No Shelter (25 page)

He drives right at me.
 

I step aside. I watch helpless as he passes me in my own car, the Porsche following. David is the closest to me and as they pass he places his hand flat against the window, holds it there, tears all over his face.
 

I want to do something but I can’t think of anything worthwhile to do. I refuse to wave goodbye because it is too final, too concrete, and I plan on seeing them again. When and how, I’m not sure yet, but I plan on seeing them again.
 

In my ear the man says, “Now that the children are gone, are you ready to get them back?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“Good. I believe it is time now for us to meet formally.”
 

He disconnects the call.
 

I look at the phone, start to redial the number, when a black Lincoln Town Car appears down the street. It too has tinted windows. It drives quickly and is stopped beside me in no time.
 

The back door opens.
 

I step inside.
 

46

There are three men in the Town Car. The driver, of course, and a man in the passenger seat who once I slip into the car turns around and aims a gun at me. The third man sits in the back. He looks to be in his late-forties. He has jet-black hair and dark skin and has an odd attractiveness like Marc Antony. He smiles at me and says, “Good afternoon.”
 

I don’t say anything.
 

My door closed, the Town Car starts in motion again.
 

For a long time there is silence. The man beside me stares out his window. The man in the passenger seat stays turned in his seat, the gun aimed. His eyes are deep and brown and don’t leave me for a second.
 

For an instant I have that sense of déjà vu, being back in Paris, riding in the car with Reed and Boylan and Boris. Then I hadn’t really cared what happened to me. I didn’t mind talking bullshit just to hear my voice. I didn’t have anybody to worry about but myself.
 

Finally the man says, “Do you know who I am, Miss Lin?” He continues staring out his window. “My name is Javier Diaz. My father is Ernesto Diaz. You caused us some very serious trouble recently.”
 

“I apologize.”
 

The man looks away from the window, smiles at me. “Is that so?”
 

“Whatever trouble I’ve caused you and your father, I’m sorry. You can do whatever you want to me, but please, don’t involve those two kids.”
 

“It’s more complicated than that, Miss Lin. If it were up to me and my father, you would already be dead. But there are other interests involved. Interests that have requested we spare your life for the time being.”
 

“What are you talking about?”
 

“Though this is odd to say, my father and I are grateful for what you did. Not that it lessens our anger any, of course, but your ... attack helped give us new perspective in certain areas of our business.”
 

“What business?”
 

“Are you really that stupid, Miss Lin?” The man pauses, shakes his head. “No, I suppose you are not. I suppose you cause so much trouble you cannot keep all the events separate.”
 

We’re out of the residential area now, driving back along the main strip.
 

“As you seem to be lost right now,” Javier Diaz says, “the trouble to which I am referring happened in Las Vegas.”
 

“The ranch.”
 

“Yes, the ranch.”
 

“You’re in charge of it.”
 

“Technically, no. My father and I have no
legal
ties to the place at all.”
 

“Of course not.”
 

Javier Diaz keeps staring out his window. “The man who was in charge of our Las Vegas outfit, what you could call a manager, was becoming much too lax. He was skimming the money for security into his own pocket. And the men he had looking after the girls ... well, if they were able to be taken out by you and you alone, what does it say about them?”
 

“They were under-trained.”
 

Javier smiles at his window. “Perhaps, yes. Regardless, the man in question has been dealt with. So have the rest of the men in that outfit. We have been forced to relocate, find new girls, start from scratch. But, as I said, you have helped give us new perspective. And not just in Las Vegas, but in all our outfits.”
 

“I’m glad I could be of some service.”
 

We are now on the expressway. The man in the passenger seat hasn’t moved an inch. The gun hasn’t either.
 

“Just so you know,” Javier says, “she did not die quickly.”
 

“Who?”
 

“Rosalina.” Shaking his head. “A pretty name for such an ugly whore.”
 

I close my eyes. Picture her striking Jerold over the head with the phone. Picture her cowering in the bathtub. Picture her standing beside the car while I loaded my weapons.
 

“You found her?”
 

“It wasn’t very hard. She barely got twenty miles before one of my men tracked her down. From what I understand she wouldn’t talk, not at first. She needed ... convincing.”
 

Javier shifts in his seat, turns his head to look at me.
 

“They sent me a number of the photographs. Parts of her body that they cut off. Even some areas where they sliced off her skin. Would you like to see them?”
 

I don’t answer.
 

“No, I suppose that might be too gruesome, even for you. Regardless, she did eventually break. She told my men all about you and the two men you were with. The information didn’t help us, not right then, but shortly afterward we were contacted by an outside interest.”
 

The driver veers off to the next exit. We take it to the top of the ramp, stop for the traffic light.
 

“This interest apparently lost something of theirs, something they believed you were also responsible for. This interest somehow knew you had been responsible for both incidents. And this interest promised to reimburse us for everything we had lost and even more if we were to bring you in.”
 

We turn right at the light and start down the road and immediately I know where we’re going. I’ve had an idea since we started driving, but now I’m certain.
 

“This interest,” Javier says, “expects something out of you. To be honest, I don’t know what it is, nor do I care to know. I only care that my father and I have been wronged, and that worst of all we were wronged by a fucking
puta
at that.”
 

Down one street, down another. Into another residential area. The houses growing larger. The cars in the driveways becoming more expensive.
 

“Just so we’re clear, Miss Lin, despite what may happen between you and this other interest, things are not done between us.”
 

The driver turns us down a very familiar street, past very familiar houses and trees and mailboxes.
 

“Do you understand me, Miss Lin? Do you understand how you have shamed me and my family?”
 

Swallowing, my throat suddenly dry, I say, “Yes, I do.”
 

“And are you sorry?”
 

“Yes, I am.”
 

“Why do I not believe you?”
 

I don’t answer him. I don’t answer him because we’ve arrived.
 

The driver slows. He makes the turn up the driveway. He pulls to a stop in front of the garage. He places the Town Car in park, opens his door, and steps out.
 

“Now it is time for us to part ways, Miss Lin. Just remember what I told you. Remember what we did to Rosalina.”
 

The driver opens my door. I get out. The man in the passenger seat, the man with the deep brown eyes and the gun, gets out too. He has the weapon concealed but it’s clear he no longer needs it. I know it just as well as he does. I am not going to fight him.
 

They take me to the back porch. They take me inside.
 

The kitchen is a mess. It is clear a struggle took place. Some pots and pans are strewn across the floor. A chair is tipped over.
 

We walk out of the kitchen and into the living room.
 

Here Sylvia lies on the couch. Her wrists and ankles have been tied. She has duct tape over her mouth. There is some dried blood on her forehead. She hears us enter the living room and opens her eyes and watches us as we pass out of the living room and into the hallway.
 

There is blood soaking the carpet just outside of Walter’s office. What is left of Baron lies beside it.
 

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and step inside.
 

Someone is sitting at Walter’s desk. They are in the chair, turned away from me so they can stare out into the backyard.
 

One of the wooden kitchen chairs has been brought in here. It is placed in front of the desk.
 

The men force me to sit down in it. With plastic ties they strap my ankles and wrists to the chair. The driver slaps duct tape over my mouth.
 

The entire thing takes less than ten seconds and then they are gone and it is just me and the person in the chair.
 

After a moment the chair swivels around and I find myself staring back at a ghost.
 

“Hey, Holly,” Zane says. “Been awhile, hasn’t it?”
 

47

“I guess you’re surprised to see me, which is understandable. After all, it’s been two years and ... well, it’s complicated.”
 

Zane leans back in Walter’s chair, raises his arms and puts his hands behind his head.
 

“I wish this didn’t have to happen. I really do. But it was unavoidable.”
 

The last time I saw him he was on a yacht and had just been shot by my father. He had brown curly hair then. He had a silver ring hanging from his left ear.
 

“I’m sure you’re asking yourself a lot of questions right now. I wish I could answer those questions. I wish I could tell you this is all a dream. But it’s not. I’m just as real as you are. As real as”—leaning forward, rapping his knuckles on the desktop—“as this desk.”
 

Now his head is shaved to a crew cut. His face wears a couple days of growth. The silver earring is gone.
 

“Let me cut to the chase. The job you guys pulled in Las Vegas—that really fucked us up. That meeting Delano had scheduled for the next day, that was with my employer. He was going to purchase the flash drive.”
 

He pushes away from the desk, stands up. He appears taller than I remember but I know that’s ridiculous. He’s the same size he’s always been; in my mind’s eye he’s just grown smaller.
 

“We need that flash drive, Holly. We need it immediately.”
 

I just sit there, staring back at him. I don’t move. I don’t make a sound.
 

Zane walks around the desk, taking his time, letting his finger graze along the side of the oak finishing. He comes to stand in front of me, leans back on the desk, crosses his arms.
 

“Now we know you have nothing to do with the flash drive. For you it was just a mission. You made your hit, grabbed your prize, and then you left. Only, you didn’t really leave, did you? You did an attack on that place out in the desert. Which I found strange, because it just didn’t seem like you.”
 

He’s wearing baggy jeans and a gray shirt. He has a nice, healthy tan.
 

“The Diaz Family wants you dead. I can’t say I blame them. You made them all look like fucking idiots. Trust me, word has gotten around. Everyone knows one of Diaz places was taken down by one person. Worse, that one person was a woman. It just doesn’t look good.”
 

His eyes are a shallow blue like a robin’s egg.
 

“But I’m sure Javier explained some of that to you. He may even have explained how we contacted him. Like I said, Holly, the family wants you dead. Actually, they want you tortured and then dead. But we managed to persuade them otherwise. We managed to extend your life.”
 

He has a small cleft in his chin; jokingly, almost always in bed, I referred to it has his little baby’s butt.
 

“Trust me when I say we wouldn’t do this for just anybody. But you ... well, believe it or not, I do still love and care for you.”
 

I’d seen him shot in the chest by my father. I’d seen the blood.
 

“You’re going to be my messenger, Holly. You’re going to tell Walter what we want in return for his children.”
 

I’d seen him fall over the side. I’d even heard the splash his body made when it struck the water.
 

“It’s not going to be easy for Walter. We’re aware of this. It’s not like the United States government will simply hand the flash drive over to him so he can hand it over to us. But I’m sure he’ll do his best to get it back. Don’t you agree?”
 

He turns away from me, grabs something off the desk, turns back around with a syringe in his hands. He has just filled it with something—I can see the tiny bottle on the desk—and now he inspects it closely, tapping the sides to release the air bubbles as he pushes on the plunger.
 

“I’m not going to be melodramatic about this. I’m not going to set a deadline. If he wants his children back, he will get us the flash drive as soon as possible. It’s that simple.”