Blowback, p.3
Blowback, page 3
part #12 of Nathan K Series
She stopped. The silence that followed hit Nathan harder than any of her words. He didn’t need to interrupt her. She had said her piece.
And she was right.
“You want to do something?” Dieter said, his eyes puffy but his mouth a tense line. He clenched his fists as he approached. “You avenge my daughter. That is the price now for my services. Avenge my daughter, and I will get you to America safely.”
Though he knew the answer, Nathan glanced at Robin anyway. She rolled her shoulders back, exuding a mixture of defiance and strength that challenged the world to bring all it could against her, that she could handle it, that she already had, and she would prevail — again.
“Okay,” he said, catching a surprised grin cross Dieter’s face. Nathan let it go. The man had lost his daughter.
“Any idea where to start?” Robin asked. “I can’t search online for these chumps without Clockwork glomming onto us, and if that happens, then we’re right back to where we started.”
“First thing, I need the two of you to take care of Becka.”
Dieter’s face darkened as his eyes narrowed. “We are not dumping my daughter’s body.”
“We would never,” Robin said.
“He said —”
“He was just working through a thing. I promise you — we were never seriously thinking about dumping her body.”
But Nathan had been thinking that to be the exact right move. “You can’t give her a formal burial without drawing notice.”
“Why not?” Dieter asked, his eyes darting around as if he expected another attack. “Those men are chasing you, and she was an innocent victim. It would be stranger if I didn’t bury her properly.”
A hundred arguments flooded Nathan. He went with the most direct. “You want to bury her in a cemetery, you’ll have to make her death official. You do that, and the police are going to notice that she died near the store shootout. They’ll be asking you questions before the day is out, and that’ll lead to more questions and more. Soon, they’ll be looking into your life, your finances. How long before they figure out how you make your money?”
“Enough.” Dieter crossed his arms. “But we are not going to throw her in a river or dispose of her in any indecent way.”
“My partner will see to it with you. I trust her judgement. You both can figure out what is decent but also hidden.” To Robin: “When you’re finished, I need you to find a motel — the kind we prefer. Text me an address when you’ve got it. And pick up a few more burner phones. I don’t like using the same one for too long right now.”
Robin’s mouth curved up. “I believe I’m finally rubbing off on you. Anything else?”
“Yeah. I’ve got to find a new car and a new soul. And Dieter needs to connect us with a drug dealer.”
“What?”
“He’s a smuggler. I’m sure he knows at least one dealer in the area.”
“I got that much. But why?”
“How else am I going to buy heroin?”
CHAPTER FOUR
After the van drove away, Nathan waited on the sidewalk as people came and went out of Prince Charles Hospital. If any gang members had been tailing him, he would have seen or heard their presence. If the police had figured out who to look for, that would have become apparent as well. While a few patrol cars were parked nearby, that was not unusual at a hospital. Five minutes of nothing unique or alarming seemed like more than enough caution. He turned toward the entrance.
Infiltrating a hospital to get to the cancer wards posed no problem. Nathan had done it too many times. He knew all the tricks. While some hospitals put in the effort of key cards, closed-circuit TV, and other security measures, a location could only be as protected to the degree which the employees were willing to put in the effort. Doctors, nurses, specialists — they all had to participate and show vigilance in order to stop a determined person from exploiting security weaknesses. Even the janitorial and food service staff had to be responsible. In Nathan’s experience, all of those people had far more important things on their minds than trying to figure out if the guy walking down the hall truly grieved for a dying loved one or if he might hold other intentions.
Only one exception — those staffing the pharmaceutical rooms. When it came to drugs, all hospitals buttoned up tight.
Since Nathan did not seek an opioid fix, he had little trouble blending in with a simple and classic disguise — grabbing a lab coat and stethoscope from the locker room while also snagging a doctor’s key card. Riding the elevator to the cancer ward, his stomach soured at how easy it had all become. Nobody bothered to match his face to his card. Nobody bothered to question if the new doctor belonged on the floor. Nobody bothered at all.
And few would remember. He was a ghost.
He walked down the wide hall with a firm, confident gait. That was key. The more confident one looked, the less people doubted. He continued along, ignoring the rooms with only curtains, turned the corner, and found his way to solid wood doors and private accommodations.
After checking several rooms, he finally discovered a young woman by herself. A clean bandage had been wrapped around her head. When he entered, she stirred but remained asleep. He checked her chart.
Ms. Jessica Cornell. Astrocytoma Type-III. Brain tumor. Seizures, headaches, neurological degradation, sometimes serious personality changes or loss of mental functions. Unpleasant crap, to say the least. And she had been dealing with it for years. This was her second surgery attempting to remove what they could, but the signs were all over the chart. They were too late. The disease had spread its roots too far, and digging around a person’s brain risked destroying what little bit of life remained. She probably only had a few months, if even that.
Looking over her, Nathan noticed that the doctor’s had shifted from trying to save her to trying to comfort her in these final weeks. Vitals had been recorded in the chart, but the constant attention of computerized monitoring had been skipped. In fact, Ms. Cornell only had a pain-reliever tubed into her right arm. Nothing else.
Nathan set the chart back in its holder and turned toward the door. As much as he pitied the woman’s plight, he could not accept her as a new second soul. She was too young. Twenty-four years old and living with cancer made for a weak human being. But a twenty-four-year-old soul? That was a vibrant, dangerous thing. That was the kind of soul that would fight for control of him. Especially considering all the years Ms. Cornell spent unable to enjoy a healthy, vigorous body.
But as he reached for the door, she sat up in bed and stared at him. Her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped.
Nathan had seen this reaction before. Not always, but at times, a dying patient would make assumptions about his presence.
“You’ve finally come for me,” she said.
Nathan stepped to the side of the bed. “Sorry, but I’m not who you think I am.”
“You’re here to take me away from this pain. I don’t care what they call you. You’re my savior.”
Nathan held back a laugh. “I’m far from anybody’s savior.”
“Then call yourself Death. Or an angel. I don’t care. But you don’t fool me. I can see the dark shadows hovering behind you. Are those souls?”
For a dying girl, she had a lot of strength in her voice. She reached out one hand and patted the side of the bed. Nathan paused long enough to yearn for the exit.
“If you aren’t Death, then you don’t belong on this floor. Go out that door, and I’ll call security. If you are Death, stop playing games with me. I’ve been through enough, don’t you think? Please, sit with me.”
Nathan sat. He couldn’t get comfortable under her expectant stare. With no idea what to say, he reverted to the simple fact once more: “I’m not what you think I am.”
A shiver crossed over her shoulders. “Are you a demon, then? Are you taking me down there?”
“I’m nothing good nor evil. I did come in here to release you from your painful existence. But I would not be sending your soul to whatever awaits beyond.”
She clasped his hand. Though bony and weak, her skin spread warmth into his. She winced, and he feared his touch may have hurt her.
“Do you know my life?” she said. “Can you look into me and know everything about me?”
“Doesn’t work that way.”
“Then let me tell you something — all my life I’ve suffered from this. I didn’t know it when I was little. Everybody thought I was being dramatic when I screamed at my headaches. Or I was clumsy when I fell. Or I was spoiled when I complained. Nobody in my life cared enough beyond keeping me quiet. Not until I was out of the house and dating a pretty girl studying to be a doctor. She’s the one who thought I should get some tests done. Took me another year and breaking up with her before I listened. By then, well, it was too late. Doctors have done what they could to stall matters, but look at me now. You understand any of what I mean? I’ve screwed up what little bit of life I’ve had, so whatever you offer me cannot be worse.”
He had been here before. Sometimes with old women or broken men. Sometimes with the peacefully dying or the anguished wasting away.
Relative to his fellow Immortals, he was still a toddler, yet he thought he should have learned by now to avoid getting in these situations. But he could hear Robin in the back of his head pointing out that perhaps this was another opportunity to help people. He could take this young woman’s soul and let her vicariously experience life through his body. As long as he did not engage with her, did not let her know the secrets of what he was, then perhaps the next time he died, she would simply go off into the Darkness. Even if she tried to fight back, he had defended against far stronger before. Of course, nothing was guaranteed, but better to take the chance and help this young woman than allow himself to become the arbiter of who lives and who dies.
Shaking off where those thoughts had led him, he stood. Judge, jury, executioner — someday soon he would be done with all of this. When Larkin was gone, the hunt would be over. He would be free. He could rest. He hoped.
“Please,” she said, clutching his hand but too weak to stop him. “Don’t leave me like this.”
He bent down and brought his face close to hers. “Don’t stop looking into my eyes,” he said as he smiled. From his pocket, he removed a syringe filled with enough heroin to kill most people. Seconds after the injection, her body relaxed and her lips curled. Her soul misted into his eyes.
Nathan arched his head back, breathing deep satisfaction. His shoulders lowered as he rolled his neck and let the new soul fill the chasm within him. In the past, when he had lost a second soul, he would feel the loss and the need to replace it, but it was more like a divot inside him. Then it became a hole. Then a large chunk of something missing. Now, a chasm.
He had become skilled at hiding the need, the urge, to fill that emptiness, but as it grew larger each time, he wondered when he would be a shaking mess on the floor seeking that fix. Indeed, he had come close to that experience on a few occasions. Although, if he held onto his second soul for a significant amount of time — in Immortal terms — then perhaps that carved out section within him would heal. Perhaps it would shrink, close back up. If he could manage to not die for a few decades or centuries, perhaps he would be restored. How else to explain the other Immortals relatively calm behavior when they lost a second soul? Then again, they might simply be better at hiding it.
The clomp of sturdy steps in the hallway startled Nathan back to the present. He backed off Ms. Cornell’s empty body, straightened the bedding around her, straightened his white lab coat, and strolled out of the room. Passing a heavyset nurse, he offered a friendly nod and continued on towards the elevators.
When he reached the main floor, he had to remember the maze of corridors that would take him toward the parking garage. Like most hospitals, this one had been built in sections over many years as benefactors trickled in. Sometimes those sections did not line up well with each other when he had entered. He only managed a glimpse of the wall-mounted map in the lobby, and he couldn’t afford to go stand in front of the thing now.
From the elevators he had to go to the right — around the front lobby — to avoid that crowded entrance. But as he headed off, he heard a distinct voice cut through the subdued noise of the hospital’s admitting area. The voice had a strong yet unclear accent — the result of centuries of refinement and influence. Still, he could never mistake her sound.
Turning left, he slowed at the corner. A few people brushed by. One, a doctor, studied him as she hurried on. He had to be more careful. Walking deliberately, walking with concern twisting his face — those were the kinds of behaviors that pulled focus.
Yet he had to know. Had to confirm it.
Peeking around the corner, he snagged a clear view of the main entrance. A brightly lit, open area with several chairs forming a square on old carpeting. A television had been mounted in one corner to entertain those waiting. A large, semi-circular counter and desk dominated the center, and three receptionists sat in front of several monitors as they clacked away at keyboards. Two police officers stood on either side of a black woman that exuded strength, dignity, worldliness, and above all, competence. Leaning her elbows on the counter, the woman glared at a male receptionist, clearly unhappy with whatever delay he caused.
Nathan’s body chilled.
The woman was Octavia.
Crap.
CHAPTER FIVE
Keeping his head down, Nathan lifted a few folders from a mail cubby by one of the office doors. He leaned against the wall and made a show of studying the papers inside. If anybody bothered to look his way, he would not even register — just a piece of the background. The papers, however, were dated several years back and the dust on the cubby proved that everything in the hospital had become digital. In that case, he might stand out as a bit odd, but he lacked the time to change his approach.
“Take another look, please. This man is armed and dangerous,” Octavia said. She wore a cheap suit and a weary face — a costume and an act. The suit helped sell the idea that she was a detective in search of a criminal. The face sold the idea that she had been hard at work for days. Both probably held some truth but neither was the Octavia he knew.
The receptionist leaned closer to the photograph. “Sorry, lady, but nobody lookin’ like that has come through here today.”
Octavia paused, gazing over the photo as if she could reach through it and grab Nathan. “What about a cancer ward? You got one of those? Or maybe a hospice nearby?”
“Oncology is on eleven.”
Nathan’s nerves eased with each passing moment that she didn’t turn his way. With that easing came the ability to think clearer. And there was plenty to think about, plenty to question. Because Octavia standing in this particular hospital and using the local police made no sense. It drew more attention than an Immortal would want.
Besides, given enough time, Clockwork would surely have no trouble locating Nathan and Robin. And if nothing else, Nathan had learned that Immortals have infinite time. So, why the impatient route?
Octavia worked for Larkin. After the death of Russo, Larkin may have become a little paranoid, may have convinced himself that he was next on Nathan’s list. He would be right. It made sense that he would send Octavia after Nathan. But those were the early steps. Why the sudden shift? Why did Octavia put herself out on public display when she could do as usual — take her time and work from the shadows?
Unless she had to worry about another. Perhaps this performance at the desk was not a public outing. Perhaps it was meant to be seen by private parties involved. Other Immortals. Even if Larkin had not put an actual bounty on Nathan’s head — and Nathan thought a bounty definitely had been placed — the assumed reward for delivering Nathan to Larkin would still be worth it. How many other Immortals might be picking through countries near Korea, trying to follow a trail that might lead to him?
For Octavia, the recent souvenir store shootout would call a lot of attention. So, she makes an appearance at the hospitals in the area. All the Immortals monitoring police communications and internet activity would find out, and upon seeing that Nathan was not anywhere, they might assume that either Nathan was not in Australia or that Octavia had caught him already. Plus, if Octavia stumbled into a little dumb luck, she might actually find her target.
Pushing off the wall, Nathan hastened toward the parking garage. With Immortals on the hunt, Robin stood in too much danger. She meant nothing to them beyond her connection to Nathan. Too many wouldn’t hesitate to harm or kill her, if they thought such an action would bring Nathan out of hiding. He had to leave now — not just the hospital, but Australia, too.
With all the confidence he could muster, he strolled through the garage looking for an ideal candidate to hotwire. Nothing too fancy. Expensive cars got reported and most had some type of tracker built in. Nothing too mundane, though. Cheap cars often came with maintenance problems. He didn’t want to be losing brakes at a crucial moment. The ideal car, however, would be a mid-sized family sedan. The kind of thing an everyday mother might drive the kids around the city — swimming practice, music lessons, get togethers with friends — and an everyday father would keep running safely.
Turning up the next parking level, he found a blue 2019 Nissan X-Trail. An SUV but one built less for rugged sports use and more like a glorified minivan. Slight dent in the passenger side door. Probably didn’t want to pay to fix it on a tight budget. Not perfect, but it would do. A window left cracked open sealed its fate.
Nathan capitalized on that mistake and sat in the driver’s seat within thirty seconds. As he bent down to access the wiring, he hoped the family’s insurance covered the theft. Once he no longer had to worry about Immortals coming after him, he would ask Robin to follow up on this family. If stealing their car caused them any hardship, he would have her adjust their bank account substantially. Heck, even if the family came through it all fine, he might do it anyway. A guilty conscience required soothing.
