City of Saints & Thieves(78)

My eyes feel glued together. At first, when I get them open, I think there are several people before me, but then I understand I’m seeing double. I lift my head at the exact same moment freezing water hits my face, as sudden as a slap. I sputter and cough.

But it does the trick; I’m awake. I blink and look up. The figure steadies. He’s holding a bucket and grinning at me like a hyena.

Ketchup.

I try to get to my feet, but I’m held fast. My hands are bound behind me, and I realize, after a second or two of fuzzy thinking, that I’m tied to a chair. Once that’s cleared up, the pain in my wrists and ankles emerges where the bindings are. I’m in some sort of room with cloth walls. A tent. I hear birds singing; I think it’s morning. There’s another chair and a slept-in cot, but otherwise, except for the Goonda and me, the tent is empty. The ground underneath my feet is bare dirt covered in dead leaves.

Ketchup laughs. “You look like a chicken left out in the rain.”

I test my wrists. The ties are metal, maybe. From the feel of it, they’ve cut my skin already. “Where am I?” I mumble. My face is numb.

“Uh-uh, Tiny Girl,” Ketchup says, and comes close enough to grab my jaw and lift my face to his. “We’re asking the questions now.”

I can smell cheap home brew on his breath. His eyes are red and slightly unfocused.

I try to shake my head out of his grip, but the best I can do is give him a dirty look. Ketchup? Here? So I really hadn’t imagined him in the marketplace. I work up some saliva and spit it on his hand.

He calls me a name and slaps the spit onto my cheek. He pulls back to hit me harder, but just then the tent flap opens and a man walks in.

At first I don’t recognize him. But that’s just because he looks so out of place here. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him in the flesh. He seems a little older, his round face starting to sag, the hair above his ears going gray. He’s wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt and chinos, everything neatly pressed and spotless. More than anything, he looks like he just stepped off the golf course.

Ketchup hesitates, then lowers his hand. “Mr. Omoko. I was just coming for you, sir.”

“She’s awake,” the Goonda boss says. He’s talking to Ketchup, but looking at me.

“Yeah, I just got her up,” Ketchup says. He backs out of the way so Mr. Omoko can approach me.

“I can see that,” he says, frowning.

Where is Bug Eye? I wonder. Mr. Omoko wouldn’t bring Ketchup and leave him behind.

The Goonda boss sits down in the chair across from me. “Wait for us outside, Mr. Ketchup.”

Ketchup glowers at his back. Mr. Omoko has somehow managed to make his name sound even more ridiculous than it already is. But Ketchup retreats silently.

Mr. Omoko pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and uses it to wipe my face. I don’t have much choice but to let him. After he puts it away, he says, “You skipped town. We were worried.”

Nothing about his composure looks worried.

The cold water has soaked my shirt, and I start to shiver. “I didn’t think Bug Eye would allow me to go. So I didn’t ask.”

“No. He wouldn’t. That’s because I wouldn’t have.” Mr. Omoko tilts his head quizzically. “What are you doing here, girl? Why leave, when you were so close to getting everything you wanted? I thought we had a plan. Dirt, money, blood.”

“I was going to be back by the time the data was decrypted and we were ready to go for the bank accounts,” I say, growing more and more tense under Mr. Omoko’s unwavering gaze. I’m starting to see something glittering in his eyes like the edge of a knife.

“Oh, but that wasn’t the deal, was it? Your instructions were to leave the Greyhills’ home as soon as you knew you had the data.”

I shift in my seat. Where is Michael? And Boyboy? Surely they’re looking for me by now.

“I don’t like being left in the dark, Tiny Girl,” Omoko says. And suddenly he’s right up in my face, so close that I have no choice but to turn to the side. For a second I feel the frantic need to get away, as if he’s about to bite me. But he just asks, “Why are you here? Don’t you know this place is dangerous?”

“I . . .”

He leans back and I let out a shaky breath. “Thankfully, you were not hard to track down,” he says.

“Look, Mr. Omoko, the data we took from Mr. Greyhill—”

Omoko interrupts me. “I have it. Or, I have your friend’s computer, anyway. I can take it from here. He’s not the only person in town who can hack bank accounts.” He studies his fingernails, a fat gold ring on his hand glinting in the low light. “But maybe I won’t even have to go to the trouble.”

“You have Boyboy’s computer?” I wait, feeling cold sweat prickle under my hair. “I don’t understand. Is Boyboy here? Is Michael?”

Mr. Omoko smiles indulgently. “You’re not one for playing by the rules, Tina, are you? Most of the time I like that about you. I ask for Greyhill’s treasures, and that’s what you bring me. Just not exactly how I’d expected.”

“What do you mean? The accounts—”

“Michael.”

Blood thrums in my ears. “What about Michael?” I ask slowly.

“With him, there’s no need to do all that work.”