The Aeolian Harp ~ Chapter 10
When, the next morning, Legato announced that they were leaving Caracas, Midvalley was wracked by a brief but violent surge of fear. Though he was eager to leave this dead town behind, he worried about how much they moved around these days. At this rate, Wolfwood would never be able to find them.
For four months now, he'd been out there somewhere, chasing the man in red across the desert. Midvalley hadn't heard from him since Jeneora Rock. Though twice he had been in the same place long enough to get mail, Nick hadn't written.
Maybe he was dead. Maybe he wasn't coming back.
Midvalley knew they had never made any promises to each other. Neither of them was the type of man to made sincerity a habit. But it still hurt when he thought of how easily Nick had fallen under the spell of the man in red. Midvalley tried to put it from his mind, the same way he had strangled his grief in the days following Dominique's death. It was better, he had decided, that she had died first. That she hadn't lived long enough to see what they had become.
But she was alive.
Midvalley flinched at the thought. He knew it, somehow, and yet he refused to believe it. It wasn't that he couldn't, or that he didn't want to, but he knew that there was nothing he could do from here. If he tried, it would only cause more pain for all of them.
He told himself that, while Legato had acted strangely the night before, he had been tired, and maybe the travel was wearing on him. Legato had a pretty delicate constitution, everything considered.
Hell, Midvalley thought, maybe he had just imagined the whole thing.
He checked the clasps on his saxophone case, and then tucked it under his arm, freeing up his hand to carry his guitar. He shouldered his bag, and left without looking back. He hadn't heard any cars pulling out; the other Guns were probably still sleeping off their hangovers. Though Midvalley thought about drinking more and more these days, actually doing it appealed to him less and less.
He looked around for Legato, out of habit more than anything, but the street was empty.
There were only a few cars in town. He picked the most reliable looking one, and hotwired it. All the while, he couldn't help but think that if Dominique were here, he wouldn't have to be hunched over under the dash, squinting at all those colored wires. He was supposed to be the one who was good with his hands, but she'd always been better at stealing cars. She'd get the motor running without even losing her place in the conversation. Sometimes, she could do it without even looking.
By the time the engine choked to life, Midvalley was sweating and his fingers were cramped. He tossed his bags into the passenger seat, rolled up the windows, and turned the AC up so high it sounded like waves of sand beating against a steel shed.
He'd feel better, he thought, much better once he left this place behind.
It was about the best time he'd ever made.
Midvalley was fifty miles outside of Caracas when the temperature gauge began to redline. It was only then that he realized how hard he'd been leaning on the accelerator the whole time. How desperate he'd been to get away. From the town, or from the men in it, he couldn't say which. It didn't matter, though, because they were all linked now. He, and the Guns, and the city. All partner to the same hideous sin.
At first he had only vaguely resented Legato's new hired hands. They weren't professionals, not like he was. They didn't take this shit seriously enough. But in Caracas he had seen how they warmed to the task of slaughter; hesitant at first, then bolder. Too show-offy for Midvalley's tastes, like a pack of young boys. Daring each other; working one another up to it.
They'd gotten the hang of it soon enough, though. Not just the killing. Midvalley had always been able to stomach murder. Things had happened in that city before the killing even began, things Midvalley hadn't wanted to happen. Things Legato had turned a blind eye to.
That had actually surprised him a little. He'd known the boss for a long time now, and he liked to think that, aside from wanting to wipe out the species, he was actually a pretty ethical guy. Though surely he'd never given the matter much thought, he seemed to instinctually recognize slavery and rape and torture for the ridiculous little grabs at power that they were. He knew what sad, impotent men the perpetrators of those crimes were.
In Eden's Prairie, Midvalley had seen Legato turn a pimp inside out. Outside St. Pete's, he'd watched him take hold of an onlooker and march him into a burning house to rescue a crying baby.
Fiddle with the perspective enough, the man was practically a hero.
No, that wasn't true. All those rescues, all those acts of mercy, they'd just been a diversion for him. Just something to pass the time. When it all came down to it, he didn't really mind if his men raped the daughters of all those bumpkins back in Caracas. He didn't really mind if they'd tied one of the men to the gears inside the windmill, just to see what would happen. If, when they'd run out of people, they'd hunted down even the horses and the dogs.
There wasn't any sense in acting offended. Midvalley knew he was one of them. He was as bad as any, and probably worse than most.
Only it bothered him. It gnawed at him still, long past the point when he could be reluctantly grateful that it did. Caracas chased him like a sandstorm for three days, and every time he looked in the rearview mirror it seemed the town still hovered and shimmered in the heat ripples on the horizon.
Midvalley's hand shook every time he stopped to pump gas into the car. Black coffee was about the only meal his stomach could take. And though he sang to himself the same as he always did on long drives, it didn't pass the time the way it used to.
He'd sung through all the A's that he knew - Ac-Cen-Tu-Ate The Positive to Autumn Leaves – and all the B's - Baby It's Cold Outside to By the Light of the Silvery Moon – and he was already up to Cry, Cry, Cry when he pulled into Garnet City. He'd driven fast the whole way here, almost without a break, but when he checked in at the front desk of the Grand Hotel, he couldn't say he was shocked that Legato had made it before him.
He knew Legato had seen him come in, but he pretended that he didn't. He went upstairs to put his bags in his room.
His first thought had been to sleep for a few hours, but the emptiness of the room put him off that. It was lonely, but that was nothing new. What struck him was the way it seemed to lack the potential to ever become anything else.
He knew that Nick wasn't coming. And rather than face that, he went downstairs again and found Legato in the café, dissecting a slice of tiramisu.
"Hey, Boss."
"I hadn't expected you until tomorrow morning," Legato said.
"I came early. I wanted to talk to you about something."
"So talk, Midvalley."
"It's about Caracas. I didn't like the way shit went down there. I thought it was unprofessional."
"What, specifically, might that be?"
"You know what I mean." Midvalley's throat tightened, and his voice came out in a yelp. "You let those Guns of yours run around like savages. I thought the whole reason we were doing this was because we were better than that."
"Oh, is that all?" Legato said. "I'm surprised. I always knew you were sentimental, but I never expected such a brief detour on the way to death to bother you so much."
"That's a lie, Boss, and you know it. It bothers me, and it bothers you, too."
"Then take comfort in the knowledge that they are all beyond the grip of earthly suffering now."
"And don't start talking like Nick!" Midvalley said, louder than he had intended. Several diners at the nearby tables turned to look at him, and Midvalley looked down until they had returned to their brunch.
"Sorry, Boss," he muttered. He looked up at Legato's face, and added quickly. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean that. Don't take it as an excuse to slap me around or nothing, okay?"
He laughed, weakly and without humor.
"I don't know why I would do that," Legato said. "And I don't know what you would have had me do at Caracas."
"I just figured, you cut their paychecks, right? And I guess you probably figured they'd be more loyal if you let them do what they wanted. But they won't. And that's not why you should keep them in line, anyway. It's because you've seen shit, too, haven't you? You've seen worse shit than that."
Legato paused. For a second, Midvalley doubted his gamble was going to pay off. Legato was going to knock him for a loop after all.
But in the end, he only set his fork neatly on the edge of his plate, and pushed the half-eaten tiramisu aside. "Would you like to finish that?" he asked.
Midvalley started to shake his head, but then remembered that he hadn't had a proper meal in going on three days, and, guiltily, he slid the plate closer. What was strangest was the thought of sharing a fork with him, as if some of that venom he kept bottled up inside would leach into him. The dessert didn't taste any different, though. Didn't taste poisoned.
"Thanks," Midvalley said. "It's good."
"I shall take what you have said under advisement," Legato said.
Midvalley smiled weakly. "You're a good boss."
"Thank you, Midvalley." Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he saw Legato smile back. "Was there anything else?"
"No," Midvalley said instantly. But when he thought longer, there was.
"You know where Nick is right now, don't you?" he asked.
"Nicolas Wolfwood? Yes, I have some indication."
"Well, listen, I'm not going to ask you to tell me that or anything. And I'm not going to ask you if he's okay. And I'm not even going to ask you if he's coming back. Because I don't think I'm ready for the answers to any of those."
Midvalley looked away. He hadn't known he was going to bring up the subject, and he had never thought Legato would be receptive to his questions. Now that he was here, he wasn't sure exactly what it was he wanted to know.
"I guess… can you just tell me… does he still love me?"
"Love you?" Legato said. He wasn't mocking, though; he actually sounded thoughtful. "I see. I wouldn't know anything about that, I'm afraid."
"But you…"
"My business is matters of the head, Midvalley. Not of the heart."
"Come on, Boss. I may be a sentimentalist, but even I know love is nothing but alchemy. The right combination of chemicals in the brain."
"So I am to be chemist and diviner for you now?"
"That's not what I meant…"
"Listen, I'll tell you this. There was a time when I couldn't look in on him without finding his thoughts turning to you. They still do, from time to time. But less so, these days."
Midvalley drew a deep breath, taking it in. When he glanced up, Legato was watching him without viciousness.
Midvalley did not think he was lying.
"I guess it's that man in red, huh? Nick never was quite content with the human world. I mean… a priest. Really. In this day and age, when practically no one believes anymore. There he was, still trying to fill up the hole inside him by pouring God into it."
He took a thoughtful bite.
"Don't get me wrong, though. He really believed. The preacher thing, that wasn't just for show. He sure believed in something, at any rate. But can't you see how he was the wrong man to send on that mission, Boss? He'll fall for the man in red's whole sideshow."
"But the man in red, as you call him, is no false prophet," Legato said. "No mere mortal would stand a chance against him. So don't feel bad."
"I do feel bad though," Midvalley said weakly. "But I guess you'd know a thing or two about the gods and prophets racket. Thanks for trying to make me feel better."
"Is that what I'm doing?"
In no mood for Legato's games – they'd always been a little too broad and unsubtle for his tastes anyway – Midvalley swallowed the last bite of tiramisu and nodded. "That's what you're doing."
"Perhaps, then, I know what it's like to be far away from the thing you prize most in the world. It's like half of you is here at this table, and half of you is mired out there in the desert. Not exactly where they are, but somewhere close."
Midvalley blinked, unsure of what to make of that.
"Yeah," he said. "Actually, that's exactly what it's like. I'm impressed, Boss."
When Legato didn't answer right away, Midvalley couldn't help but wonder if he was embarrassed. He'd been pretty talkative lately, by his standards. Maybe he was up to something. Or maybe just using him as another way to pass the time, the way he had used all those damsels in distress before.
Or maybe, he was trying to make friends.
Midvalley wasn't sure which distressed him the most, but they were all very distressing propositions indeed.
"Anyway," Midvalley said. "Thanks for thinking over what I said about Caracas. And thanks for the cake. I'd better head upstairs and get cleaned up now."
"As you wish."
And then, just because it seemed like Legato was making the effort, he added, "I guess I'll see you around."