"Why did he phone my people then, if I'm with the King? How did I find out? Or Cane?" Willieboy's expression was bruised.
"He had to talk to someone in Authority. It was just his bad luck that unscrupulous men who abuse their positions work there. I think Cotton was trying to call someone in Authority who could help. And he got filth like you Willieboy, and Cane. I don't know if he ever did get anyone who was clean. But that's the truth, isn't it? He called Authority, yes but not to sell his Regenerics Secret. He wanted your protection for his child."
Willieboy leaned back chuckling. "Fuck, you're way off. Why would I show you his lab? And if it's true, what you say, why would we burn it?"
"If that was his lab. You may have been trying to destroy the evidence or Cotton's methods, and equipment. After all, you had the baby. You just had to reclaim it, how long would that take? Sooner or later the rumors would come in and you had the competitive interests inside Authority to placate. You avoid any turf war and the King of the Dead would get his new lease on life." I paused. "The burned-out lab was for the audience. It conveniently explained Cotton's untimely demise, and might keep newshounds and loved ones off the track. Enough people had read his work on Regenerics that someone would miss him. The burnt-out lab was a piece of scenery. I think Cotton was always going to die; it was just a question of when. The fact that you showed it to me was just grist for the mill. You knew I wouldn't accept it because I knew Cotton had died at the Morocco. It was important that you drive the idea of a conspiracy into my head so that I'd be more willing to believe you were the Maverick Inspector trying to do the right thing…"
"Well, you got it all figured, haven't you?" Willieboy's voice had lost that good-old boy appeal. He was deadly serious. "We'll see what the King has to say about your theories."
I sat silent. I was anxious to meet the King. Something deep down inside me wanted to meet him too. I turned away from Willieboy, hunkered down to go over my theory one more time. I wasn't really doing this for anyone but God, I supposed. The closest I was coming to a court of law was a brush with an executioner.
Chapter 60
I toyed with the idea of overpowering Douglas Willieboy, and going from there to taking control of the transport. But an arm like a sack of grain, and ears that rang every time I turned my head, convinced me to sit out for a round. Since our last conversation, Willieboy's manner toward me had changed noticeably. He had become distant, formidable-his good-old-boy demeanor was gone. His actions began to more resemble his behavior during our first encounter. For the remainder of our ride, the movements he allowed himself were hard and muscular-violence lurked beneath his features. There was something terrible in his gaze. His whole persona had altered, eyes awful, menacing; they thinly disguised the terror of survival. The stakes were high indeed. It was clear; Willieboy would do anything to live through this and he had no guarantees.
Despite this, I still managed to retain reserves of optimism. I was feeling hot to trot, injured but high on adrenaline. My hunches had played out well. I wasn't happy with the way the last act was shaping up; but it didn't really matter that people knew justice was done-so long as justice was done. Of course, I knew a lot of people would go unpunished, officially, for their crimes; and I was likely to suffer severely for my involvement. Times like this I had to be philosophical. There was no point to getting upset about how nice it would be to put someone behind bars. Perhaps Greasetown had evolved away from that type of justice or devolved toward the primitive law of the jungle. Certainly, the crimes that had been committed were capitol offenses. Since there were no judges or juries that I could trust, perhaps in rather democratic fashion, justice had returned to the individual. One vote. Life or death. Right or wrong. Did we need a committee for everything? If I could, I would see that someone paid for the murders. Likable or not, Conrad Billings was an innocent. He certainly didn't deserve to die. Then there was Julie Hawksbridge; she had the right to live her own life. No one should be able to turn her into a baby-making machine. Then there was the baby if it really existed. I got the creeping fits just imagining the process the King of the Dead intended to inflict upon it.
There was still the possibility that evil existed. There was a chance, however small, that it wasn't simply a poor innocent driven by social or familial turmoil to act out against his fellows. Perhaps evil could still be done. Were our social compacts our downfall? The scientists had sold our souls, objectified us. Not that the soul was an angel without wings or a devil minus horns, but the spiritual unknown inherent in religion gave us something. It allowed for justice; there was the possibility for balance. Science would not allow evil, nor would it good. It pushed us into a gray area of vulnerability. People locked their doors because of their compassion. The odd farm family sacrificed a daughter to rape and dismemberment in the hope that one day a criminal would get help. It was just a mistake. Choices, good or evil had nothing to do with the immortal soul. They were just factors in a sociologist's equation. I had to think. I had to get rid of my emotion. There was too much chance of screwing up, slowing down, if my feelings got involved. Justice was justice. It was a cold thing like the barrel of a gun. I knew what justice was. I had to see that it was done.
My optimism came from the fact that already the wheels had begun to turn. Adrian had paid horribly for his crime. Cane died for his abuses. Was that the best justice? Let the criminals devour each other. I had to believe there was another way, especially when I gauged my own position. When criminals consumed one another, they did so with violence that ravaged the innocent as well. I had to sharpen my edge. The emotion had to go. I had to hug justice to my breast, and force it into my flesh. Things were going to happen fast.