Into the Fire(79)

“Um, thanks?” she said.

“Or how smart you are. You can be both, you know, even if that makes the less-fair sex feel insecure.” Melinda gave another crisp officerial pivot to Evan. “Now. I can play with some metal-compound inks, like cerium oxalate. One of my men, Giang, is an expert in acids. But this level of specialty work will cost you plenty.” She picked up the phone again, hesitated. “I assume this is your usual four-alarm emergency. I’m almost afraid to ask when you’ll need it by?”

“We’ll wait here,” Evan said.

Melinda licked her thumb. Then reached across the desk and wiped a smudge of lipstick off Evan’s mouth. “Very well, sweetie,” she said, already dialing. “But you’d best stay out of my way.”





42



A Nice Visible Presence





Joey looked uncharacteristically small behind the wheel of the massive Ford pickup. Or maybe it was just the view from the passenger seat, which Evan was occupying for the first time. It felt dislocating. As they prowled downtown streets cloaked with dusk, he emptied his pockets into the center console. No money clip, no RoamZone, no keys. Last out were the eight charcoal pills. He started palming them into his mouth two at a time, swallowing them dry.

Joey said, “Once you leave this truck, you’ll have nothing.”

Evan felt an urge to comfort her with false assurances but knew better than to lie.

She shot a glance down at his hands, the transparent films invisible across the pads of his digits. “Not even your fingerprints. “No backup, no weapon, nothing.” She clenched the wheel. “I know, I know.” She reverted to head-waggy Nowhere Man voice. “‘I am the weapon.’” He had to smile at that, but she just glowered at him. “This is stupid dangerous, X. Think about it. I won’t be able to do anything to help you. No one can do anything to help you. You’ll be totally at their mercy. If one thing goes wrong, you’re done. Forever. And if you smack your stubborn concussed head in there? You could die. And it’s not like fights aren’t known to happen. Christ, X. This is dumb in more ways than I can count, and I’m really good at math.”

The RoamZone rang, rattling in the console. Evan tensed, anticipating that it was Max with a last-minute complication. But then he saw the Las Vegas area code and picked up.

The voice, pure gravel and exuberance, poured through the receiver. “I got yer sniper rifle.”

“I didn’t order a sniper rifle.”

“Sure you did,” Tommy said. “When I outfitted you with that low-rent Remington, I told you I was getting Ballistas in.”

Evan tossed the last two charcoal pills into his mouth. “I don’t need a sniper rifle anymore.”

“Any man worth his salt needs a precision pea-shooter. I’m in L.A. on Monday. I’ll drop her by for you.”

As Joey weaved through sparse traffic, they passed under the shadow of Men’s Central, a blocky construction of intersecting concrete slabs rising behind a perimeter of chain-link. Beyond it rose the dueling chunks of Twin Towers, one seven stories of misery, the other eight, each a study in beige efficiency. Evan forced the pills down his gullet. “I’m a little busy at the moment, Tommy.”

He’d barely thumbed off the phone when Joey was on him again. “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “We have enough on Bedrosov to turn over to the cops now. Let them run with the football from here. They’ll put him away for good.”

“The case will take months to prosecute,” Evan said. He scooped a few coins and some beat-up singles from the ashtray, seeding his pockets. “And in the meantime? Bedrosov is a shot caller in jail. With access to a phone. And hit men on the outside.”

He remembered Benjamin Bedrosov’s voice over the line, his tone the epitome of reasonableness: You can keep killing them. But I can keep sending them. He might as well have been updating shareholders on an earnings call.

“X—”

“Even if he’s found guilty and goes to prison,” Evan said, “do you really think he won’t see it through and end Max?”

Headlights swept the windshield, highlighting her hair, her full cheeks. Her eyes were brimming, and he was confused yet again by the turmoil of her moods.

“If it goes bad…” Joey paused, struggling, seemingly forcing each word out. “What happens to me?”

“There’s enough in your account to—”

“I’m not talking about money,” she said. “Goddamn it. You’re such an idiot.” She screeched the truck over to the curb. “Just get out. Here’s as good as anywhere. Just go, okay?”

He sat in the passenger seat, watching her. She was turned partially away, but he could see her front teeth pinching her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Biting down hard. Nostrils flaring with each breath. She blinked several times, fighting her way back to control.

“Joey.”

She ignored him.

“Joey.”

Still nothing.

Gently he said, “Josephine.”

She pulled her face to profile. It was the most he was going to get.

“Take a breath,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t take a breath from the past. And you can’t take a breath from the future.”