Sorry for the delay. Lots going on in life… here we go… as usual, of course, I own nothin'.
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Reddington smiled and tilted his head as he watched Ressler exit the men's room in the little rustic truck stop they had pulled over at on their way out to the Artois's compound. "It never ceases to amaze me, Donald. No matter what the circumstances, your hair never seems to struggle."
Ressler rolled his eyes and looked around at the rough wooden décor, the picnic table-like settings, the counter holding the cash register that offered Australiana souvenirs like leather kangaroo scrotum pouches and mini boomerang key rings. "I don't really notice it," he said pointedly.
Red nodded. "My hair was unruly," he shared. Ressler exchanged looks with Liz as he sat down, glancing at Reddington's shaved head. "Humidity was always unfriendly to me. So I shaved it off. No humidity here, though; I wouldn't have that problem now. A shame. I won't have time to let it grow out before we're gone. But for you, Donald, it means you'll have one less thing to distract you from the job at hand."
"I told you, I don't really notice it," Ressler said a little more forcefully.
"Okay," Reddington replied cheerfully, his overly bright tone telling both Ressler and Liz that he didn't believe it.
Liz changed the subject. "So, what's the scenario? You said you'd explain it when we stopped. What's going on?"
Red nodded, and his voice dropped. "When Artois asked me to help him, I told him I was too busy with another deal. It was true. What I didn't tell him was that I could have made time but I chose not to because I despised what he stood for."
"So?" Ressler asked.
"Artois doesn't have any reason to believe I'm not willing to go along with what he does, just that my time was too valuable to spend on him when he wanted my services. So here's what's going to happen. The two of you are going to go on now to the farm. You've been booked in for a two-week stay as a nice young couple. You'll tell him you're considering setting up shop yourself in the business. But further west, so he doesn't feel threatened. This way you'll have an excuse to access some of the more out-of-the-way places on the farm. In the meantime I'll come in and talk to Artois about joining him in his less public business." Red stood, folding his suit jacket over his arm. Then he picked his fedora up off the table and put it on his head.
Liz shook her head, trying to understand. "Wait—we'll go on now? How are you going to get there? This place is in the middle of nowhere."
"I have other arrangements," Reddington answered. A small smile touched his lips as the loud whirring noise of an aircraft reached them inside the café.
Dembe appeared as if from nowhere. "It's ready, Raymond."
"Very good," Reddington answered. "Is the car all gassed up and GPS still on target?"
Dembe nodded. "Yes."
Red's smile widened. "Excellent," he said. "Give Mr. Conway the keys, Dembe. I'm sure he and his wife will want to be on their way soon."
"Mr. Conway?" Ressler echoed as Dembe dropped the keys on the table.
"It's been lovely to meet you, sir," Reddington farewelled. He nodded at Liz. "Mrs. Conway, a pleasure as always."
Liz's jaw remained slack as Reddington turned to leave. "Red—wait—wait!" Reddington's departure through the back door spurred her into action, and she and Ressler followed quickly. When they got outside they saw him boarding a small plane, its engines still running.
"Red!" she called over the engines. He didn't turn around "Red!" Liz called again. She waved her arms above her head, trying to get his attention.
It was Dembe, waiting for his employer to board first, who saw her. He put his hand on Red's shoulder to get his attention. Red turned and listened, then looked at Liz waving. He smiled as though pleased, and came back to her.
"What is it, Lizzie?" he asked over the noise.
"How will we contact you? We aren't supposed to know each other!"
"Don't worry about that. I'll be there. Artois runs his little bed and breakfast like a family house. I'll see you."
"What about the farm? What does Artois raise?" Ressler put in.
Red offered them an amused smile. "Emus."
Then he turned and walked away.
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"Birds. The guy raises birds," Ressler complained as they drove along. "Reddington brings us out into the middle of nowhere, drops us here, and then tells us we're a married couple looking to raise birds."
Liz held up the folder that had been left for them in the car. "At least he's given us some background," she said. She looked ahead at the long, straight, lonely road ahead of them. Red dirt, no houses, no other cars. Extra fuel in a second tank in the back, just in case, apparently. "I had no idea people could make a living from emus."
"They're big," Ressler reminded her. "And I think they're mean."
"They couldn't be mean, or no one would be able to get near them," Liz countered.
Ressler shook his head. "Why the hell are we talking about this? What the hell is Artois doing raising emus if he's so busy doing what Reddington says he's doing?"
"Ever hear of a cover?" Liz retorted. Ressler shot her a sideways look then looked back at the road. "Having the farm gives him access to international tourists. Families," Liz stressed. "He stays away from the general population while still looking like a regular member of society."
"Raising birds?"
"This is Australia, Ressler; they're going to raise whatever works down here. According to the portfolio Red left us, emus are good for lots of things."
"Barbecuing, maybe?" Ressler asked sardonically.
Liz raised an eyebrow. "Actually, yes. The meat is apparently very low fat and very high iron. But emus are also good for therapeutic oils, cosmetics, leather goods, even carved eggs… the list goes on."
"I don't need to hear it."
"Stop being so contrary," Liz admonished him. "You're just not happy that Reddington took a plane and you're stuck driving in the heat. At least the air conditioner works."
"So it's eighty degrees in the car instead of a hundred. This place is hot. Who'd have thought it, in February?"
"It's summer here, remember? The seasons are reversed."
"We should have come out here in June."
"Reddington said he's been after this guy for a long time—and I'm guessing it was safer for him to stay out of the country for awhile after what happened with Garrick."
"I thought you said he cleaned house."
"He did. But our house probably isn't spotless… not yet. I don't blame him for wanting to get away."
"Do you really think he came down here because he's afraid to stay in the US? I don't get the impression that guy's afraid of anything."
"Not afraid… just cautious," Liz answered. Then she added thoughtfully, "And angry. Someone betrayed him, Ressler. And betrayed us."
Ressler looked at her and nodded agreement, then turned back to the road. Something on the edge of his line of vision made him swerve. "Shi—!"
The car jerked to the left as Ressler slammed on the brakes. Liz grabbed onto her seat as the file went flying to the floor. The car stopped, and Ressler put his hand up to his face, calming himself.
"What was that?" Liz asked breathlessly. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Ressler answered, his voice shaking slightly. "I just saw—" He looked out the front windshield, now that the car was turned sideways on the road. He pointed out in front of them. "It was a kangaroo."
"What?" Liz's eyes followed the path of Ressler's finger, and she saw a large, red animal hopping quickly away. "A kanga—"
"A kangaroo," Ressler repeated. "I didn't even see it coming. It was like it materialized out of thin air."
"Did we hit it?" Liz asked.
"I don't think so," Ressler said. "I'd better check for damage, though, just in case." He put the car in park, then unstrapped his seatbelt and got out. "Damn," Liz heard from the inside.
"What is it?" she called.
"Flat tire. The damn rim is bent. I'm going to have to change it."
Liz stepped out, too. "I can help."
"Forget it. Just get the tire out of the trunk. This is the last thing I want in this heat. I bet Reddington's laughing his ass off in that cushy little plane."
* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *
Reddington left Dembe waiting just outside the farmhouse, taking note of the "EMUS STAY FREE—HUMANS PAY" sign as he entered and looked around the small front room that had been fashioned into a country-style reception desk of sorts. Taking his hat off but leaving his sunglasses on, he nodded with something like satisfaction at the blue and white café curtains blowing gently in the breeze of a single standing fan; the native wattles and ferns plucked from some nearby garden and jammed into a small vase on the table; the sweating jug of water on the desk with upturned cups beside it with a scribbled note that read, "Drink as you need but don't waste. DROUGHT!"
He waited for a few seconds more, then a man somewhat older than Reddington himself and dressed in dusty work clothes came out to the desk to greet him. "G'day," he said to Red gruffly, but with a smile. "Sorry for the wait; I was tied up in the back. What can I do for ye?"
Red offered a closed-mouth smile and nodded just slightly. "Joseph Artois," he greeted. "You've gotten older."
The man tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Do I know you?" he asked.
"Only by reputation," Reddington replied. "I need to speak with you alone about some business matters."
"You want to buy me out?" Artois asked, his voice and demeanor untrusting. "I already told your type I don't want any part of it."
"I don't want to buy you out," Reddington answered. "I want to buy in. My name is Raymond Reddington."
"Raymond Red—?" The man stopped, looked more closely. "My God," he breathed. "It really is you. I never thought I'd see your face in these parts. What the hell you doing down here?"
"I told you—I want in."
"In what? Emu farming?"
Red shook his head and laughed softly. "Come on, now, Joseph. You and I both know you run a very profitable business that has nothing to do with these birds. I want in, and I want you to get me in."
Artois nodded slowly. "Why should I help you, Red? You said you were too busy for me. Now maybe I'm too busy for you."
"Now, don't be like that, Joseph," Red chided gently. "You approached me with a business proposition, expecting me to do a perfect job. I didn't have the time to do it right, and I wasn't about to ruin my reputation by being greedy and taking on too much. I passed you on to someone else and whatever they did got you here—and hid you for a long time. I considered that a favor, Joseph. Now I find myself in need, and you in a position to repay that favor. Doesn't that sound reasonable?"
"It would be," Artois agreed, reaching down under the desk. Within seconds he had a pistol in his hand, cocked and aiming straight toward Reddington's chest. "If I believed you. But since I don't, I'm afraid you traveled all the way down here, just to die."