This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.
Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.
NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.
DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.
ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!
This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.
Chasing the Dragon
by Madame Manga
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Roy!" Rally stamped out into the hallway. "Dammit, where is Roy?"
May followed, shedding her headphones. "Ral, don't do anything rash! It was my fault Roy thought Bean had attacked you! Don't blame—"
Rally whirled around, finger stabbing at May's face. "You didn't tell him that I'd accused Bean, did you? You didn't lie to him and say that you knew it for sure!"
"Well, no—"
"ROY!" yelled Rally again. She stormed towards the elevator and punched the button for the lobby. May followed her. When the doors opened on the ground floor, Rally ran smack into Wojohowicz, who caught her by the arms.
"Hey! What's the matter?"
"Have you seen Roy?" She practically snarled at the agent, who flinched. "Do you know if he's in the building?"
"Not sure." Wojohowicz shook her head. "I think he went out for a smoke."
"What was the last time anyone saw him?"
Smith walked up behind Wojohowicz and caught the tail end of the conversation. "What's the fuss? Last time anyone saw who?"
"ROY!" Rally screamed so loud her ears popped.
At that moment, Roy burst in through the lobby doors. The metal detectors went off and the guards jumped up to stop him. Roy struggled with them, shouting.
Rally raced across the lobby and grabbed him by the collar. His face shone with sweat, but his cheeks looked gray-white.
"Where the hell have you been?" she spat at him. "Didn't want to face the music, huh? Well, I just heard the tape, you weasel, and I'm going to strangle—"
"Bomb," gasped Roy, writhing free from the security guards. "There's a huge bomb right outside the Federal Building!"
"Huh?" said the guards.
"Bomb?" Rally suddenly forgot all about Roy's sins and let go of his tie.
"Ahh!" shrieked May, clapping her hands to her cheeks.
"He parked it in front of the concrete barriers!" Roy waved his arms at the entrance. "He had another car following him, and he jumped in it and took off! It's on a trailer—the thing's huge!"
"Evacuate!" Smith leaned over the security desk, pulled up a cover and punched a large red button. An ear-piercing alarm went off and the glass front doors closed. A steel shutter descended over them and clanged shut. Everyone in sight moved for the rear exits, people emerging from offices and streaming through the lobby.
"I'll coordinate the FBI evacuation!" Smith gave rapid orders to the security guards. "Stay off the elevators! Wojohowicz, you get the Brown girls out! Put a phalanx of agents around them!" He ran for the stairs with Wojohowicz following.
"Is 426 trying to assassinate the FBI investigators now?" May looked panicky, turning from side to side. "Or does he want US dead?"
"It wasn't 426!" Roy ran for the rear exits with the crowd, Rally and May jogging beside him. "Not a Dragon—it was—"
"Who else would want to bomb the Federal building?" Rally glanced at Roy, who was still grey and sweating.
"I'm not sure. I saw the guy drive the truck up and leave it there. I…think it was Bean Bandit."
"WHAT?" Rally stopped short in the middle of the moving crowd.
"I was having a smoke out in the plaza. I saw it stop in the street and the driver get out. He was a hundred yards off, but there aren't many guys that tall with that shock of black hair!"
"Bean? Why would Bean want to leave a bomb here?" Rally grabbed Roy's elbow and pulled him out of the stream of people.
"Isn't is obvious? He's gone back to the Dragons—"
"Oh, bull! Roy, the Dragons want him dead worse than anyone else does!"
"Then he's doing it on his own! He thinks the FBI is after him—"
"And bombing the San Francisco Federal Building is going to get them OFF his tail?" Rally threw up her hands. "This doesn't compute!"
"Uh…" Roy's face worked. "But why the hell else would he leave a boat in the street right in front of the plaza? I know it was him, Rally! I saw him!"
"A boat?"
"Yes, a boat! A big cabin cruiser on a trailer! It could hold a hell of a lot of explosive!"
Ken sprinted from the stairwell and joined them by the rear door. "May? What's this about a bomb?"
"Just a sec," said May. "Roy says it's a cabin cruiser, and that Bean parked it out on the street!"
"Bean?" Ken's forehead creased.
A group clattered down the stairwell—men in protective suits with FBI BOMB SQUAD stenciled across them. Equipment strapped to their backs, they strode across the lobby with grim purpose. Their leader gathered them in a circle and issued orders. He glanced up as Ken and May approached.
"You'd better get out now, people. There's no guarantee we can disarm this thing before it blows, and if it's as big as reported—"
"Uh…may I put in my two cents?" said Ken. "Ken Watanabe. I've got some expertise with, uh, explosives." He held out a hand.
The squad leader looked at him. "I'm Agent Howard Hunter. You got some kind of credentials?"
"On the job training," said Ken with an ingenuous smile. "Believe me, I can help."
"He's right," said May. "But, Kenny, it could be dangerous! Your hands are shaking more—"
"But Bean wouldn't leave a bomb!" moaned Rally.
"You mean like that time Gray hired him to drop one off in the Corncob Towers?" said May.
Wojohowicz came down the stairs with Tiffany and her mother. Manichetti trailed behind. A burly agent had him by the elbow, and he wore leg irons.
"Hands shaking?" Agent Hunter looked skeptical.
"Bean didn't know that was a bomb!" protested Rally. "He—well, uh, he would have charged more if he'd known that…oh, God…" She put her hands to her face.
"Uh, could I say something?" Manichetti ventured. "This boat trailer—"
"I've got a touch of MS, but I can still feel my way around a detonator…" Ken trailed off; Roy was examining him with lowered brows. "Well, you know, I hang out with this little bombshell. Between the two of us, we can defuse just about anything going!"
"We have our standard procedures in place, sir," said Hunter. "This is a matter for the professionals, so I think the amateurs had better stand aside."
"If it was Bandit that drove the boat up—" Manichetti began again.
"Amateur?" Ken gritted his teeth. "I'll have you know—"
"Look, that bomb could be ten tons of explosive, and that's enough to leave the whole block a smoking hole twenty feet deep—"
"All the more reason to use all the resources you've got—"
"'Scuse me," said Manichetti in a louder voice. "This thing ain't no bomb!"
Everyone turned and looked at him. "And how the hell do you know that?" snapped Smith.
"Well, at least SOMEONE agrees with me!" Rally felt a tiny breath of hope.
"It's a boat, right? A sixty-foot cabin cruiser." Manichetti spread his arms to indicate the length. "She's got her name painted on the transom. The Tiffany's Treasure II. Right?"
"You couldn't read that from the upstairs windows," said Smith suspiciously.
"No, I couldn't, but I saw her before ya dragged me down the stairs. I know that boat. I've driven her."
"Have you?"
"She belongs to the Dragons. Or she did a little while ago. She used to be Mr. Brown's."
"And what the hell is it doing parked in front of my Federal Building?" bellowed Smith. "Packed to the gills with ammonium nitrate and fuel oil—"
"I don't think so." Manichetti shook his head. "Last I saw her, not too long back, she was full of money."
"Money?" said several people at once.
"You mean it's the boat where the Dragons hid their stash?" Smith's eyes lit up. "Wait a minute—why would someone leave it for us? Who would want to hand all that treasure over to the FBI?"
"I told the Roadbuster where she was berthed. I didn't know if he got there in time…but I guess he did." Manichetti glanced at Rally with a grin. "And I guess he decided to make you a present of it, Miss Vincent. Merry Christmas."
Rally's mouth dropped open.
"Will it be sufficient?"
"Enough to blow her an' all of hers to hell where they belong." O'Toole leaned slightly forward in his wheelchair, his yellow teeth bared between his lips, and spoke into a cell phone. "Have we got the last bits placed, then? Have they finished the job? I hear the work goin' on still."
"Nearly." 426 turned to the light, his dark eyes opaque, his own phone held at his ear. "You have been barricaded, which was the first order of priority. The other work can continue in the open, and will until it is complete or we are discovered."
"Beauty."
"We will not meet again, O'Toole. Nor should we speak after this, until it is time."
"It's all the same to me, it is. There's one face alone I want ta see again, an' I know I'll be with me sweet lad before the sun rises. Thanks ta ye, that is, sir. Ye've me gratitude, fer what it's worth."
"It is nothing." 426 shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. "Truly, nothing at all."
"An' that's the generosity of a true an' upright man, ta me mind. It's them as has real accomplishments that can afford to slight 'em. Me, what've I done to make this world a better place? Blasted a few stinkin' RUC to hell, that's what I've done. I did me best by Mr. Brown, an' that's my hope of reward. But I'll go out in a blaze of glory, I will. Thanks ta ye."
"That you shall, O'Toole. Farewell." 426 clicked off. For an instant, an expression of revulsion crossed his features, his mouth contorting, his teeth held together.
"So what's the deal?" asked Larry Sam through dry lips, his voice croaking from lack of water. "What is all this work you've been doing all day? Why did O'Toole leave? Why won't you meet him again?"
426 ignored him, picking his way across the floor and into the dim reaches of the space. When he returned, he had a faraway look.
"Shaoqi—" began Larry.
426 held up a hand. "I do not wish to be addressed by that name."
"You loved me once, Shaoqi. You made love to me." Larry struggled to sit upright. Bui, still tied back to back with him, groaned and slumped. "I know you mean to kill me, because I informed on the Eight Dragons. That's the breaks, I guess. I knew I was taking a hell of a risk, but I did it for Rally Vincent. And for my family. I'm willing to die for them."
His face crumpled, but he quickly regained his composure. "All I want to know is, why? The Triad is smashed. The organization is finished. I heard you say that you had spent your last ten thousand on the materials for the work, and I know that O'Toole was the last man you had. You have nothing left. Why destroy even more lives along with yours?"
"I made love to you?" 426 concentrated his forehead as if trying to recall something. "No, I never had the opportunity."
"Of course you did. Five years ago. You told me I was exquisite, or something." Larry swallowed hard. "You were as gentle as someone like you could ever be. Why do you want to kill me?"
"But you are already dead," replied 426. "I saw you lying dead." His eyes wandered back into the dimness. "On the carpet in the office, your eyes still open. The sight tore my heart open."
"What? I'm alive! I'm speaking to you!"
"O'Toole is already dead—he has resigned himself to death, which is the only true merit he possesses. You should also resign yourself. You will reborn into another body when you have accepted your finite existence. Do not cling to karma and sin. Those who hold too strongly to life become demons."
"Uh…whatever," said Larry.
426 crouched down in front of his captives and looked searchingly into Larry's eyes. "She killed you. Do you not recall? The bullet you took was hers."
"You sent a hit squad to shoot up my restaurant! I took a bullet and survived! You didn't kill me!"
"Henry." 426 made a gesture of mild remonstrance. "Give up your attachment to the world. Life is illusion. Desire is suffering, so eschew desire. Surrender to nothingness, and you will achieve paradise."
Larry's eyes opened wide. "I'm not Henry Huang! Wake up! What the hell's happened to—"
"But you are, my sweet boy. You are my ideal—beautiful, intellectual, obedient. I have sought you all my life, but I cannot keep you by my side. I cannot demonstrate how much I love you, because you have left me. So I will follow you. We must go into the void together, and rejoice only in dissolution. Perhaps, in another life…" 426 stroked Larry's cheek. "Perhaps then, we will find each other again."
"That's funny," said Rally. "There's no cash." She looked around the cabin again as agents passed bundles over the sides of the boat. The evidence photographers took shot after shot, their camera flashes strobing through the interior of the FBI warehouse. "Gems, gold, some negotiable paper…but no cash. And no drugs."
"Yeah, that's right," said Smith. He looked at a PDA where he had kept a rough running inventory of the boat's contents. "The Dragons would have had millions in greenbacks from their operations. They have to take it out of the country to launder it. It's not under the floorboards or anything?"
"No, sir," replied an agent, blowing off a bit of fluff from the stuffing of a cushion. "We've skinned this sucker down to the keel and taken the cabin apart. There's nothing else." A handler guided his drug-sniffing dog over the side rail and departed down the ramp.
"So did they have the cash stashed another place?" Smith creased his brow. "Manny? What do you know about it?"
"The cash wasn't anyplace else." Manichetti shrugged. "I saw it all packed away in the cupboards. About twelve mil, give or take—a big load of parcels done up in brown paper. You're right, Miss Vincent—there was about forty kilos of smack with it too. But it sure ain't here now."
Rally peered around the seat behind the steering wheel and looked under the boat's dashboard. Her foot crunched on something and she glanced down. A walnut shell.
"I got a positive for drug residue here." Another agent held up a strip of chemical paper from a testing kit. "This locker was full of the shit not too long ago."
"Why am I not surprised?" Rally groaned and picked up the walnut shell. "Bean…dammit…"
"What'd you say?" asked Smith.
"Nothing." She sat down on a box and folded her arms.
"She said, 'Bean'," put in Roy, his expression thunderous. "Obviously Bean Bandit stole the cash and drugs! Well, if that doesn't prove—"
"It doesn't prove anything, Roy! He delivered the rest to the FBI!"
"After taking twelve million bucks and that much more in drugs! When he fences forty keys—"
"He's no drug dealer! I'd be willing to bet he dumped all the smack overboard!"
"Great, we're going to have a pod of happy humpback whales tap-dancing along Ocean Beach," sighed Smith. "I wish he'd left the stuff for evidence, but I can't say I blame him."
"Are we finished?" Rally got up.
"I guess so. You want to blow?"
"Yes, I do. I need some dinner. I'll get that money out of the safe-deposit box where Bean left it, too. I would like to get that off my hands!"
In the car with May and Ken and a brown paper sack containing $57,489, Rally tried to concentrate on the road, but her mind jumped from thought to thought like a drunken acrobat. They had counted the money at the bank, and it had added up to exactly what Bean had said it would. He still owed her $192,511, the price of a midnight-blue 1967 Corvette hard-top plus assorted gambling losses.
Would he repay the debt? Leaving most of the Dragon's treasure in front of the Federal Building might have squared it, in his mind, but still Rally wondered. Should she even be thinking about this while Larry and Bui were hostages? Still there had been no communication from 426. Was he simply going to kill them?
Unlikely. He wanted her dead, and probably as many of her friends and allies as he could manage to kill. He would contact the FBI as soon as his plans were in place. Every moment that passed increased the likelihood of a message from the assassin.
A message that would lead her to her death, if his plans succeeded. And 426 was intelligent, determined, ruthless. He had only a few people around him, if any. He had lost everything he had worked for his entire life. He had lost his lover, his Triad, his refuges and his treasure. He had nothing left to care about…
"Wow, Bean's rich!" chirped May. "Twelve million bucks in cash! He'll be high on the hog now—Kenny, what would you do with that much dough?"
"Oh, retire to Jamaica with my little bombshell," said Ken, cuddling with May in the back seat. Rally rolled her eyes.
"What about traveling around the world or something?" mused May.
"With a kid?" Ken shook his head.
"Oh, babies are portable—all you need is a diaper bag and a backpack! I'm going to breastfeed him as long as I can…"
May chattered on while Rally's mind returned to its restless jumping. Bean might still consider the debt unpaid. He had ample cash to make up the amount now, but he hadn't left it for her. What did that mean? Gems and securities and boats weren't his stock in trade, so handing it all to the FBI had probably been mostly a matter of convenience. At least leaving it in government custody would keep 426 from reclaiming the treasure.
Did Bean mean to repay her in kind instead? He had already apologized to her for running her Cobra off the road, and he had done her many favors as well. He had nearly died in the performance of what he had considered his duty. Perhaps, when she returned home, Bean would still offer her professional help in payment.
Rally's heartbeat quickened. A debt was a connection, in a way. Bean might want to see her again. He might want an excuse to keep coming around. As long as he owed her money, he could write it off as an obligation. That was how his mind worked—he set emotion at nothing, but cash was paramount.
She bit her lips as a rising surge of queer excitement made her hands tremble slightly on the wheel. Could he even mean to help her and the FBI with the hostage situation? Perhaps he was lying low right now to avoid the San Francisco police, but he might contact her soon. The thought of seeing Bean again forced her to swallow hard against a lump in her throat. The last time she had seen him, he had kissed her on the lips in her hotel room…
"Rally, you passed our hotel!" complained May. "That was the driveway back there!"
"Oh…whoops." Rally shook her head to clear it, made a U-turn and pulled into the parking garage. "So, where do you want to eat?" she said in an artifically bright tone. "I guess we'd better make it a quick one in case something goes down soon."
"Just let me change my clothes!" Ken handed May out of the Cobra when Rally cut the ignition. "I've been wearing these since 4 A.M. and I feel grody."
Upstairs in May and Ken's room, Rally sat down on the bed. May refreshed her makeup in the bathroom while Ken laid out some of his equipment on the table. Although he had not brought any explosives on the plane, of course, he had a suite of bomb-detection and disarming devices. Rally picked up a vapor trace sniffer and examined it.
"You really getting legit jobs in New York, Ken?"
"Sure I am." He recalibrated a hand-held metal detector and grinned at her. "There's a market for my skills even if I didn't acquire them in law enforcement. I've been teaching bomb-disposal classes to cops and security companies. It's good consulting income and I'm getting rave reviews."
"That sounds great."
"Of course, I'll probably have to keep living there to keep that going. I have better connections in the Big Apple than I do in Chicago."
"Oh." Rally's mood sank a little. "Then May and the baby…?"
Ken leaned closer. "I'm going to ask her to set the date, and then come live with me in New York. I can support a family on the straight now, Rally. I want my wife and kid—I want a home. I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Rally tried to laugh, though her eyes filled with tears. "Sorry for what? Life marches on, Ken. I know she wants to be with you, and Junior's going to need his daddy. Far be it from me to mess with fate!"
"OK." He examined her with a compassionate expression. "I was worried that you'd try to talk her out of it. I know you two have been close for a long time…"
"Yeah, we have." Rally got up and crossed to the window, staring out at the sky. "Gunsmith Cats has been our life, and we did it together. We did everything together. But when May got pregnant…I knew that this was going to be our last operation as a team. It has to be."
"Not your last operation, though."
"Heck, no!" She laughed and turned back from the window. "I'm Rally Vincent, ace bounty hunter! I'm not ready to quit the biz! Are you kidding?"
"You're going to need a partner, though. Aren't you?"
Rally stopped laughing. "Maybe I will." Her eyes wandered away again.
"Someone who really knows his stuff. Someone who can back you up in any situation. A pro."
"What, you know someone whose resume fits the bill?"
"Sure I do. I think he might already have applied for the job." He quirked his lips.
"Ken…"
"I'll say no more."
"Better not." She mimed a punch to his jaw, smiling. The room phone rang and both of them jumped. The FBI? Usually Smith called her cell phone, not the hotel switchboard.
"Hello?" said Ken, picking it up. "Yes…uh huh. No, she's here." He handed the phone to Rally. "It's the front desk. They say they have a package for you."
"Huh?" She put the phone to her ear. "This is Rally Vincent."
"Ma'am? We tried your room, but you didn't answer, so I thought you might be with your friends. A courier dropped off a bag and said it was an urgent delivery. Are you expecting a package?"
"Uh…maybe I am." A package? Her heart began to race. Like a bomb? Or a decapitated head or two? "I'll come down for it. Don't touch it!"
"No, ma'am, I won't."
Rally dropped the phone. "Ken, bring some of that detection equipment. May, you stay here!"
"What is it?" May called from the bathroom. "Somebody left something for you?"
"I don't know. God, Sly Brown likes to send me packages by courier—maybe it's a necklace and brooch to go with those damn earrings!"
"Earrings?" May laughed. "Hey, Ral, did I ever tell you what happened to those sapphires…?"
"Later!" Rally and Ken left the room with a suitcase of his equipment and a tote bag.
In the lobby, the desk clerk showed them a large canvas duffel with a zippered top. "It came fifteen minutes ago, ma'am. I left it right where he put it."
"Where who put it?" Rally peered suspiciously at the duffel and ushered the clerk away. "He wasn't Asian, by any chance?"
"Uh…he could have been. Why?"
"Don't know yet. Ken, check it out!"
Ken put on a frag jacket, a pair of leggings, a chest and groin protector and a fiberglass helmet. He looked like an astronaut in olive drab and international orange. Rally and the clerk hung back while Ken placed a flexible containment ring around the duffel, careful not to touch it. He unfolded a thick Kevlar blanket to drape over the top.
"One thing I can say—it's probably not photosensitive, since he carried it in here in broad daylight." Ken knelt, lifted his helmet visor slightly and carefully smelled the air above the duffel before he placed the blast suppression blanket. "Huh—smells a little funny."
"Like dynamite funny? Or…uh, blood?"
"What?" The desk clerk looked alarmed and a small crowd gathered.
"Move back, people," said Rally. "Just taking precautions." She spread her arms and ushered everyone in the lobby to the rear exits. Most of them seemed more curious than frightened.
"No, not like that." Ken opened his case, brought out the sniffer and moved it slowly back and forth. "Sort of familiar…but I can't place it off the top of my head." Examining the LCD readout, he shook his head. "Nothing suspicious in the air. But if it was Semtex, it wouldn't show up. Too low a vapor pressure—i.e., it doesn't stink enough for the sniffer."
"Oh. Can I help you with any of this stuff?"
"Well, let's double-check." Ken scanned the duffel again with his metal detector. "Nope—that's negative too. Yes, you can help set up my digital X-ray imaging system. People, please move back. I don't want to accidentally sterilize anyone, OK?" He grinned and took out a laptop and a device that looked something like a chunky plastic utility flashlight with an offset handle.
Rally put the 'flashlight' in front of the duffel and then took another item, an eight-by-ten-inch imager with a flat black screen and a stand to keep it upright. Ken directed her to put it behind the duffel, and moved to the other side of the lobby with the laptop, paying out a long cable attached to the imager. After all the bystanders were out of range of the X-ray source, Ken set the system for a time delay of thirty seconds and jogged back to the laptop. A black and white image appeared on the screen after a short wait; he studied it carefully and fiddled with the keyboard. He sharpened the image, added false color, zoomed in and out. All he could generate was a vague picture of a heap of squared-off objects like children's blocks.
"No detonator in there. No blasting caps, no dynamite. X-rays went clean through. I don't know what this stuff in the duffel is, but it doesn't exactly make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up." Ken took off his blast helmet and scratched his chin in a meditative way. "I really don't think this is meant to go 'boom'."
"Are you sure?"
Ken shrugged and folded down the laptop. "As sure as I can be without picking it up and shaking it."
"All right. If I can't take your word for its safety, I don't know whose I could take, so I'll believe you!"
Ken packed up his equipment, folded up the blanket and ring and stuffed everything into the suitcase. He picked up the duffel and held it out. "Gee, it's heavy."
Rally took the duffel and headed for the elevator with the people in the lobby gaping at her. "We'd better open this in privacy."
"So what is it?" May gingerly opened the door for them.
Rally put the duffel in the middle of the floor and examined it. It did smell a little funny, sort of musty and chemical…like ink, perhaps? Unzipping the top, she looked inside. A number of brown-paper-wrapped bundles, sharp rectangles about eight inches by three.
"What the hell?" Ken leaned down. "Those bundles are the right size to be—"
Rally reached in and took one out. Staring at it for a moment, she tried to calm her racing heart. Who would have sent this to her? A great big bag full of…cash?
"Oh, damn you," she whispered, and tore the brown paper away from a brick of hundred-dollar bills. "You son of a bitch!"
"Money!" crowed May, grabbing a bundle herself.
"Hey! Hands off—this is MY package, remember?" Rally snatched the duffel up and dumped all the cash out on the table.
"There's a note," said Ken, pointing to a folded slip of paper tucked among the packages. Rally picked it up and glanced at the writing. A large, scrawling hand in pencil.
The last of it
B
"The last of it…" Rally sat down by the table.
May picked up the note and read it, her eyes wide. "'B'? As in…?"
Rally nodded, fighting the tremor in her voice. "You know what? I think I know exactly how much this is going to add up to."
A little while later, they walked into Smith's office, Rally and Ken carrying the heavy duffel between them.
"What the hell is that?" said Smith, putting down his phone. Empty take-out containers filled his trash can, and he had three half-full coffee cups at his elbow.
"It's a little something in payment of a debt." Rally upended the duffel on Smith's desk. "A quarter of a million dollars."
"Whoa!" he yelled, jumping up to avoid the avalanche of bills. A small mountain of cash spilled over his desk blotter and papers, a few bundles dropping off the edges and landing on the carpet.
Wojohowicz gaped. "Wow! I've hardly ever seen so much money all at once!"
"Oh, I have." Rally sighed. "It gets old."
"A quarter mil? As in, the dough you said you'd get for the FBI?" Smith picked up a bundle of hundreds and squinted at it. "I thought the safe deposit box had only about sixty grand in it."
"It did. We went to the bank and got it. Bean dropped off the rest at my hotel. It's everything he stole from me on the night of the fire, down to the last dime."
Smith stared at the bills, his eyes blank. "Then he's squared accounts." He tossed down the bundle he held.
"Yes, he has. With sugar on top. He doesn't owe me anything, by any stretch of the imagination."
"Well, damn. So much for that."
"So much for that." Rally folded her arms and squared her shoulders. "No word yet?"
"Nope."
"No suspicious activity spotted?"
"None. We've rechecked all the former Dragon hangouts and Brown's properties. Quiet as a grave. There's demolition work going on at the pier, of course, but that's authorized." Smith stepped outside and called for a couple of functionaries to pick up the cash and log it into evidence. "Man, we've made enough free seizures today to pay my budget halfway into the next millenium."
Rally frowned. "Was the pier really so badly damaged that it might collapse? I thought the front façade took most of the blast and fire."
"The structural engineer the owners hired thought it was a hazard." Wojohowicz glanced at Rally. "I saw the workers loading scrap onto a barge—it all seemed legit. You think we ought to investigate this more closely?"
"I just have a feeling about that place." Rally shivered slightly. "It gave me the creeps the first time I saw it…as if some awful things had happened there. The Dragon's Lair…I'm glad it's going down, frankly."
"If you say so. Why the feelings?"
"Maybe it's just remembering what went on that night—the shooting, the fire—and then…what happened later with Bean. I thought Brown had burned to death in there, and I thought I had killed Huang too. I don't know. Every time it gets mentioned, I feel like someone's walked over my grave." She stepped aside to let an FBI employee pick up cash from the floor.
"Superstitious?" Smith made a derisive noise. "You believe in ghosts, or that New Age crap?"
"Well, geez—"
"If the owners told the engineer to condemn the pier," put in Wojohowicz, "he'd do it, because they're paying his fee. As a matter of fact, we've got our suspicions about the holding company that has the deed. They leased it to the Dragons for years and never seemed to care what their tenants did with the place."
Smith frowned in thought. "The ghosts can fuck themselves, but I know you've got a nose for trouble, Miss Rally. We'll send out observers." He picked up his phone.
"I'll go get something to eat." May and Ken accompanied Rally to the cafeteria.
As they chewed on gristly corned beef sandwiches and potato chips, May patted Rally's hand. "Aw, cheer up! You got the FBI all the money you promised them and then some. You are smelling like a rose. Even Bean is acting like Mr. Right!" She giggled and looked at Ken. "If my dangerous man can go legit, there's hope even for the Roadbuster!"
"Grr, I'm dangerous," said Ken fondly. They rubbed noses.
"Hope?" Rally sucked loudly on her straw to startle them apart before they started kissing in front of her. "For Bean?"
"We'll be seeing him soon! The knight in shining armor appearing over the hill!"
"No, don't you see? He's paid all his debts, and he didn't even do it in person. He's gone, May. This was the final kiss-off." Rally tossed her empty milk carton into the trash. "There is nothing whatsoever to keep him in San Francisco—with twelve million brand new bucks to his name, give or take a lousy couple hundred thousand, he has other things on his mind."
"Oh, but…" sighed May. "I was hoping…"
"I know you were, sweetie. But honestly, what reason would he have to stick around? Anything he does now will only put me in his debt, and I don't think he wants to do that."
Ken shrugged. "That would be according to the street rules, yeah."
"You were a pro, so you ought to know." Rally crumpled her napkin. "That's how I have to figure it."
May looked disappointed, then brightened. "What if he's not counting it any more?"
"Huh?"
"What if Bean meant that this was the last thing he was ever going to keep count on? What if from now on, it's all on a different basis…like partnership or something? Or, uh, friendship?"
"I'm not partners with him."
"You are so! You shook his hand, remember? Did either of you ever say it was off?"
"May, he tried to kill us—"
"And then he apologized and did you all kinds of favors to make up for it, and you took care of him when he was hurt, and then he rescued me and Tiffany, and—Rally, he hasn't broken anything off! As far as he's concerned, you are partners! And more than that—God, Ral, if he's behaving this way, he must really be—"
"I'm going to go to the pier and help out," said Rally, her lips tight. "You two stay here and…be in love or something."
Dusk falling at about seven-thirty, the lights coming up across the bay. Rally sat in her FBI car with the windows rolled down. Parked in a pay lot that occupied the pier next to the Dragon's Lair, she had watched the demolition work for a while, occasionally raising a pair of binoculars to her eyes. Evening wind stirred her hair across her face and the last light of the sun glowed red on the East Bay hills. Below her, a few workers still toiled on a barge floating below the pier.
Long and narrow, it fit between the pilings, bumping against them with the rise and fall of the water. The workers had heaped scrap wood and metal six feet high along the length of the barge. She couldn't tell what they were doing now, since they weren't moving any new debris. They walked back and forth, inspecting the wreckage. One spoke into a walkie-talkie and seemed to listen to instructions.
Finally he nodded and clicked off. Beckoning to the others, he climbed a ladder to the walkway that ran along the side of the pier. Obviously it was quitting time. The workers all got into a van parked in the courtyard, padlocked the chain-link fence behind them and drove off.
Rally reached for her half-full take-out coffee and sipped it. It had gone cold about an hour ago. Perhaps she should knock off for the night too, though she wasn't a union construction worker. It was getting too dark to see much anyway, and she needed something to eat other than protein bars. She leaned forward and turned on her radio.
"Parabellum Princess reporting."
"Yeah?" That was Smith's voice. "This is Uncle Sam."
"No dice, as far as I can see. I think I'll blow out of here."
"You got relief coming, Princess. Hang on a minute until he gets there."
"Gotcha." Rally put down the handset.
Someone drove into the lot, stopped at the kiosk and parked near her. The driver got out and walked up to the side of her FBI car.
"Hey, kid."
She turned and met Roy's eyes.
"Hey." Rally made a slight face and hid it with the binoculars. "You're my relief?"
"Yeah." He stooped down and put a hand on the window frame. "I volunteered."
"Is that a fact?"
"I wanted to talk to you. I gather you are pissed off at me, Rally."
"You gather that, yeah."
"Because, says May, I told Bean that you had claimed he had assaulted you."
"Uh-huh."
Roy sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry for that."
"Are you?"
"I have been since I realized the truth." He looked across the bay at the hills, now fading to deep blue-gray. "Which was five minutes after I accused him, even though the way he proved his innocence forced me closer to killing a man in cold blood than I have ever come before. I'm not saying I like the guy, because God knows I don't, but I am aware that in that particular case he didn't do what I believed he had done. I told you that immediately, if you recall."
"Yeah, I guess you did." Rally let out a long breath and slumped in her seat.
"I'm not your dad. You've got a dad and you're an adult. I've never felt like you needed to be protected, anyway. You have street smarts and professional chops and a good head on your shoulders. You are more than a match for any common skip, and you've proved that over and over."
"But…?"
"But that guy is something else again. Bean Bandit is not some cheap punk on a bad bail ticket. If I've learned anything over the past week, I've learned not to underestimate him."
"Are you starting to have doubts about your opinion of him, Roy? I know I do." She pushed the passenger door open. "Come in and sit down."
Roy moved around the car and eased himself into the passenger seat. "Doubts? I realize he's not an abuser of women, even if he is an equal-opportunity street fighter. There are certain crimes he won't commit, and he's gone out of his way to help you lately. Smith seems to think highly of him, if I was going to give any weight to Smith's opinion. Maybe he's not the worst scumbag I ever heard of." Roy rubbed his chin and put a foot up on the dash.
"But you still try to pin anything on him that you possibly can. Like the missing drugs."
"Damn straight I do." Roy's jaw set. "I am a police officer. That man has committed more genuine crimes in my jurisdiction than you can shake a stick at. I am not inclined to think well of him no matter what he didn't do. The point is what he HAS done."
"I know it is." Rally sighed, her shoulders sagging. "Roy, I cannot make up my mind about the guy. I don't know what he is any more. I know what he used to be…but I keep believing that maybe he isn't the same now, for whatever reason. Maybe he's changing his mind about some stuff, or getting older and wiser, or…I don't know."
She thought about the way she had spoken to Bean as he lay on the hospital gurney, cold and white. And dead. About to come back to life…at her kiss.
She shook her head. "Then I call it wishful thinking and the whole thing starts over again. What the hell am I supposed to do?"
"The same thing I told you the day I got to Frisco. Be careful. Remember that people don't change that easily—at least, I know I don't change. I figured out my path in life a long time ago." He turned to look at her. "I hope you're going to figure yours out too. Soon."
"I think I had better keep my mind on my work and forget about Bean, that's what I should do. He is nothing but a distraction right now."
"He's a hell of a lot more than that, kid. He's the linchpin for this whole deal." Roy pointed a finger and swept it out in the direction of the pier. "I guess that's a big part of the problem. We have all had to keep him in mind every step of the way. It's impossible to count him out yet, even though I'm kind of glad you're making the effort."
"Yeah, he's a bad penny. Always turns up when you least expect him." She recalled the sound of his voice in the Dragon's parking garage. The look on his face as he drew her gun from the holster and dropped it into her hand. To cover his obligations… "And he leaves big piles of stuff around for you when you don't expect it either. I can't decide why he did that."
"You have Bean's number, right? His cell phone?"
"Of course," replied Rally in irritation. "It's programmed into the phone book on mine. It's not like I'm going to call it or anything."
"Why not, assuming he'll talk?"
"What good would that do? He is probably back in Vegas by now gambling away twelve million dollars. That might occupy him for a week or so."
"Gambling it away?" Roy's brows lowered.
"He gambled away most of what he stole from me—the money he returned to my hotel."
"Huh," said Roy.
"Oh, I'm exaggerating…he's set for life with twelve million bucks, and I'm sure he's as happy as a clam. That Dragon money is not going to burn a hole in his pocket—he'll hold on to it. He doesn't care about its source. Money is money, he says."
"Does he? Then why'd he gamble all the money he took from you?"
"Uh…I don't know. I asked him if he felt bad about stealing it, and he kind of grunted."
"You saying he drew a distinction? Because he had stolen from you?"
"Maybe." Rally looked away.
"So what have you seen while you've been here? Anything suspicious?"
"Not really." She felt a little of her tension release at the change of subject.
"Look down there," said Roy, peering out of the windshield. "What's that barge?"
"It's full of junk from the demolition work," said Rally. "They've been loading stuff and walking around checking it. I guess they're planning to haul the scrap wood away by water."
"Maybe so. But doesn't that seem like a slow way to take down a whole warehouse?"
"I'm not sure what choice they have—it's not like they can use explosives, because that would drop it into the water. I think California has enviromental impact laws and stuff."
"Yeah, that's a point." He looked over the edge again. "I don't know. The position doesn't look right, if they wanted to lower the scrap from the side of the pier."
"Oh?"
"I'm not a building demolition expert. But I'm thinking it ought to be tied up alongside the pilings, not pushed right under the deck like that."
Rally's skin prickled. "Gee. That is a little weird."
"It's only a detail…" Roy leaned forward. "But it's setting off your alarms too, isn't it?"
"In this place? Knowing that O'Toole could be behind it? You bet it is." Rally unlatched her door.
"I'll come with you."
"Thanks, I'll take you up on that. The workers have all knocked off for the night, or we could have asked them what they were doing." She pushed her car door open and got out. Roy radioed in and told Smith where they were going, then joined her.
In the growing darkness, they walked half a block to the gate in the chain-link fence. It ran between the two square buildings that flanked the entrance to the courtyard. That lay on solid ground, but the seawall dropped off after about twenty feet. Bare wooden decking continued for another twenty feet over the water before the remains of the warehouse façade began. The barge floated directly under that section of decking.
The bay heaved up and down in a thick, surging rhythm, sloshing against the concrete seawall. She could hear the water washing the pilings and draining from the clumps of barnacles that clung to their bases. The barge knocked against the pilings with a deep thumping sound. Her heart beat just as heavily, echoing in her ears. Even though Brown hadn't died here and she hadn't killed Huang with a stray bullet, many people had lost their lives in this place only a little while ago. Violence and death still hung in the dim air, a held breath like the pause before a dragon's fiery blast.
"I don't like this." Rally narrowed her eyes, trying to see into the darkness past the gaping maw of the warehouse. "I think I already said that this place gives me the creeps, but there's something about this setup…it's haunted house time."
"I know exactly what you mean." Roy glanced over his shoulder at the buildings on the other side of the street. Three-story brick warehouses flanked the street directly opposite, their white-painted windows like dim eyes. Similar buildings marched up the steep hill behind them. "And I also think we should call for backup before we get any closer. I wouldn't want to go in there without body armor and plenty of ammo. If there really is anyone lurking around here… "
Orange sodium-vapor street lights fizzled into life up and down the block, making Rally jump. "Yes. Let's get out of plain sight until we have some genuine firepower."
They walked quickly back to their cars, pulled out of the pier lot and drove several blocks north. Here the land leveled out somewhat, and they parked again on the street. Roy came over to Rally's car.
"Let me work the radio. You stand lookout." Rally nodded and slid out of the driver's seat. Roy talked to Smith and described the situation; Smith seemed amenable. He promised the bomb squad and a SWAT team within minutes, and dispatched the SFPD to block off the street.
"Let's hope Agent Hunter doesn't think I'm crying wolf again," said Roy with a groan.
"You think he will?"
"He gave me plenty of dirty looks after the bomb scare. I'm embarrassed as hell."
"Well…it's not every day someone leaves a whole cabin cruiser in front of the Federal Building! Better safe than sorry."
"Yeah," said Roy. "That's always been my motto."
"Clear the area." Agent Hunter looked directly at Roy. Another fire truck rumbled down the street, took a left and ascended the hill facing the Dragon pier. "All the streets are blocked off and we're evacuating the buildings. Luckily they're mostly warehouses and mostly empty at this time of night. There are police and fire crews here—everything's covered. We don't want any nonessential personnel getting in the way."
"Yeah, I got the hint. Get the hell out of here and let you do your job." Roy glared back at him and nodded to Rally. "C'mon, kid, let's go."
Rally folded her arms and didn't move. "I don't think so."
"Oh, give me a break. Why the hell would you want to stick around? You're not an explosives expert." Roy unlatched the door of his rental car. "If this thing ends up going boom, let the professionals take the rap and clean up the mess."
"I just want to observe. I'm not going to touch a thing."
"That's for damn sure," said Hunter. "You want to observe, fine, but do it from behind the tape." He pointed to a man unrolling a long strip of yellow plastic printed DANGER—DO NOT CROSS.
"Whatever." Rally glanced up the hill to scope a spot with a view of the scene.
"Then I'll stay and observe with you." Roy buttoned his jacket against the evening chill and walked alongside her as they retreated behind the police lines.
"What happened to 'better safe than sorry'"?" Rally ducked under the tape and jogged up the hill.
"Oh, I'm sticking to my guns on that one. Because I'd be real sorry if something happened and I wasn't there to keep you safe." His black beard twitched with his smile.
"Thanks, Roy." She gave his arm a quick squeeze.
At a flat intersection high above the waterfront, they stopped and turned around. Two police cars and a fire department paramedic van had circled the wagons there, blocking all the streets except the one that led down to the pier. The drivers remained at their wheels, but a couple of paramedics stood in the intersection, greeting Rally and Roy with nods.
"Christ, didn't we just clean up this shithole last week?" A stocky woman paramedic in full fire kit leaned against the side of the van and tilted up the brim of her helmet.
"Yeah, there was a bomb and a fire," said Rally. "Some people got shot, some got blown up. It was messy."
"Another bomb? Who's got such a grudge against this place?"
"Probably a man named O'Toole." Rally looked at the warehouses that marched down the hill below them. "I wonder where the hell he is…he's not real mobile right now."
"No?"
"He's in a wheelchair with one leg missing."
"That doesn't sound so dangerous."
Rally gave a short, snorting laugh. "Where he's concerned…you never know."
"Aw, shite."
O'Toole watched as Rally and Roy walked up the hill and passed out of his line of sight. "Leavin' before the party's right started? Spoilsports. Ah, well—ye'll be back again in no time when we give ye a holler, won't ye now? Not to worry."
He put his binoculars on the tray mounted to the arms of his wheelchair and took a long pull from his canteen. "Wish I had me a bottle of whiskey at hand…but then again, a dish like tonight's dinner goes down best when I'm stone cold sober."
A car came through the police lines and pulled up behind the bomb squad's van, Wojohowicz at the wheel. She and Smith got out and the squad leader jogged over to speak to them. Smith seemed to ask a question; the squad leader pointed up the hill in Rally's direction. She gave the agents a wave and turned back to the conversation she was having with the woman paramedic.
"So what's it like? When someone burns to death?"
"Oh, I dunno," said the paramedic, pursing her lips and shrugging. "You don't really wanna hear that."
"Look, I…it's something I've been afraid of for a long time. I guess you could say I have a phobia. If I knew more about it, maybe I—"
"Maybe you'd hate the idea even worse." The paramedic looked at her. "Honestly, it's not something you get used to, seeing a person burned to death. It bothers you more every time you see it, not less. I'm not saying you always barf at the smell—that part you do get over, because you have to if you're going to do the job—but learning more about all the ways people can die doesn't do anyone on this earth a damn bit of good. Somebody's got to clean up the mess, that's all. Someone's got to fix it up and make it better for everyone else."
Rally touched her holster through her jacket. "Yes, I know."
"There's a lot of pain in the world, and a lot of destruction. Things burn so easy. Whole houses go up in minutes, and people right along with 'em. I've helped carry families out of burned houses, like I said. I've put babies in body bags. A lot of the time, it didn't have to happen. Sometimes all they needed was a smoke alarm that would have cost 'em $9.95 at the hardware store, or all they needed was a fresh battery that would've taken two minutes to put in that alarm. For want of a nail, you know? Whole families dead because somebody didn't put that damn battery in the smoke alarm. Life is precious, lady, so enjoy it. Live it up while you can. Replace the batteries once in a while."
"That's good advice," said Roy.
Smith jogged up the hill, closely followed by Wojohowicz.
"Hey, you lazy bums. Just kicking back and watching the show, hey?"
"We got booted," said Rally.
"So what's the deal? Something in the barge, you think? What the hell good would that do anyone?"
"I don't know." Rally looked around at the emergency vehicles and the squads deploying along the waterfront. "It's turning into a big operation, isn't it? Loads of people watching the show. I can't help thinking…that this might be exactly what he wants."
"What, an audience?" said Roy.
"Yes, an audience. As if...I saw a photograph once in a history class. It was from the Vietnam War."
"From the 'Nam?" Smith looked interested. "What kind of photograph?"
"It was a man sitting on the ground…with flames roaring off him. I can't remember who he was or why it was happening, but I think he had set himself on fire. There were people all around." Rally's throat tightened and she looked down the hill at the pier.
"Oh, yeah," said Smith, nodding. "Buddhist monks. Crazy bastards. They'd sit down in the middle of a crowd with a can of gas and a match, and poof—monk barbecue."
Roy shuddered. "I was just a kid when that was happening, but I remember."
Rally made a sickened face. "Why did they do it?"
"They were protesting against the Saigon government. They certainly made an impression, you got to give 'em that."
"An impression?"
"Sure. Their enemies took all the heat, if you'll forgive the pun." Smith chuckled and stuck his hands in his pockets. "It's according to their religion. I wasn't in the 'Nam yet when this was going on, but I got there a little while after, so I heard a bit of talk. The bad karma turns around and bites your persecutors in the ass…or some shit like that. Whatever. It worked—the government fell."
"But that's awful! How could anyone pour gas on himself and light it?"
"Call 'em fanatics, or call 'em true believers. If you got beliefs, maybe you can do things you couldn't otherwise."
"Fanatics, huh? Maybe that's why this whole thing made me think of that photograph." Rally stared at the distant pier. Her stomach churned, but something seemed to solidify in her gut. A conviction, a determination. 426 might do anything in the service of the Eight Dragon Triad. He might do worse than she could imagine. But still she had to stand firm and fight for herself, for her friends, for what was right. It didn't matter how strong his hatred had grown. She had to be stronger.
"You're thinking about 426?" Smith pursed his lips. "You could have a point there. He sure would like to take us down, and I doubt his life's all that important to him. That's a man with convictions, and no mistake."
"How about you, Pete? Do you have convictions?"
"Sure I do. The Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and God Bless America." He patted a thick hand over his heart. "In my personal opinion, you can't do better than that."
"I might add the Ten Commandments," said Roy.
Smith did not glance his way. "You might do that if you cared to."
"What the hell are they doing?" said Rally, pointing down the hill. Floodlights from the police cars provided the only illumination, since the street lights had been turned off. Between the buildings that flanked the courtyard, she could see men moving around. Someone in a coverall strained at a pair of bolt cutters. The rest of the squad had deployed behind him.
"Recon, naturally. They said their bomb-sniffing robot couldn't climb over all the crap piled in the entrance, and the canine unit isn't available. So they're doing it the old-fashioned way."
"But—that demolition barge is right under where they're standing."
"Well, yeah—it's under the front of the pier. They have to walk over the front of the pier to get to the rest of it. Bomb squads don't fly, you know."
Rally's mouth dropped open. "But that's why we called them in! We told Agent Hunter that it looked strange. Because the barge was under the—"
"That jerk decided if I said it was a bomb, it couldn't possibly be a bomb." Roy folded his arms with a disgusted air.
"Gosh sakes, you think some out-of-town cop called his whole squad out for nothing in the not too distant past?" Smith rolled his eyes.
Roy's ears turned red. "What the hell does that have to do with—"
"I'm going down there to give him a piece of my mind." Rally stepped between the men as Smith opened his mouth to answer. "Even if he thinks it's a false alarm, rubbing it in like that is way out of line." She beckoned to Roy. "Want to help me chew him out?"
Turning away, she strode down the hill. Roy followed her after a moment, and they walked in silence for a block.
"Thanks." Roy sounded both relieved and ashamed. "Sorry I got a little hot under the collar there."
"You're welcome."
"Smith just gets my…well, the whole FBI does."
"I know. Look, Smith is not that bad a guy, really. He's got his prejudices, that's all. And he's a sarcastic SOB and a know-it-all and a little primitive about women in masculine professions, but all things considered…"
"I have considered them, kid." They came out on the street and walked to the police line. Roy raised the tape for her.
"Hey!" yelled a man suiting up in protective gear. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"We need to speak to Agent Hunter," said Rally. "Like, right now. Then we'll go on back up the hill and mind our own business." She ducked under the tape. Roy moved ahead of her as they walked between the flanking buildings.
"Let me handle it," said Roy. "I've cooled off now, I promise."
"If you say so." Rally glanced from side to side as they emerged into the courtyard. "Make it quick, OK? I'm not spending any more time down here than I have to. It's still spooky around this place, even when it's full of FBI people and fire engines."
She drew her CZ-75 and checked the levers. Cocked and locked, ready to go with the flick of a thumb. Right now, it seemed necessary to have the familiar weapon in her hand. Its weight anchored her to the moment.
"I know what you mean."
"I said, all non-essential personnel need to LEAVE THE AREA." Hunter glanced over his shoulder at them. "I believe I was pretty clear on that." The chain had been cut; the man with the bolt cutters moved back. Hunter shooed the other squad members aside and pushed the gate open.
Roy raised his voice. "Agent—"
Rally never heard what Roy was going to say.
Swimming back up to the surface of consciousness a few moments later. Her back was jammed against a wall. Roy lay half atop her, his knee angled painfully into her stomach. Splinters and nails rained down, striking and bouncing from the ground.
Propped up against the wall, a big ragged piece of wooden decking partially sheltered them from the falling debris. Her right hand dangled empty over Roy's hip. She had lost her gun. And also her hearing—her ears rang loudly. She shouted at Roy and heard nothing but echoes in her head.
Flames rose twenty yards in front of them, straight through the blasted decking. Something had blown a tremendous hole in the front of the pier. As far as she could tell in the dense cloud of smoke and dust that surrounded them, everything from the façade to the seawall was gone. And the men who had stood there. The flames soared higher, surging upwards. She knew they must be making a furious roar, but her throbbing deafness drowned it out.
Her face blistering from the heat, her breath searing in her throat, she tried to move. Her muscles felt like wet sand, but she managed to roll Roy aside and get to her knees. He lay face down, apparently knocked cold. Or worse. Too heavy—Rally couldn't raise him, couldn't carry him. Now that she was out from behind the piece of decking, the terrible heat began to sear every bit of exposed skin. Her scalp felt so hot that she wondered if her hair was smoking. She pulled her jacket over her head for an ounce of protection and kept heaving at Roy. She couldn't leave him here. Again she shouted into the silence, calling for help.
Two figures emerged from the smoke and scrambled over to them—a pair of firefighters in full kit and oxygen masks. One picked up Roy by the arms and then threw his limp body over his shoulder. Running heavily, he turned the corner of the building and vanished landward. The other firefighter put an arm around Rally and supported her as they followed. Rally caught a glimpse of Roy's face when his head lolled back. His beard and hair were scorched gray, his clothes charred.
Rally realized that he must have partially shielded her with his body, whether by accident or deliberately she could not know. Apparently she and Roy had been thrown backwards by the shock wave, which had saved them from being cooked alive. If they had continued forward by even a step, they might have been caught in the explosion itself.
"Roy!" she cried, still hearing nothing but echoes. "Oh, God—what happened?"
The firefighter with her turned his head and said something. Rally shook her head and pointed to her ears. They got across the street and took shelter behind a SWAT Humvee. Laying Roy gently down on the pavement, his rescuer took out a walkie-talkie and held it to his ear. Rally knelt beside Roy, her heart pounding.
Roy moved and seemed to be groaning—he was alive, at least.
"Roy?" Rally's hand hovered above his blistered face.
He groaned again, a terrible croak. "Need…water…" she made out from the movements of his lips.
"Get him some water!" she cried. "Get one of these ambulances! He's hurt!"
"Fockin' hell! Fockin' hell!"
"You set off the charges too soon, O'Toole." 426 bared his teeth at the cell phone. "They are alive? You have not killed her?"
"No, fock ye—I'm doin' me best, sir! Got the fockin' bomb squad, at least."
"They were little threat, having failed even to inspect the barge or detect the charges under the pier. I had alternative means to deal with them. You were too eager—the bomb was not meant to destroy the bounty hunter, but to keep her inside once she had entered."
"So me finger was a mite bit itchy on the button! Can ye blame me?" O'Toole tore at his hair with his free hand. "Who was to know she an' her cop boyfriend were goin' to cross the ground themselves? I couldn't pass up th' opportunity! Anyway, the fockin' bomb squad was—"
426 let out a sigh. "True enough: I know very well that you have no patience or restraint. However, you have not eliminated the squad. There are several relatively whole men on the pier. From their screams, they are not yet dead."
"Can't see 'em from here." O'Toole raised his binoculars. "The smoke's not cleared yet. But they'll make no trouble."
"Possibly not. Indeed, they may be useful." 426 narrowed his eyes in thought. "Yes, once the authorities realize they must make a rescue and that the land access is cut off, they will call in air and water support."
"That's a bit earlier than we counted on, ain't it?"
"It is. All the better to deal with it as quickly as possible." He made an evaluative grunt. "It is well, but do not improvise further without my express orders."
"Yes, sir. How's she catchin', by the way?"
"In about half an hour, the pier will be fully involved. The bounty hunter will have little time to make a decision, and will therefore throw away caution. The outcome is inevitable."
"That's how ye wanted it, sir."
"That is how I wished it, yes." 426 drew a deep breath, inhaling the scent of blazing wood. "I will watch her face as she dies; I will see her eyes melt from her skull and close my own eyes to await the next life. I have made her a pyre to share with me. She will burn."
