Hummingbird Salamander(60)

“You gave me something,” I slurred.

“Painkiller. Hold you for now. Could’ve let you die. Remember that.”

“This is kidnapping.”

“We saved your life,” Hillman said. “Langer would’ve let you burn alive and walked away laughing.”

“Who set the fire?” I asked.

Hillman didn’t answer, had found a stool or something from the bathroom, was perched on it, looming over me. Some satisfaction in how he sported a black eye, purpling bruises.

“You set the fire, didn’t you?” Or Hellbender. “And Langer? Is he dead?” Like if I knew the answers, everything would be fine.

Hillman ignored me.

Up close, Hillman’s face was more thoughtful than I remembered it. Creased brow, quick, green eyes, and some thought to the sophistication of a suit I hadn’t ripped apart yet. He smelled of a subtle aftershave.

Hillman took out a long cardboard box. A coffin for a large doll?

“Boss said to tell you there was another clue, but he found it first. No one cares about these clues anyway. It’s like something a kid would do. He says.”

Hillman pulled something out of the box. My heart stopped or I stopped breathing, had to remember how again.

The salamander. A burnt umber color, with two wide yellow stripes down the back. Startling. Iridescent, almost bright gold. Tiny smooth bumps to the skin. Posed in a sinuous way, like a living river. Flat. Wide. Maybe as long as the box. But the small eyes and mouth gave the creature a vulnerable quality.

The salamander almost seemed to smile. Reassuring me.

Then Hillman set it on fire. I’d been so focused on the salamander, I hadn’t seen him take out the lighter.

“No!” I screamed, and I must’ve lunged at Hillman, because one of the other two kicked me and I fell over again, doubled over in pain and frustration.

Hillman dropped the salamander into a large metal wastebasket … and watched it burn.

“So now there’s nothing to investigate anyway, right?”

The salamander began to turn black, and a stench rose from it. One of them slid the balcony doors open to let in fresh air.

While I was bereaved, aghast, watching the face of the answer that had eluded me begin to melt, taking the smile with it. Watching my past melt away.

One of the other men had brought a laptop over, and Hillman retreated from the stool so the laptop could rest there.

Following that motion, I realized someone else was tied to another chair, just beyond my peripheral vision. Someone quiet. The positioning seemed purposeful. What I wasn’t meant to see.

“Who’s that? Who’s that?” Afraid it was my husband. Afraid because it could be anyone.

But Hillman ignored me, and I heard the sound of one of the others moving the other chair until it was all the way behind me. Whoever it wasn’t couldn’t or wouldn’t say anything.

“We’re going to prop you up so you can talk to someone. If you give us any trouble, that man over there is going to shoot you with your own gun.”

“It’s not my gun. Who else is here? In the chair.”

“Okay? Do you understand me? About shooting you?”

I grew still. Hillman looked like he was about to hit me.

“Okay.”

With difficulty, I got into a sitting position despite the thicket of exploded lawn chair around me. Pieces cut into my arms while others dangled from weird angles.

The laptop was set on the stool, and I could see a face in motion across the screen. A familiar face.

Older than his photographs. White hair and a white beard. Hollowed out at the cheekbones so the eyes shone with an almost messianic glint. Who could mistake him for any other soul? The senior Vilcapampa, Silvina’s father. The head of legions from hell. Maker of money across the globe, at whatever price. Beloved philanthropist.

“Jane,” he said, smiling, his voice hollowed out, too. A smoker’s voice. Those cigars.

But he didn’t just say “Jane.” No, Mr. Vilcapampa used my full legal name. Drawn out. The hollowness became gravel, then faded again. I couldn’t tell if it was the connection or just his voice. I was too in awe of him. Not in the sense of worship or adulation. But in the sense of a mythical beast appearing before me so unexpectedly.

“This is illegal. This is kidnapping,” I said. “Who else is in the room? Who’s behind me?”

Like a stupid parrot. The kick in the side had dislodged more pieces of the chair. I still couldn’t get free, but maybe if they kicked me some more …

Vilcapampa shrugged, ignored my question. “Perhaps. Was it legal when you broke into this apartment?” I was sick of hearing about that. “Anyway, it matters not.” It matters not. Just the way he spoke. “You’re an intelligent woman with a high-powered career. Why do you think I want to talk to you? Why should I take the time?”

Like this was a job interview or he was with HR and I was about to receive a reprimand.

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” Which was true, in a way. He was like a cliff or a surging sea. A projection of masks. A force that had worn on Silvina like a geological event. The stench of the salamander scorched my nostrils. I hated him.

“Fair enough. As you say.” His features became stern, turned that way sudden, but also in a rearrangement so swift it felt like acting. “I am a busy man, so I’ll keep this brief. Silvina was a terrorist and a bad seed and a blight on our family’s legacy. I have spent too much time cleaning up after her and defending the family name. I will not have scandal, now that she is dead.”