. And so were Delano’s men ... or were they his men?”
 

Boris shifts beside me in his seat. I pause in trying to free my wrists, ready now for another blow. One doesn’t come.
 

“So you had men dressed up to look like Delano’s men. You killed them, only after you killed Abraham and Kenneth. And then ... what—did you guys draw straws or something to figure out who would get shot and who wouldn’t?”
 

The windshield wipers: back and forth, back and forth.
 

“You sick fucks. You did draw straws, didn’t you?”
 

My wrists working through the zip-tie: back and forth, back and forth.
 

“And Reed managed to luck out. He was the one who would walk away without a scratch.”
 

The windshield wipers and my wrists: back and forth, back and forth.
 

“All so you could be the ones who ran surveillance on Delano. Philippe doesn’t know. He might suspect, but he doesn’t know. And taking him out of the equation is too risky. Raises too many questions.”
 

One wrist, almost free.
 

“So you keep him around. You keep him around because you don’t want to kill him. Or because by killing him you would bring in more people. And right now you guys like it the way it is. You like it just being the three of you and Philippe.”
 

One wrist, moving back and forth, almost free.
 

“But one of these days Philippe is going figure it out. And if he doesn’t, someone else will. Because dumb fucks like you always mess up. And while Delano may have liked you, who says Xerxes will feel the same way? Who says he won’t get tired of your bullshit and decide to take you all out instead?”
 

The zip-tie bites into my skin, drawing blood.
 

I look at Boris, lean close to him.