15. Quentin #2
“Caz,” Frank warns, uncrossing his arms and pressing up and out of the ratty wingback on the far side of the parlor—but Caz ignores him, barreling on.
“We think that your parents actually developed a cure for the Zietnot virus, that the Windmill wanted to steal that cure for themselves—as a safeguard from infection, yes, but even more so for the opportunity to make money off of the only known cure for a global pandemic.”
“You keep saying ‘research’—but you boys aren’t the library type,” Louise seethes, distrust creeping back into her voice. “You obviously know more than I do—but how? You expect me to believe all of this conspiracy theory bullshit? I am going to need proof.”
“Fine. That’s easy enough.” Frank pushes off the wall, his arms opening wide in a beneficent gesture as Caz and Seb make surprised noises.
I too am surprised this is the stance Frank has decided to take, but he’s the boss—my job as his second is to stand here, appear to stoically back him up, and to call him on his bullshit later when we’re in private.
I do just that. When Caz and Seb look to me to confirm or deny Frank’s brash claim, I shrug and turn away—Louise’s red-brown eyes still cast upon Frank in utter disbelief.
“So, what? You fucking kidnap me, keep me chained up like a dog, drug me whenever you need to transport me to some new shithole, but now—because it’s useful to you, you’ve decided that I no longer need to be kept in the dark?”
“They say the devil’s clever, don’t they? Yeah, I think that about covers it,” Frank chuffs a laugh as he walks up to the little pressure board coffee table, towering over Louise on the couch.
“Ok—ante up,” she snorts derisively, folding her arms around herself, uncrossing her legs to plant both feet firmly on the floor as she sizes Frank up, ready for him to lay his metaphorical cards on the table.
“Well, we can show you the notes and paperwork Caz purloined from his available sources; but as far as proof about the DOR and other government involvement? You’ll have to give me a day or so to make that happen,” he explains nonchalantly.
Once again, Caz and Seb scramble, their voices overlapping as they ask what Frank is playing at—where he’s going.
Frank holds up a hand and both of them fall silent before he speaks once more.
“Quentin has been lining up a more remote place to go to ground for a while. No use beating around the bush. We need more time and the Feds are doing their best to smoke us out. Fact of the matter is—we need to re-up on suppressants for both Q and Lou if we want to get to the bottom of this Zietnot virus stuff. Realistically, our window for getting a hold of meds is getting smaller and smaller before we’ll have to go to ground while one or both of them is in heat,” Frank warns grimly.
Louise’s eyes dart to me—the two of us united by this inconvenient truth.
“That’s why I’m going to go get you your proof while Q makes arrangements and the rest of you make the preparation for us to go to ground. I’ll come back with the evidence to back up our claims, and if you still want to go running back to your friends in the Feds—you can walk.”
Frank allows a moment for that to sink in. Louise’s eyes narrow as she fixes those lasers on him.
“You’d let me walk? After all this?” She shakes her head in disbelief.
“Trust me, Sweetheart—you’re not gonna walk back to the Feds after you see what they’ve done.
It’d be like jumping from the frying pan directly into the flame.
” Frank snickers wickedly before continuing.
“In the unlikely event that you see the undeniable proof that we’re not the bad guys, and you still don’t want to help us?
Fine, we’ll leave you alone—you never see us again, you disappear into the depths of some hidden lab where the Feds try to get at the secrets your parents squirreled away inside you.
” He shrugs nonchalantly before leaning in to give her a snarky wink.
“But, if you decide you want to find out who really killed your parents, that you actually want to get your revenge—then we’re your guys.
We’ll back you up 100% We’ll do whatever we have to, to get the job done, government be damned. ”
I have to present a united front, but this is the first time I am hearing some of these details of Frank’s ‘plan,’ and I’m none too pleased about it.
Louise’s lip curls back, those pearly knife-like canines winking at us as her hackles continue to rise.
“Couldn’t you have had your ‘proof’ lined up before you got me involved in this goddamn mess? You really are shit at your jobs, aren’t you?” she leers, but it isn’t actually an answer.
“Look, Sweetheart, you want to co-operate until I can produce the goods? Or are you just going to choose the hard way and make us cuff you and knock you out again?” Frank threatens.
“Oooh, big man, with his little threats, you’re the ones who need me, not the other way around,” she laughs mirthlessly.
This strikes a nerve, because Frank is on his toes again—flexing his aura on her in a bid for regaining his spiraling control.
“Yeah, we only need you until you become a bigger danger than a help to us. I won’t have any problem getting rid of you if you stand between us and our freedom—and getting to the bottom of the business of this Zeitnot virus your parents created,” Frank cracks back, before adding for clarity.
“I’m not a green little techno-twink like Cazzy.
I’ll put a bitch like you down if I have to.
” Frank grins, that edge of mania in his dark blue eyes—and Louise gives him a single curt nod with understanding.
“Fine, since my options are strikingly limited, I suppose I’ll see what ‘proof’ you can offer.
” She does her best to dismiss him, reaching for the second cigarette on the pressure board coffee table, refusing to wither under his frenzied gaze.
“Plus, it’ll get you out of this flop for a few days?
It might actually feel like a vacation. At least the other three have some manners and are easy on the eyes. ”
This pulls an unexpected bark of real laughter from Frank—the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes bunching as he guffaws.
It’s going to be a long couple of days. I can already tell.
Frank is gone by lunchtime, replacing his usual uniform of leather jacket and effortless raven bed head in favor of something that might help him better blend into a crowd–a dark ball cap and nondescript gray sweatshirt.
Seb, still waiting on the results of the blood and serum tests from this morning, has gone to make contact with his local, in the hopes of getting a line on some suppressants and scent blockers.
Caz, finally burnt out from over twenty-four hours of constant wakefulness—including driving us from Liberty to Beach city, lies snoring behind the closed door of the bedroom.
I’m on babysitting duty until we’re on the road at witching hour tonight—then I can crash, catch a couple of winks on our way to my buddy Yuri’s hunting shack on Goosewing Lake.
Old Yuri owes me big time, so I’ve called in my favor.
While the remote cabin lacks most modern amenities like internet or telephone, it’s furnished lavishly enough to fit a former Vor y Zakone captain—an impressive solar charged home battery, a tankless hot water heater, and one of the nicer composting toilets I’ve had the honor of shitting in while lying low in the woods.
It’s not the nest I would choose to endure a hastily planned heat, but Louise and I don’t have the luxury of choice in such limited time and circumstance.
Frank wasn’t wrong—there’s likely not enough time to stop the clock, so our only real choice is to bear down and come out on the other side of the heat—on the ground running.
I’m fixing tea, since there are a few things in this life that aren’t better once you’re facing them with a cup of hot Assam or first flush Darjeeling in your hand.
Sadly, today’s tea service is somewhat lackluster—embarrassingly weak orange pekoe from the bodega down the street with a package of two bright pink coconut sno-balls.
Still, I prepare a cup for myself and Louise, removing the artificially pink confections from their plastic wrapper to place them on a small plate in an attempt at civilizing this ‘afternoon tea’.
In the tiny parlor, Louise enjoys some of her newfound freedom of movement—her lithe, graceful limbs stretching and flexing through vinyasas and gliding through katas as I bring our impromptu tea service to the makeshift coffee table; the milk crates and pressure board moved to the side of the sofa to give Louise the most space possible.
As soon as she catches sight of me in her peripheral vision, she stops, her eyes quickly scanning me up and down with an underlying hunger before they fall on the goodies I’ve brought.
She’s still wearing the camisole and velour pants from earlier, but the activity has brought a healthy flush to her cheeks and her face.
Her neck and shoulders glitter with a faint sheen of perspiration and her long red waves are tied back from her face in a high ponytail that I’d like to—goodness I really am getting close to my heat, aren’t I?
“Is one of those for me?” She stands, hands on her hips—her chest gently rising and falling as she steadies her breath and her chin juts toward one of the pink sno-balls.
Her perfume is oppressive in the small space—the iris—wet, lush; as if after a rain—the sharp tang of the tart green apple and a spicy jolt of pink pepper. She smells good enough to eat—to consume whole.
“Yes, and a cup of ‘tea’—if you can call it that.” I gesture to the goods, keeping my rising libido in check—if only just.
“Throw in one of those fancy cigarettes and you have a deal.” She nods at the telltale square pack of Dunhills in the breast pocket of my button down, twirling the rest of her ponytail atop her head into a messy bun.