The skin thief, p.22
The Skin Thief, page 22
“First you have to tell me how all this is going.”
He puffed up proudly. “Well, considering the niche audience. Still, people like to learn how to cook, whether a secret agent,” he winked at her, “or decidedly not.” Amato was decidedly not. “I film one recipe every other week and broadcast them to my offices around the world. Anyone who wants an in with the boss had best be watching. Keeps me busy and confuses the FBI. Come, you can talk to me in the kitchen. The microphones aren’t on, and no one will dare to bother us.”
Holding her hand in a fatherly way, he led Tessa past a curious film crew and mafia associates. His salt-n-pepper hair was still thick for a man in his sixties, and his smile was infectious. “So, what can your Ziu Mario do for you?”
She let him tie an apron around her waist. “First, Mario, I am sorry that the first time in ages I call, it’s to ask a favor. I don’t like it when others do that to me, so I can’t imagine it is what you would like.”
“You wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t important.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper as she began cutting onions per his direction. “Ziu. I’m actually … working.”
“So I suspected.”
“I’ve worked up a hypothesis and you might have a piece of information that could make or break it.”
“Go on. Oh, thinner. Cut the onions just a little thinner.”
Tessa leaned back, to be clear of the onion fumes to take her deep breath. “I’ve been observing groups of family, in sets of two, going into a certain location at the behest of the locals. They disappear together out in a remote location, one that is heavily protected.”
“That already does not sound good.”
“Correct. Only one family emerges — the other is never heard from again. The locals suddenly have wealth they shouldn’t and also suddenly there’s a vacuum of power where the other family had been in charge.”
“Ah. Sounds not only not good but a perfect set up for violence.” He kept his eyes on the work his hands were doing but she could tell his brain was active.
“Have you gotten up wind of a new, shall we call it, service? A means to rid yourself of family competition?”
Amato’s knife stopped in the middle of a chicken breast for a moment, then started again, slower. “I have. An expensive service too. One I won’t waste my time or money on.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She leaned forward and looked at his face. He was not grinning like a celebrity anymore. “I really am glad. Part of my visit is to warn you off and the other part is to ask you what you can tell me about it.”
He kept cutting the chicken meat into cubes while his smile returned. “You were worried? About me? Ah, little one, I may be in the family business, and you’ve never been sure how smart that is, but I assure you, you never need worry about me. I’ve been around too long to fall for a scheme like that.”
“That too makes me glad. Still, it may seem like a crazy scheme, but I can tell you it is a successful enterprise. What I know, what I’ve seen.”
“And the consequences of the sudden removal of leadership spills out into the streets. I too have been watching the news.” He stopped cutting and straightened up. “You said you’ve seen this firsthand?”
Tessa only nodded.
“What is that idiot doing? Eh? This Kir-ee-oos? Sending you into a mess like that. Has your Controller no more brains than this?” he demanded, holding up the carcass of the chicken with his knife.
“I can handle him myself.”
“This service being offered, from what I am hearing, this is different.” Grudgingly, he set down the chicken. “Four Corners, yes?”
“Sì.”
“Nasty business. I’m hearing it is some sort of dueling for a price.”
“Dueling?”
That was it. The lynchpin. How did Bergman get criminal businessmen to duel? The answer came immediately. The same way he got her to practically fall into his arms. “Thank you, Ziu Mario. That’s the missing part for my hypothesis. That’s what I needed.”
“I am always here for you.” He nodded and put down any pretense that he was going to cook. “It’s a pure business venture. Getting rid of, or even managing the presence of a competitor, is extremely pricy in normal circumstances. Someone figured out that if you make getting rid of the competition easy, clean, and cheap, then you have something that the whole of … unconventional business has need of.”
Tessa bit her tongue, figuratively and literally.
Amato continued, “Of course, they don’t care about the fall out in the streets. The grasping for vacated power, territory, cash flow ... that is not how a proper business is run. But these boys and girls who think they know everything? Of course, they do not think beyond their own needs.”
“If they win, it’s not their people or neighborhoods. If they die, well, they can’t care anyway.”
He shook his head and frowned hard. This was not his usual expression and it caused him to look his age. “Experience teaches us that a good businessman does not abuse those who depend on him, even if they do not know they depend on him. Operations need to be smooth, elegant, organized. Handshakes and signatures must be honored. Products purchased must be delivered at the price and time agreed upon. When you betray your associates, they do not trust you. No trust? No more deals. Everything — and I mean everything — must have a sense of honor or it is not worth the time and blood.”
She didn’t have any comeback or witty retort for that. While she didn’t like his family business, that code of honor he lived by made it all sound reasonable. That, and she proudly looked at the face of a man who laundered money and sold black market goods, but didn’t indulge in sex trafficking, drugs, or weapons, at least not that she knew of. And for the record, she recalled with some self-directed pride, they’d had a few heated words on the topic of smuggled antiquities.
Perhaps there was honor among thieves.
“You should not go back."
“I have to. I left a partner holding the fort. If he got my cryptic note, he knows I’ll be back soon and will count on that.”
The knife was in his hand again, grasped dangerously. “I am going to have a chat someday with this Kir-ee-oos. I do not like this assignment.”
Tessa sighed, sliding the diced onions into a bowl, and removing her apron. “I have to prove myself.”
“You’ve been with them three years.”
“I will always have to prove myself.”
“Does you partner have to prove himself all the time, too?” He looked at her kindly as ever. “Did Ben have to?”
Tessa paused before answering. Of course he knew about Ben. She’d stopped trying to hide anything from him, though she prided herself on not necessarily telling him everything. “My current partner is a bit of a, how should I say this? He’s an outlier. He’s a secret. And he’ll likely fade into the sunset when we’re done. He had some specific skills I needed, and the man assigned to me wasn’t going to cut it. My partner … he doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone.”
The knife jammed into the cutting board, shocking Tessa from her thoughts about Jack. “You will call me. Anything goes wrong, you will call me. That is not open for discussion. It is a fact.” As if Amato needed her to inform him — he might even know before she did.
His raised voice and the knife sticking out of the cutting board brought two nicely dressed brunos to his aid. Amato flashed his signature smile and held up his hand. They stopped. He turned his attention back to Tessa. “Secret partner. Dangerous mission. Poor personnel assignment? This Kir-ee-oos is not impressing me.”
Tessa’s hand reached out to Amato’s cheek. She touched the assiduously manicured beard and the age-textured skin. She kissed his other cheek, smiled, and strolled past the nicely dressed, and now confused looking, button men.
Once beyond the studio doors, Tessa was glad she didn’t need to tell Uncle Mario that her partner’s fade into oblivion might well be at her own hand. Now the smells of the staged kitchen twisted her stomach.
Jack.
This was her fault. If she hadn’t brought Jack in ...
She accepted that this sort of thing could happen. Agents had turned or compromised their agencies before, always for stupid reasons. Stupid has consequences, as Jack would say.
But Jack wasn’t an agent anymore. He wasn’t supposed to be there.
And it was Jack.
Kýrios, and perhaps even Amato, would tell her to toughen up. The business wasn’t for sissies. If she couldn’t handle a problem with lethal response, she had no excuse for being involved. Jack knew this. He knew it before. He knew it when she asked him to join her. He was a big boy who could make his own decisions, right or wrong. If wrong, he knew she would ...
But it was Jack.
This was why agents were told to stay out of emotional entanglements. It was weak. Her gut didn’t know anything, it was an intestine prone to disliking spicy food. What did it expect her to do, give in to her emotions, and betray the Athenaeum? Or perhaps quit her job so they could run off and start a normal life together? Impossible.
She was expected to use her head to make decisions, based on raw, cold facts.
One and a half days to resolve the mission.
And to find some way to resolve her Jack-problem before she had to risk everything she’d worked for. Or kill him.
You can kill him if you need to. You know how.
And you won’t hesitate.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
TESSA STOPPED MIDSTRIDE.
She saw It. It wasn’t squealing like a nasty vulture — not at all as she remembered. Its shape was still vague, Its presence still solid. No one was there in the parking lot to see It.
The vulture-like Thing, wrapped in a cloak of decaying black, reached out Its boney hand and beckoned to Tessa. It must have left the other souls it collected at home — Hell — wherever It came from It whispered to her.
Right there, in front of her. Death.
A figure in black, but nothing like the shadows they’d seen in Montejo. The shape became distinctive. Tattered robe. Scythe. Expected.
The acidic contents of her stomach began to rise – she could feel the panic attack coming.
Oh God, was it her time? Now? Tessa began looking frantically for her killer. One of Mario’s men? Had Bergman followed her? Someone from the agency …
None of the above.
Not It — She. Death was She.
Oh Sweetheart, you don’t understand me, do you? The bleak figure moved forward. Ever changing. Adjusting. The robe scraped along the asphalt.
Tessa reached under her coat and grasped her gun in its holster — as if that would do any good.
You can’t kill Death. From the depth of the blackened figure emerged a dark-skinned woman. Decorated braids fell from the base of a round hat made of grass, their wooden beads clacking together. Tessa recognized the sound. Colorful stones formed its base and it spread out in a protective halo. A necklace sparkled at Her throat and chest, and Her motherly ample body was covered in an intricately printed cloth knotted at the right shoulder and left to flow to the ground. A breeze filled with that spicy scent wafted away from Her in a cloud.
You can’t kill what has always been and always will be. I’ve been where life has been and always will be. Her lips moved and Tessa could hear Her voice inside her head, which alternated between a South African accent to a New Orleans drawl with ease. Do you like the scent of myrrh? It is as ancient as I am.
“Why … are you here?” Her mouth was bone dry.
I’m Death.
“I’m going to die.” She swallowed and stiffened.
Don’t be so stoic, everything dies.
“I’m going to die — now?”
Death used Her elegant hand to smooth Her dress. Not now.
“Then …”
Death let out an exasperated sigh. You are one big mess, aren’t you, Honey? You keep looking for why. Why you? Why him? Why now?
“Yes!”
Death began strolling over toward the sidewalk, where a bench waited near Tessa’s car. You’ve got yourself trust issues. Because you don’t trust, you don’t ask the right questions. You assume the wrong things.
“Who don’t I trust? I just talked to a man …”
Death had a surprisingly beautiful laugh — musical and mirthful. Him? Just how long did it take before you trusted him, your so-called Uncle? Years, girlfriend. She sat down and patted the open side of the bench.
Tessa shook her head and realized how tight all her muscles were. “Why did you kill Sid Franklin? He didn’t deserve to die?”
Death laughed delightfully. All deserve to die. Not because of sin or dishonor or some such nonsense, but because you are born. I am the natural consequence of birth.
“Sid was so …”
Young? So many are. I take babies an hour old to elders over one hundred. It isn’t personal.
“But why?”
That is the wrong question. If you die, it was your time and you had accepted it. You really aren’t understanding are you? Did I mis-interpret your potential? That would be disappointing. I picked you before others. And no, don’t ask me ‘why you?’ Ask differently. Ask something else. Your future depends on it.
Fight. Flight. Freeze. Definitely frozen. Death’s perfume — intoxicating. The threat — icy.
“Who?”
Almost. You’re asking ‘who?’ That’s better but you should be asking ‘what?’
“I should trust you?”
Ah, that is a good question. Death is neutral. Trust. Don’t Trust. It doesn’t matter. The only thing you can trust is that I exist and that seems obvious, doesn’t it?
That was true. “I don’t get it,” she said through clenched teeth.
So? What does a Fixer do when she doesn’t get it?
“Ask. Would you help me understand?”
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a student.
She needed to be careful. “I’m not agreeing, but what does it mean to be a student of Death?”
You’re all my students, every day. But I don’t normally take a personal interest in everyone. Death rose and came to stand eye to eye with Tessa.
Fear gripped Tessa by the throat. It grasped her intestines and pulled. Her limbs weakened and the world around her slid into a bleak slurry of dark paint sliding to the bottom of a canvas.
Death held her up by her chin with two elegant fingers. The lines of Her face narrowed, growing more feline. She shifted to fuller cheeks, a more prominent chin. Changing. Constantly changing. You are a very talented woman, and you know nothing about it. You think you do, but you don’t. You need to spend your time with people of equal power. Ben Solomon wasn’t one of them.
“Ben?”
Imagine my surprise when I came to collect him, and you saw me. You actually saw me. That was a delight I didn’t foresee. Not a delight for you, obviously, but I was so … how should I say it … amused?
“Are you amused by trying to talk me into killing people, like the man in Seattle?”
I’m trying to keep you alive, so you can reach your potential. You are so far off your path you have no idea. Funny thing for Death to be doing, don’t you think? But I loathe the boring and straight forward. Besides, it was his time. You merely postponed it.
Tessa’s body was heating, out of anger, or perhaps the reduction of fear? Tessa’s world was a clear picture again, distinct, and real, something she could grab hold of like an anchor. Was she grabbing back the control? Could she do that — against the power of Death?
I’m still Eternal Death, don’t ever forget that. I may appear to you in whatever form you need to see but don’t let that distract you from proper respect. I am Death. I am the ultimate conclusion. I am held to no Laws of Physics or Morals. And I am not the only one who appears to you in ways you want to see just to trick you.
Death began Her transformation back to the dark, cloaked figure, fading from the physical realm. Still, I like you. Go finish your mission. Survive it if you can. Then we’ll talk more.
“You don’t know the outcome?”
Free will — annoying but necessary. And who wants to know the ending before the beginning anyway?
A car door slammed on the far side of the parking lot. Tessa looked away and immediately regretted it. When she looked back she knew — Death wouldn’t be there.
Angel of Death. Ghost. Schizophrenic mental figment.
Of course, She was gone. And with Her all the sensations Tessa would recognize from now on.
Of course, She was gone. Of course, Death wanted a clean, dramatic exist.
She had made friends with Death. Student? “What have I done,” she whispered through her own hand clamped across her mouth.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mesa de los Muertos,
Canyons of the Ancients
TEN STEPS, TURN, AND FIRE. Wasn’t that the classic duel?
Jack shifted uncomfortably. The cold stone was ice under his legs, and both his warm jacket and hat were back at the diner. The wind cut through his shirt sleeves, racing gooseflesh up and down his arms, but even that wasn’t what made him shudder. Coarse rope tore into his skin, and try as he might, he couldn’t free himself. Helplessness was not something he accepted with grace.
