Steal the Lightning: A Field Ops Novel (Field Ops #3)(44)

She put her hand over the camera lens.

“I can’t do this.”

“Just a little more, Stell. Tell us what came next.”

“Came next . . . ah, jeez . . .”

She lit another cigarette, sucked hard on it.

“Look. I don’t want you people thinking I’m ignorant, or stupid, right? I seen drugs. I seen how fast you go down, livin’ on the street. But this is different. Two days later, I wake up, an’—I do not know myself. I do not know who I am. It’s like my whole head’s shuffled round, turned upside down, all the furniture’s been taken out an’ rearranged, an’ I just think-I gotta get myself straightened out here. ’Cept I’m so messed up, only way to get straight, I’m thinkin’, is go get another hit. One more hit. Just one.

“An’ how fucked up is that, huh? Tell me. How fucked up is that?”

I watched the cars along the highway, shuttling back and forth. A million miles from Stella’s world.

I needed cool air. Water.

“Paulie,” she said. “I tried. Gimme a break, huh? Ten minutes? An hour? Let’s go do something, huh? Go to the Castle, like you promised? Like you said we could?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s all take a break. Before we die of sunstroke.”





Chapter 39

A God Talking Through You




There’s a castle in the rolling green Kentucky countryside, complete with battlements and witch-hat towers, ready to fend off roving bands of Celts, or Huns, or Gauls.

I turned off for the entrance, but she had me park outside, instead. She wouldn’t even step out of the car. It was like, going too close, she’d spoil the magic, and she knew it, too.

“My Poppa used to tell me, when I was a little kid, he’d say, ‘Prince o’ Lexington lives there.’ An’ I always thought, one day, y’know, one day—yeah. Long time ago. But I love this place, I love it so, so much . . .”

“It’s a hotel,” I said.

“Weren’t always. Some crazy European guy, I guess, decides he’s gonna build a castle, an’ he builds one. Why not? I wanna live in a castle, too. If I get rich. Ah, but, hey. I’d see it, way, way down the road, an’ scream at Poppa, castle, castle, castle! till I damn near bust his ears.” She pushed her face against the window. “Like I say—shouldna left Seattle. Shouldna come back . . .”

“We can get you a hotel room,” I said. “Not that one, but downtown, maybe. Stretch it to a week, perhaps. Give you a chance to rest, relax a bit . . .”

“Yeah. Be nice, I guess.” She rolled her forehead back and forth against the window glass. “I got friends down at the shelter, though. They gonna miss me, I’m not back. I wanna be with ’em . . .”

Silverman’s hands caressed the camera, as if it were a favored pet. He said, “I know that this is rough on you, Stell. I know. But can I ask you for the rest of the story? And can we make it up to you, in some way? After?”

She waved a hand. A tear began to dribble down her cheek. She wiped it off.

Silverman waited. He said, “These guys are loaded, Stell. Thought you should know. They’ve got expense accounts.”

“Which we need to justify,” I said.

She sat there, pressed against the window, against the car door. But then she shook herself and dabbed her eyes. She sat up straighter, and in an instant, she was back: the streetwise hustler, the deal-maker. “Two things,” she said. “I wanna cell phone. Not the kind you pay for, I want one gets wi-fi. So’s I can text and phone and e-mail. And I want—hey, I saw this gal in downtown, and she had, like, the prettiest hair, all gold and curled and I want my hair like that, so when I hit the street, it’s gonna shine, y’know? I’m gonna glow—that’s what I want . . .”

“Get you some razors, too,” said Angel, in her ear.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s good, that’s good. Hey, English!” she called to me. “Be my chauffeur! Take me somewhere—anywhere. Ain’t gonna tell you nothin’ here, no way.”

So I turned the car around, and drove.



“This place. This! Stop! Stop right here!”

There was nothing about. Nobody.

The privacy of outdoors.

We stepped into the sun. She lit a cigarette. You couldn’t even see the lighter’s flame, the air was so bright.

“We’ll get more cigarettes,” said Silverman. “We’ll get you anything you want.”

“Can’t get me what I want, Paulie. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. Just saying . . .”

“So.” She stretched her legs. She posed, a raconteur about to greet her fans. And then she stuck.

He prompted her.

“Just start it any way you can, Stell. Any little detail. Just start it and we’ll go from there.”

She scrunched her face up. She turned towards the clear blue sky.

“You were trying to find him,” Silverman said.

“Yeah. That was me. Trying to get another hit . . .”



“The house—it took me like an hour to reach it. But soon as I set eyes on it, I knew—yeah. This is the place. I didn’t even count the street numbers. I knew. Everything else was so fucked up, but this was plain as day. It was like I’d been there, like everything’s already happened, and now I’m just, like, followin’ myself around. Like time is all mixed up . . .