Redzone (15 page)

All of the brothers stood as their father pushed Alala into the slot next to Monica. From there he went up to take his place at the head of the table. “I would like to extend a special welcome to a new member of our family tonight,” Heevy said solemnly. “As I'm sure you know by now, Cassandra is Alala's daughter by a previous marriage. I, for one, am glad to have her here.

“Bethany? Would you be so kind as to say grace? You do it so well.”

But what ensued was more than a simple prayer. It was a three-minute-long rant in which Bethany called upon God to cleanse the world of sinners, “Especially those who look normal—but are filled with hate.” An apparent reference to Lee, and one that caused James to wink at her from across the table, since he
looked
normal as well.

Finally, when the tirade was over, Heevy nodded. “Thank you. Cassandra's meal will be served in her room in order to guard her health. Manley, you may serve the rest of us.”

Having been raised by a single father who wasn't around much Lee was amazed by the procession of dishes that came in one after another. And by the family's proficiency with an array of highly specialized eating utensils. A challenge she was happy to forgo.

Lee noticed that while all of the Heevy men had hearty appetites there was a good deal of variation among the women. Monica left most of her food on a succession of plates. Alala appeared to be on a special diet and consumed only half of what she was given. And Bethany, by contrast, gobbled her food and called for another dessert.

In the meantime, Heevy was leading the conversation in much the same way that a moderator would question a panel. Each person was presented with a provocative question, given a chance to answer, and rewarded with some sort of comment. In Lee's case, the question was political. “So, Cassandra . . . it sounds like the Aztec Empire's army may overrun all of Arizona . . . What, if anything, can we expect Pacifica to do in response?”

Lee toyed with one of three forks. “I have no way to know, of course. But, if I had to guess, I'd say that Pacifica will side with the Republic of Texas.”

Heevy seemed to be genuinely interested. “And why,” he wanted to know, “is that?”

“Both the Republic and the Empire are controlled by mutants,” Lee answered honestly. “So both pose a potential threat. But we have ties with the Republic—some of which are quite strong. Take your mine for example. As I entered the area I noticed that you have railroad tracks that lead east and west. But the shiny ones run west . . . And that tells me that you are selling ore to Pacifica. Would the tecs honor the agreements that are in place? Who knows? So why take the chance?”

Heevy put his dessert fork down and turned to Alala. “You have a very intelligent, not to mention observant, daughter.” Then he turned back to Lee. “It happens I'm in talks with certain individuals inside the green zone. And, based on their comments, I think Pacifica
will
side with the Republic.” Heevy's eyes roamed the table. “Are they telling the truth? Time will tell.”

“But enough of that,” Heevy said lightly. “It's time for
some entertainment. And, if I'm not mistaken, Dawn has prepared something special for us.”

Lee looked at Dawn and saw her face light up. This, it appeared, was something she'd been looking forward to.

As Dawn stood her eyes took on a dreamy look. Then she began to sing “Ave Maria.” She had no accompaniment; nor did she need any. Her voice was pitch perfect and all the more impressive for being a capella. Lee sat transfixed as the girl sang. Was the angelic voice the result of a positive mutation? Or was it a gift that would have been hers regardless? It didn't matter. What was, was. And Dawn was extremely talented.

There was silence for a moment as the song came to an end. Then Lee stood and began to clap. The rest of the family did likewise. All except for Bethany. She remained seated. That was when Dawn burst into tears and rushed out of the room. Dinner was over.

*   *   *

Dawn had grown up in the mansion and knew every square inch of the house and the surrounding grounds. And that included every squeaky floorboard, the way the furniture was placed, and how each shadow fell. So, with a small suitcase in hand, she was able to leave her room shortly after three in the morning—and glide down the central staircase without making a sound. Once on the main floor, it was a simple matter to enter the deserted kitchen and head for the back door.

The security system was on. But, like every member of the family, Dawn knew the code. So it was easy to disarm and reset the alarm. Dawn knew that doing so would trigger a tone in any room that was equipped with a keypad. And that included her father's. But she also knew that he was a sound sleeper. And even if Daddy heard the beep, he'd assume that a family's retainer was arriving for work.

So Dawn left the mansion undetected. Her heart was
racing, and she felt a heady combination of excitement and fear. This was the moment she had long fanaticized about. The moment when she would leave home and start the next phase of her life.

But she wasn't free yet. Far from it. There was a security checkpoint to pass through at the foot of the driveway—and another one along the Heartbreak Highway. Dawn had an ally however . . . even if he didn't know it yet.

She smiled, paused to put her shoes on, and slipped shadow to shadow across the well-kept yard to the garage. Then she paused to listen. Nothing. So far so good.

The door wasn't locked. She turned the knob, stepped inside, and was careful to pull the door closed behind her. A great deal of planning had gone into the escape plan, so the flashlight was out and ready for use.

Dawn followed the blob of light past the delivery truck to the stairs that led up to the second-floor loft. Dawn knew that the second tread from the bottom would creak if she stepped on it, so she didn't.

Moments later, Dawn was at the top of the stairs in the space where the family's twenty-five-year-old driver was allowed to live. The furnishings consisted of a narrow bed, a dresser with three legs, and a cast-off armchair. A couple of mismatched lamps completed the décor.

And it was there, some six months earlier, that Dawn had chosen to surrender her virginity to Mickey. It was partly a matter of curiosity. But Dawn had something more in mind as well. Because from that point forward, she owned Mickey. And the investment was about to pay off. She put the suitcase on the floor and went over to kneel beside his bed. “Mickey,” she whispered. “It's me, Dawn.”

Mickey rolled over and reached for the bedside lamp. Light flooded his face. “Dawn? What are you doing here?”

“We're going to Las Vegas, Mickey. You're going to drive, and I'll ride in the back of the truck.”

Mickey sat up. He wasn't especially bright, but even he
could understand the implications of what Dawn proposed to do. “You've got to be kidding! Your father would kill us.”

“Las Vegas is a big city,” Dawn countered. “And I've got enough money to keep us going for a couple of months. We'll hide. Then, when they stop looking for us, I'll find a job as a singer.”

Mickey frowned. “What about me?”

“You're good with cars,” Dawn replied. “So you'll change your name—and work in a garage.”

“But we'll be together?”

“Of course we'll be together,” Dawn lied. “Forever and ever.”

“Okay,” Mickey said. “Take your clothes off. Let's do it.”

“No,”
Dawn said firmly. “Not until we get to Las Vegas. Then we'll do whatever you want.”

“Okay,” Mickey said. “But we can't leave until sunup. The security people would know something was up if we did. So let's get some sleep. You can lie next to me.”

So she did. But there was no need to sleep in order to dream.

AFTER RETURNING TO
her room, Lee enjoyed an excellent dinner before taking a bath and going to bed. It had been a long day—and she fell asleep within a matter of minutes. By the time she awoke, light was trying to slide in between the curtains, and someone was knocking on her door. “Just a minute,” Lee called out. “I'm coming.”

After placing a self-adhesive mask over her face, Lee padded to the door and pulled it open. “Yes?”

A maid was standing in the hall. “Sorry, Miss,” she said. “But Mr. Heevy would like to see you as soon as possible.”

“Did he say why?”

The maid shook her head—but Lee could tell that she was lying. “Okay, I'll get dressed and come down right away.”

The maid curtsied and hurried off.

Lee brushed her teeth, washed her face, and got dressed. Her own clothes had been washed and she wasn't going to wear the summer frock all day. She planned to visit her mother, find out what James wanted to do, and get the hell out of town. But first, she had to humor Heevy.

Once she was ready, Lee made her way down the stairs to the main floor, where she entered the great room. Heevy was meeting with a small group of mercenaries in front of the platform. “So,” he said, “be ready at eleven.”

One of the mercs nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Okay, that's all for the moment.”

Lee waited for the mercenaries to leave the room before approaching the platform. Heevy saw her coming and clomped forward to greet her. “I'm sorry to bother you with our domestic difficulties,” he said. “But I wonder if you would be willing to do me a favor.”

“What's wrong?” Lee inquired.

“You met Dawn last night,” Heevy replied. “And you heard her sing.”

“Yes, she has a beautiful voice.”

“I agree,” Heevy said. “She hopes to be a professional singer one day . . . I'm willing to give her that chance. But Bethany says no. She says that entertainers are sinners.”

“I see,” Lee replied noncommittally.

“So Dawn took off early this morning,” Heevy said ruefully, “
with
my driver. An idiot named Mickey. And it doesn't take a genius to figure out that the two of them are headed for Las Vegas.”

Lee raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I made a few calls. The police were there to intercept our truck as it rolled into town. Dawn is still seventeen, so they're holding her for us. As for Mickey, he will be charged with grand theft auto, and will most likely spend some time in prison.”

“Okay . . . Where do I come in?”

“You're a cop,” Heevy said. “And even though you're a norm—the police in Vegas will respect that.”

“They might,” Lee agreed. “Or they might not. I ran into both kinds in Arizona. What do you have in mind?”

“I would like you to accompany Hoss to Las Vegas. He
isn't much of a conversationalist, and there will be questions to answer. You could provide him with help if necessary.”

Lee's bullshit detector was going off by then. It sounded as if the pickup was cut-and-dried. There was no need for her to accompany Hoss. So Heevy wanted to get her out of town for some reason.
Why?
“Perhaps James or Bruce should go,” Lee suggested.

“No,”
Heevy said emphatically. “They're busy. So, if you're willing, I would appreciate it.”

Lee couldn't see a way out. Not and keep things friendly. “Okay,” she said. “Does Hoss know that I'm coming along?”

“Yes, he does. Meet him at the helicopter in half an hour.”

“Got it,” Lee replied. “Maybe I can grab something to eat in the meantime.”

“Of course,” Heevy said. “Just stop by the kitchen. And thanks for the help.”

After scoring a bacon-and-egg sandwich in the kitchen, and washing it down with two cups of hot coffee, Lee made her way out to the helo pad where Hoss was waiting. There was a pained expression on his misshapen face. “Good morning, Cassandra. I'm sorry my father dragged you into this.”

“Don't be,” Lee told him. “I doubt you'll need any help, but if you do, I'll do what I can. Tell me something, Hoss . . . just between you and me. How do
you
feel about Dawn's running off to Las Vegas?”

There was a whining sound, followed by a roar, as the helicopter's rotors started to turn. Hoss had to yell in order to be heard. “I think Dawn should be allowed to sing.” Then he turned away. Had there been tears in the big man's eyes? No, that seemed unlikely.

Lee made her way over to the chopper and climbed up into the back. Hoss more than filled the seat in front of her. Once the preflight checks had been completed the aircraft took off. The ground dropped away, and they passed over
the town of Heartbreak a minute later. Lee was looking forward to putting the place behind her.

*   *   *

Monica had her own car and drove it herself. A privilege she insisted on even though her husband would have preferred to have Mickey drive her around. The same Mickey who had run off with Dawn! The theory was that Mickey could protect her should some ruffian accost her. But was that the
real
reason? Or was it Hiram's way of keeping an eye on her?

Not that it mattered. Hiram knew when to give up and had. So as Monica left the school, and made her way out into the parking lot, she felt a momentary sense of freedom. And more than that, a rising sense of excitement. What was the relationship with James anyway? A pleasant distraction? Proof that she was still attractive? Or a bad habit? Maybe it was all three. A change would have to be made eventually. But not yet.

There were errands to run. Some were necessary, and some weren't, but both helped to justify her presence in town. It was a matter of routine by then. Park well away from the apartment, make her way to the drugstore, and leave through the rear exit. It opened onto a small parking lot and the alley beyond.

After a quick look around Monica crossed the lot, entered the alley, and walked west. Then it was a simple matter to enter the feed store through the back door and follow a flight of wooden stairs up to the second-floor apartment. And that's where James was waiting for her. He got up from a chair and opened his arms wide. “Mom! It's good to see you.”

Monica frowned as she put her packages down. “Don't talk like that, James . . . It isn't nice.”

“Sorry,” James said contritely. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please.” Alcohol was forbidden at the mansion thanks to Bethany's influence—and the drinks were something that both of them looked forward to. James poured
Monica a glass of white wine and made a Bloody Mary for himself. “So how 'bout Dawn?” he said, as he delivered the glass. “You have to give her credit. The girl has guts.”

“Yes,” Monica agreed. “I hope she gets away with it.”

“She won't,” James predicted. “In fact, based on what I've heard, the police already have her. Father sent Hoss and my sister to pick her up.”

“Your sister?
Why?
”

James shrugged. “Beats the heck out of me . . . I would expect the old man to go . . . or to send me. But I like it. Spending some quality time with you beats the heck out of flying to Vegas.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Monica purred as she came over to sit on his lap. She could taste the Bloody Mary when they kissed. Then the drinks were put aside as his right hand cupped a breast. That was when the mercenary kicked the door in.

*   *   *

James didn't know who he was up against; nor did he care. His first priority was to survive. So he dumped Monica off his lap and drew the .9mm Browning. Monica screamed, and was back-scooting across the floor, when the merc fired. James heard the bullet whip by his head and squeezed the trigger. His slug blew a bloody chunk out of the man's skull and dumped him onto the floor.

The side splatter hit the second merc and blinded one eye. So when he triggered his submachine gun, the three-round burst went wide. That gave James the opportunity he needed. The first bullet went through the shooter's neck and still packed enough punch to kill the man behind him.

James waited for a fourth target to appear but none did. So he jammed the Browning back into the shoulder rig and went over to one of the room's two windows. It opened onto Front Street, and Monica was screaming his name as he threw it open. Then he was out on the hot metal roof and
sliding toward the edge. A woman produced a yelp of surprise as he landed next to her. James apologized. Then he ran.

*   *   *

Monica's heart was beating like a trip-hammer as she struggled to her feet. The mercs weren't in uniform, but she recognized them, and knew they were acting on her husband's behalf. He knew. Somehow, some way, the bastard knew. A nosy townsperson probably . . . or a treacherous servant.

James was aware of that, of course . . . which had everything to do with why he had left her behind. Now she knew the truth. It was all about sex and nothing else. She was still in the process of buttoning her blouse when Bruce appeared. His anger was clear to see. “Where is he?”

“He went out the window,” Monica replied. “Listen, Bruce . . . It isn't what you think. I . . .”

“
You
are a cheap whore,” Heevy said, as he arrived in the apartment. “No, a slut . . . Whores get paid. And you give it away.”

“You have it all wrong,” Monica objected. “I didn't want to do it! James threatened me. He said . . .”

“Shut up,” Heevy said coldly. “Don't shame yourself any more than you already have. Bruce? This is
your
moment, son. You know what to do.”

*   *   *

Bruce felt a host of conflicting emotions. Anger at his mother for the way in which she had betrayed his father, and more than that, betrayed
him
. But there was love, too . . . Because in spite of her faults Monica was his mother. The one person in the house he could trust. Or thought he could trust. Now it was clear that she preferred James to him.

Bruce brought the Colt .45 up and aimed it at her. Monica's eyes were wide with fright, tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her hands were extended palms out. “No, please . . .”

The rest of Monica's words were lost as a .45 caliber slug hit her chest and slammed her into the wall. She looked surprised, and her body seemed to hang there for a second, before slumping to the floor. That exposed a patch of blood on the wall and the hole that marked the middle of it. “Well done, son,” Heevy said grimly. “
You
are the one that I was looking for.”

*   *   *

Everything had gone smoothly. Or as smoothly as could be expected given the circumstances. The police were waiting for Hoss in Las Vegas. Once he signed some forms Dawn was given into his custody. And she was an emotional mess. As they made their way out to the police helo port, Hoss was subjected to fits of crying, angry tirades, and impassioned speeches. Dawn insisted that the authorities should let Mickey go. No one listened.

Therefore, all Lee could do was try to comfort a distraught Dawn during the ride home. Fortunately it was a relatively short trip. And as Lee left the helicopter she could tell that something was wrong. Dozens of mercenaries were stationed around the house—many of whom were using binoculars to scan the surrounding hillsides.

Bethany came out to escort Dawn inside. That freed Lee to return to her room. She was halfway to the house when she glanced to her right and saw something that shouldn't have been there. Her truck! In all its faded glory. It was parked on the south side of the house in an area reserved for guests. That brought Lee to a halt. How long had Heevy known about the truck? From day one probably—and she'd been naive enough to think that the vehicle had gone undiscovered. So why reveal it now? Because Heevy wanted her to leave. And did that have something to do with whatever had taken place in her absence? Probably.

Lee entered the house and followed the stairs to the third floor. She half expected someone to try to stop her, but no
one did. So she made her way back to her mother's room and knocked on the door. The response was a faint, “Come in!”

Lee opened the door and stepped inside. Shafts of sunlight threw puddles of gold onto the wood floor. Alala was in bed and struggled to sit up. “Cassie! I'm so glad you came.”

Lee went over to stand next to the bed. “How are you?”

Alala forced a smile. Her eyes were red as if she'd been crying. “I've been better . . . But that doesn't matter. Did you hear what happened?”

“No,” Lee said. “Tell me.”

“I'm not supposed to know,” Alala said. “But Myra told me.”

“Told you what?”

“It seems that James and Monica were having an affair! Hiram heard about it from someone in town, and he was furious. So he sent mercenaries to kill James. But James killed them and ran. Then Bruce and Hiram went in and one of them shot Monica.”

Alala began to sob at that point—and Lee tried to comfort her. Now everything made sense. She'd been sent to Las Vegas to get her out of the way while they killed her brother. And now Heevy was eager to get rid of her. And that explained the truck. “But what about the police?” Lee inquired. “What are they going to do about Monica's death?”

Alala used a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “The town marshal works for Hiram . . . as do his deputies. It's time for you to leave, Cassie . . . And I mean right now.”

Lee had to agree. A murder had been committed, but she was powerless to do anything about it. “What about James? Did you talk to him?”

“Yesterday evening. He said no. Why leave when you're going to inherit a town? That's what he said. But that was before they shot Monica. Now he's on the run. Go home, Cassie . . . And thank you! It was brave of you to come here.”

It was stupid, given the way Alala planned to use her, but the knowledge that she would never see her mother again brought tears to Lee's eyes. Alala reached up to thumb them
away. “Get out, Cassie. There's nothing you can accomplish here. Bethany says that all of us are sinners—and I have to admit that she's right. We made this mess, and we have to live with it.”