Save Me from Dangerous Men (Nikki Griffin #1)(113)

The tiny .32 Derringer wasn’t good for more than a few feet of accuracy, but the man in front of me wasn’t more than a few feet away. I brought my hands up fast and fired upward. There was a small crack, barely more than a cap gun would make. The bullet hit him in the throat and within that fractional space of time his life expectancy changed from about another forty years to another forty seconds. He dropped his gun and sat down on the ground, holding his throat with both hands as it leaked blood. The Derringer was a two-shot gun. I could have shot him again but I didn’t. It wasn’t that I wanted to prolong things. I was just tired of shooting people. I could have been fine never seeing another gun. I was overcome by one of those sluggish, unhappy sensations where the entire universe seems pointless.

The man who had called himself Oliver was trying to say something, but he couldn’t talk because of his throat. He made unpleasant sounds as he shifted from a seated position to supine, slowly, as though in a reclining dentist chair.

It took him a little while to figure out the whole dying thing, but he figured it out eventually.

I wasn’t entirely surprised to hear sirens. Like many parts of Oakland, the Port was blanketed with a network of ShotSpotter microphones, designed to pick up gunshots and relay the location to nearby police. If gunshots occurred anywhere outdoors, there was always a decent chance police would soon be headed for the noise.

I was standing in between two bodies, one shot dead with a gun registered to me.

No matter what might happen later on, there was no way that I’d be allowed to just walk away.

I reached into Martin Gilman’s pocket and took out the iPhone that had distracted him so fatally. I used his limp right thumb against the fingerprint sensor to unlock the screen and dialed from memory. “It’s me,” I said.

Mr. Jade’s voice was tight with adrenaline. “Nikki? We’re at Gunn’s house, we found his body. Where are you?”

“I’m at the next stop.”

“Where?”

“I have the documents Karen Li was trying to get you, but I need your help. The Care4 servers need to be shut down from their offices tonight. Tomorrow will be too late.”

He didn’t sound particularly fazed. “It won’t be the first time I woke up a judge. If you have the evidence to prove why we have to get in there, we’ll handle that part.”

“One other thing. Some people tried to stop me tonight.”

“Tried?” He heard my voice and understood. “I see. Tried. Are you okay?” Worry laced his tone. Unsentimentally, I wondered if it was for me, or because he risked losing the same evidence twice. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and figured it was a bit of both.

“Oakland’s finest are about to show up. I need you to be here to explain the situation. Make sure they understand that I was working with you. I have a very comfortable queen-size mattress at home. Memory foam, coil-free, all that good stuff. I’m used to it. I like sleeping on it. In fact, I don’t much feel like spending the night anywhere else.”

He got my point. “Give me the address. We’ll leave now.”

I gave him the address.

“Oh, and Nikki?”

About to hang up, I kept the phone to my ear. “Yeah?”

“If we were wrong about everything, like you said, then what was actually happening? Were people in danger?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Just not the people we thought. When you get here I’ll explain everything, but hurry. Until you reach the Care4 offices, they’re still not safe.”

I put the phone down, walked over to a row of shipping containers, and sat. I slumped against the ridged metal, hearing the sirens getting louder. I was tired enough that I could have fallen asleep leaning against broken glass. My face hurt. My body hurt. Every part of me hurt. I could see blue lights beyond the gate. I watched the lights get closer.





WEEK FIVE





47


“My goodness, Nikki. The last time I saw you, you looked bad. Now you look … worse.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Your reticence can make you really extraordinarily difficult to work with. I mean that with equal measures of frustration and affection.”

“Everyone likes a challenge.”

“Challenge, yes—I suppose that’s one way to put it. You’re through with these sessions, you know. This is our last one. I submit my papers to the court and you’re all set. But you’re free to keep coming back, voluntarily.”

“Choices.”

“Choices, exactly.”

“Can I ask you something before I go?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think we’re defined by what we do?”

“Defined?”

“Like, do you think doing bad things makes a person bad?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that. I think it must depend on what is done, and why. Maybe a question that a spiritual or religious adviser might answer better. For what it’s worth, Nikki, you strike me as many things, but bad isn’t one of them.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“I don’t know what you’ve done, and I doubt I ever will. That’s true, but maybe if I did I still couldn’t answer your question.”