Anyway, I was talking about mixed blessings. Caz’s place was a hell of a lot nicer than my now-empty apartment, but it was also the last place she and I had spent any safe time together, and the night we’d had there—well, night and morning and not much sleep during either—had been without doubt the single best moments of my life. I’d known the code since our night together, but I’d never even considered using it before this because I knew it would be painful to return. And it was.
The Amazons loved it, naturally. They had been living like gypsies for the whole time they’d been in America, and I had a feeling the Ukrainian Amazon compound in the Carpathians wasn’t any bower of delight, either. (Actually, from what they’d told me, it sounded like Single Sex Sadist Camp, but ever since I got out of the Counterstrike units I’ve had an aversion to discipline, as well as an even bigger aversion to segregation of the sexes.) But now you would have thought Halyna and Oxana were on vacation. They ran around looking at everything, fiddling with the television, touching the costly fabrics that draped the rooms, opening and smelling all Caz’s perfumes (just the scents gave me a sharp pang in the heart) and marveling at the expensive clothes in her closet. I hadn’t showered in about two days, so while they were having a half-serious pillow fight—I’m telling you, it was like taking teenagers to a holiday cabin—I went in and sluiced the dirt and sweat off me.
Later I went out and fetched some dinner from an El Salvadoran place around the corner. The Amazons had never had panes rellenos, and looked at me like I was a magician after they took their first bites. (The little local joint turned out to be pretty good.) We shared a few beers, and then I gave them the bedroom—I was just able to deal with being in the apartment, but I didn’t think I could handle Caz’s bed, too—and set myself up on the couch with all my case notes, some paper, and a pen. I sat up late drawing little lines and arrows, trying to create a diagram that made sense out of all the connections and all the crazy shit that had been happening, something that would give me some perspective on what was going on and where I had to go next. What I was really doing was keeping my mind busy as a defense against early-onset craziness.
I woke in the middle of the night, having dozed off sitting up. As I made myself more comfortable, I heard noises from the other room. At first I thought from the thumping noises and occasional cries and grunts that the Amazons were sparring, but I realized after a while that they were almost certainly involved in a much friendlier interaction. It went on for a while. A long while.
Ah, the irony. Hidden away from the world, rejected once again by the woman I loved, alone with a couple of hot young Amazons, and I was the guy out on the couch, listening in like a sad old pervert. Not that I had any choice about listening. But even if I had been interested and they had been interested too, I was still a man in love, and I had to stay true to something, even if that something was only self-denial.
Can’t say I enjoyed it much, though.
fifteen:
fun in america
WHEN MORNING came, I left the Amazons sleeping the sleep of the semi-innocent and wandered out of the apartment into the meticulous brick courtyard, trying to see how far I had to go to get a cell signal. Caz’s apartment was shielded against cell calls to prevent the location being traced, which was good for discretion but bad for communication, and I had no idea how trustworthy the landline was these days. Turned out I had to walk a couple of blocks before I got any bars, and the reception still wasn’t great, but considering the guy I was calling had once used my phone (with help from our bosses) to keep tabs on where I was, I wasn’t too unhappy.
“Clarence,” I said. “Are you alone?”
“Bobby?” He yawned. “I hope so.”
“You sure you don’t have a little Wendell or a Wendell-surrogate of some kind stashed away there under the counterpane?”
“What’s a counterpane? No, there’s no one here.”
“Ignorant youngster. We need to meet up, and I’m not driving all the way to your place. So get a cab or something and meet me in twenty minutes at the diner where you met the Sollyhulls—remember the ghost sisters? I thought so. And make sure nobody follows you.” I hung up before he could protest. I didn’t really care about driving that far, but I’d gone to all the trouble of painting my car to look different, so I wasn’t going to blow it by driving up to some known place and displaying it to anybody who might be watching.
I picked up some coffee at the local forked-mermaid franchise and a couple of vaguely healthy-looking muffins for the women. When I got back, Oxana and Halyna wandered out in t-shirts and underpants, so I adopted a stern, paternalistic air to disguise the fact that all this free-range femininity was starting to get to Yours Truly, who, except for a couple of stolen hours in Hell with Caz, had been living a monastic life for months.
“Okay, women-friends of complete equality, come and get some coffee into you, and then let’s make a shopping list.”
“Guns?” asked Oxana brightly.
“Bigger knives?” Halyna suggested. “I had a boovy knife, but I lost it on the bus.”
I figured out after a moment that she was talking about a Bowie knife. Those usually run about eight inches of blade or so, so it must have made quite a clunk falling out of her duffel bag. “No, not weapons. That comes later. Today I need you to find yourself some disguises. Nothing too ambitious, just a couple of wigs and some civilian clothes so you don’t look quite so much like an Estonian punk rock band.”
“You don’t like this clothings?” Oxana pulled up her sleeveless t-shirt, exposing way more of her underwear and flat, tan stomach than I really wanted to see. After all, I may not be human, but I’m still only human.
“Not for the kind of stuff we’re going to be doing,” I said, looking resolutely into her eyes instead, which were also kind of fetching. If I hadn’t seen all the weapons in their apartment or the way she stabbed that hairy little monster, I would have pegged her for a poli sci major who was also a cheerleader, which probably demonstrates which way my fantasy life is inclined. “Let’s make a list.”
When we were done, I gave them some cash and drew a map so they could find their way discreetly to the other side of the freeway. Ravenswood was a pretty small part of town, especially the shopping district, but I figured they could find what they wanted in thrift stores. Then I taught them the combination for the apartment and reminded them not to bring anything or anybody home or I’d have to kill them. Daddying done, I set them free like the fierce Ukrainian she-creatures they were, to romp among the used pantsuits and granny scarves.
I got to the diner early, checked it out, then parked the car and walked back from a block or so away. It wasn’t all that nice a place, but I hadn’t been there for months, not since the Sollyhull Sisters had given up haunting the place and moved somewhere else, so I figured it wouldn’t be on any list of my main hangouts. Plus, it had a back door. I like those.
While I waited for Clarence, I sifted through the latest information my porky source had sent me. There was some good stuff in this shipment, so even though George was almost certainly squatting naked in mud at that moment, aware of nothing more complicated than a strange aversion to applesauce and sauerkraut, I sent him a thank you he could read later. As I did, I noticed that he’d appended a little note to the information he’d sent me.
• • •
Hi, Mr. D! Guess what? I have worms! Ascarids, I think they’re called. They’re really bad for pigs but I don’t think I have that serious a case. The vet here is great and they really respect their patients’ privacy. I’m supposed to take something called Mibendazol (sp?) to kill the worms. And the food here is great!