“Are you saying—”
“Hush,” Jonathan said. “I’m speaking. You’re listening. You need to choose your camp right now. I represent the good guys, and the men chained up in your apartment represent the bad guys. If you stay here, that whole blood oath thing kicks in. If you betray me, you will suffer. I promise you that at a holy, religious level. You will suffer.”
Color drained from Becky’s cheeks.
“Be frightened,” Jonathan said. “If my life is at stake — and it is — so should yours be at stake. Those are the rules. If you can live with them, you’re welcome to stay. If you can’t, then you’re welcome to leave.”
“How will you trust me if I leave? How do I know that you won’t just shoot me in the back?”
Boxers took that one with his characteristic rumbling laugh. “Honey, if either one of us wanted you dead, it’d be done already and you’d’ve been the last to know.”
Jonathan found the delivery a little harsh, but he didn’t correct him. “I don’t think you want to spend every night for the rest of your life wondering if one of us is coming through your window.”
Tears balanced on Becky’s eyelids. “I am frightened,” she said. “I’m freaking scared shitless. I didn’t want any of this in my life.” She paused, as if expecting a different reaction than the one she got the last time she said the same thing. In the end, she said nothing more. She stepped across the threshold and made a point of gazing out the window, her back turned, as Jonathan closed the door.
“You know she’s a problem, right?” Boxers said under his breath.
Jonathan shrugged. “Let’s cut her some slack. It’s been a tough couple of days, and we came on pretty strong.”
Boxers chuckled.
“What?”
“It’s the big brown eyes, isn’t it?” the Big Guy poked. “You’ve always had a soft spot for big brown eyes.”
By the time they walked back down to David’s room, Venice had appeared in the hallway. She stood with her hands on her hips, taking in the surroundings. “I don’t come down here very much,” she said. “It’s like traveling back in time.” Back in the day, hers had been the second room off this hallway, though not for long. By the time of her early teens, she and Mama Alexander had been moved to the mansion’s third floor, from there better to serve the needs of the Gravenow family.
“Thanks for joining us,” Jonathan said. “I wanted us all to hear this story at the same time. Feel free to ask questions as they pop into your head. Use handles only, no real names. And Big Guy?”
Boxers’ forehead wrinkled. He waited for it.
“Try not to scare the kid to death, okay?”
“I’ll spread nothing but love and happiness,” Big Guy said. “Just like always.”
Jonathan slipped the key into the door and turned the lock.
The toothpaste-blue room was set up in the style of a college dorm, with a desk and a chair, and a sofa that folded out to become a bed. Jonathan had no idea how old the decorations or the furnishings were, but they looked dated to him. Neither comfortable nor especially uncomfortable, the sofa felt understuffed, and the desk chair creaked whenever David moved to cross or uncross his legs. They’d moved the young man’s chair to the center of the room so that he could address his questioners all at once. Boxers sat awkwardly on the edge of the desk while Venice occupied the cushion next to Jonathan on the sofa.
David Kirk told his story quickly and emphatically, relaying details of his conversations with DeShawn Lincoln and of his initial encounter with the men that Jonathan and Boxers had so recently dispatched.
Jonathan worked hard to poke holes in David’s story, but it held together well. It didn’t make any more sense than it had when Jonathan knew fewer details, but after twenty-five minutes, he was confident that the kid wasn’t lying.
As they chatted, David’s shoulders relaxed and his overall posture became less rigid. He was becoming comfortable. If not comfortable, then perhaps less suspicious that Jonathan intended to hurt him.
“I’ve got a question for you,” David said after some of the edge had worn off. “You said something about a big-time conspiracy,” David said. “Do you think the Secret Service killed Deeshy? And is this like some kind of rogue action?”
Jonathan paused before answering. As a rule, he made it a point to keep his opinions on such things to himself — certainly, he kept them away from relative strangers. During the silence, in fact, Boxers caught his eye and gave him a surreptitious shake of his head.
Thing was, this kid had lived a part of whatever was going on, and by sharing theories with him, maybe there was a chance that something important might shake loose. He decided that it was worth the risk.
“I have no idea if the Secret Service killed your friend,” Jonathan said, finally. “I suspect that they’re involved in this somehow — that seems self-evident, given the events of the shoot-out at the Wild Times. But there’s a subtle difference between suspicion and paranoia. Both are reasonable under the circumstances, but for now, I don’t know how to tell one from the other.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s any doubt,” David said. He seemed to think people were arguing with him. “Deeshy sure as hell was convinced. And why is Becky being held separately?”
The suddenness of that question startled Jonathan. “About her,” he said. “How stable is she?”
“Scorpion!” Venice’s tone was that of a scolding mother.
Jonathan ignored her and waited for his answer.
“I don’t know what to say,” David said. “How stable? What does that mean?”
Boxers simplified the question: “Is she going to be part of the solution or an extension of the problem?”
David still didn’t get it.
“Can you trust her?” Jonathan said.
“Of course I can trust her. She took me in.”
“She’s awfully angry,” Jonathan said. “Disproportionately angry, I would say.”
“How can you say that?” Venice said. “Think about everything that has happened to her in the past twenty-four hours. How could she not be furious?”
David smiled at her, a look of genuine relief.
“I mean really,” Venice went on. “She’s lost everything. And she lost it by helping a friend. Yet you ask if she is the one who is trustworthy. Imagine the questions that are streaming through her head right now.”
She looked to Boxers. “Did he give her the blood oath speech?”
The Big Guy nodded.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She stood and held out her hand. “Key.”
Jonathan knew better than to argue. He handed over the entire ring. JoeDog curled herself into the vacated cushion the instant Venice left the room. A minute later, when the two women appeared in the doorway, the beast slunk back to the floor. She looked ashamed of herself. It was a look that made her invulnerable to scolding.
“Here you go, sweetie,” Venice said, pointing to the sofa. “Have a seat next to the boss.”
Becky hesitated.
Jonathan stood. “It seems I owe you an apology,” he said. “Soft talk has never been my strong suit. Your anger bothered me. Abundant caution has always served me well.”
“Fine.” Becky sat. “Whatever. What I want to know is what’s next. Clearly, neither of us can go home, and while staying here is a fine option in the short term, what happens tomorrow or the next day?”
This was the sticky part. Jonathan resumed his seat. “I think that in two or three days, this whole thing is going to be set in concrete. The evidence that needs to be covered up will be, and David, your future will be permanently bleak.”
David blanched. “What do you mean by bleak?”