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Mike waited while Creel jammed a donut in his mouth,
swallowed some coffee, then the head eased back and snores came from the man’s
mouth. Taking the phone from his shirt pocket, he opened the
back and used a small screwdriver to unhook the homing device. First the code for North Carolina, then his mother’s
phone. His father answered, and Mike forced a smile in his voice.
“Daddy, how are you?”
“Mike?” A gruff laugh came over the line. There
was a scraping noise, rather like a thumb covering the mouthpiece. He could see
Ron shouting something, then his father was back.
“Man, good to hear from you.”
“You look a lot better than when I last saw you,
too, Pop.”
The picture faded back. His father was dressed in a
police uniform, and Mike scowled.
“It’s a little early to git on back to work, sir,
isn’t it?”
The man’s face loomed in the tiny screen. Face hard,
Ron said, “Don’t you start on me, too. You ain’t too big to paddle, you
know.”
Fighting a smile, Mike said, “Yes, sir.”
Before he could speak again, Ron said, “Here’s
your ma.”
The screen spun in a dizzying circle, and when it
cleared, his mother was smiling at him. Her face was a little thinner, but still
tanned, her eyes bright and alive.
“Hey, Mama. How are you?”
“Grand,” she said. “And so is everyone. Just
everyone.” This was a code, of sorts, to tell him she heard from Terry Jo.
Mike grinned in relief. “Glad to hear it. I was down
in Virginia and met a relative.” Benny was, by definition, a relative, at
least according to his parents. Terry Jo was expecting Millie’s grandchild.
“He said to tell you all it’s cool. He’s free and happy and expecting a
son.”
His mother chortled. “Tell him Mexico is open to
visitors, if he can get by the border guards. I hear they’re shooting
wetbacks, not just shipping them back to us.”
“Times do change,” Mike said.
“Indeed. Twenty years ago we were turning them away
. . . Now –”
Ron cleared his throat and she stilled.
“Guess I best git it gone, Mama. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
The last thing he saw in the screen were the tears in
her eyes.
Mike took the screwdriver, holding it by the tips of
his fingers to reattach the homer.
When he glanced up, Creel was grinning. Mike’s hand
slid down to the thin blade he used to quiet nosy civilians. It was a thin
blade, a dull black carbon diamond material that no liquid could stick to. He
was heavier than the rail-thin Creel, and it would be little problem holding onto
the wiry man.
Creel said, “You too? Well, what the boss doesn’t
know won’t hurt us.” He reached for another donut while Mike let his hand
slip away from the knife.
The building was taller than many in the city. Its
construction was nearly a century past and wars ago when coal was yet king.
Ramie took them to the third floor, then to an apartment. The air held a faint
odor of goat.
“Safehouse for him.” Her chin jutted at Benny.
“The signal gets lost here. Got a block on this building, the Man do.”
“Lord Penn?” Kat glanced at Jim, who shrugged,
lowering Benny to a sofa.
“He cool. He gonna wipe out the devils in Safe Side
and make us free again.”
With a cocky grin, Ramie walked out of the apartment.
The door was steel sandwiched by sheets of lead and
more steel. Jim walked around the room tapping the walls, then stared at the
floor in awe.
“They did it,” he said, glancing up at a confused
Kat and a smirking Benny. “They found a way to confuse the snoops.”
Kat said, “Hey, even I know it takes more than
–”
“An LCD would handle that, along with a few squirts
of urine to handle the pheromones.” He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “But
they still have rodents.”
“In this ‘hood?” Benny snorted. “No rats and
the snoops would get suspicious. It’s against the law to kill animals,
remember? Animal Rights Laws.” He gave a sour laugh. “And how many get sick
because they can’t handle the alkaloids in soy?”
Jim sank down into an overstuffed chair that saw
better days in the last century, more than twenty-five years previously. The
covering was peeling hard, showing a furry browned batting that more or less
matched the cover.
“Wow. Who’s behind this?”
“People.” Benny shrugged. “Family of family of
family. It all trickles down. When they outlawed guns people were already making
their own. It ain’t that hard, not when you got to or die in the latest crime
wave.”
He nodded at the windows. “Got less real crime here
than outside the city. My other grandfather, old man ‘my-jack’ Grey, was
head of a coven an’ he got away with murder. Lots of times, man. Down here,
Penn is the boss and my mom says he’s OK.”
“He’s Jamaican Mafia –”
“Nope, or the good uns here wouldn’t let him live
a single day.”
Only half listening while Jim and Benny argued, Kat
looked over the stove. While it probably wouldn’t pass the head nurse’s
inspection, it was cleaner than her own unit. She took down a pan, then bent to
open the refrigerator under the stove and marveled at the carton of eggs –
real eggs! – and a quart of beef stew.
“Jim,” she called, grinning with delight.
“Oh-my-gosh. Look, real milk!”
Benny held out his hand. Smiling, Kat gave the plastic
bottle to him. Benny sniffed and frowned.
“Ain’t fresh. They milked that bossy last
night.”
“So? Do you know what this costs on the black
market?”
“Yeah, but back home that would go to the dog. My
uncle owns a dairy herd,” he told a wondering Kat. “Aunt Mara makes cheese
and butter. The tax collector takes a week’s worth of cheese and butter for
the taxes every six months, and we get off light. Uncle Charlie gives a yearling
calf to each of the county commissioners, too, to keep them off our backs for
running an illegal farm.” He shrugged. “Since the ‘D’ hit twenty years
ago, the pop’s been dropping. After the earthquake, the roads collapsed and we
get no roadrats in the Pokes.”
“Pocono Mountains? I was there once.” Kat shivered
and Jim scowled.
She gave him a wink and snatched the bottle of milk
up, sipping and grinning. “Man, that was when I was a little snotty kid. Wall
to wall houses but still better than the city.”
“Goes great with chocolate,” Benny called.
She spun, her eyes wide. “No, that’s BS. You
can’t grow cocoa up there. Too cold to grow even the genetic altered –”
“Traders come in with horses and mules. Aunt Mara
makes a lot of butter and different kinds of cheeses to trade. Geez, lady, where
did you grow up? If you got the gelt, you can get anything, even coffee and
gold.”
Jim pushed to his feet. “Don’t say another
word.” He shot a warning glance at Kat. “We don’t know if the place is
bugged.”
Eyes wide, Benny clamped his moth shut, then nodded.
“Wisdom to do that. You were a spook, weren’t
you?”
Scowling, Jim gave a slow nod.
“Was,” he said, his voice soft but edging on
deadly. “Now I’m running, too.”
Creel jumped, his eyes wide, staring at the ceiling.
His lapel phone shrilled a cry, “Hey, cutie! Hey cutie!” Mike was staring at
him. Heat flushed over the still downy pink cheeks. Teeth bared, he snatched it
off his collar. “What?”
Relaxed on the bed with only a towel under him, Mike
let warm air dry his body.
The blood drained from his face. “Yes,
ma’am.” Making a point of not looking at the man, Creel handed the phone to
Mike. “The boss.” Only then did the TV move out from the wall.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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