Terrapin Sky Tango

Chapter 9

9

I crouch on the road with the box between my knees and count the bonds myself, the growing heat reflecting from the concrete encouraging me to hurry. Maybe Baywater’s men had paid off the police, but the longer we stay in this wasteland the more likely it is someone will drive past. Stabbity Joe watches insouciantly. He must know that Deke has a sniper rifle trained on him, but he doesn’t seem to give a damn.

Candy moves to retreat to the van, but Stabbity Joe tells her to close up the cello and wait.

A couple moments later I stand. My shins almost feel burned by a few moments on the road. “Everything seems good. Satisfied?”

Stabbity Joe relaxes a hair. “Yeah. Good enough.” His lips tighten. “I don’t like being drawn into a fight, y’know.”

“I get it. I had to know you weren’t the leak, though. I agreed to hand this over to your boss, not back to Baywater. But—” I let my lips hint at a smile. “I have to admit it. That last throw? In the guy’s ear? That was pretty sweet.”

Stabbity Joe huffs out a breath. “You think flattery solves things?”

“If it gets me out of here without a knife in my sinuses?”

He coughs a laugh.

“Besides,” I say, “that was a real good throw.”

Stabbity Joe gives a nod. “And nobody cowers behind a cello case like you do.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks.” I heft the box.

Beside Stabbity Joe, Candy shifts her weight from one foot to another. Her big eyes study me. She’s still got her weight on the balls of her feet, ready to leap aside when the bullets start flying.

I meet her gaze. “You did good too.”

She licks her lips. For half a second her lipstick blooms fire engine red, then fades as the heat pillages its moisture.

I hate that she’s terrified.

If things with Father had worked out differently, if I hadn’t escaped my childhood home at fifteen, I could have been her: what Pratchett called a “lady of negotiable affection,” working the nighttime streets with makeup caked over my bruises.

I glance over at Stabbity Joe. He’s put his knives away. He can get them quickly, but he’s not going to reflexively spear my pineal gland if I twitch wrong, so I fumble at the top of the box. “Here,” I say, taking a step towards her.

Stabbity Joe’s eyes raise.

I pull the top two bearer bonds from the box. They’re printed on heavy linen paper, with gold illumination and ink so black that it could have been squeezed from the soul of a corporate pirate at the end of a long happy life hijacking widows’ pensions. “I don’t know what kind of trouble you have.” I hold the bonds out towards her. “But maybe this can get you out. Go back home. You’ve got to have family somewhere? Old friends?”

Candy looks at the papers. Her brow furrows. “What are those?”

“Bearer bonds.”

Her lips turn down in puzzled fear.

“Sign them,” I say. “You can turn them into cash at any bank.”

Her eyes grow wide at bank, and she retreats half a step. “Uh, thank you, but—I mean—like—”

Maybe she has too many warrants out? “It’s okay.” I tuck the bonds away. Stabbity Joe’s got this calm, curious look on his face, so I sigh and set the box between my feet. “Look.” I fumble in my pocket for my tiny wallet. “Here’s…five, six…six hundred and twenty…seven dollars.”

Candy looks at the outstretched money and glances over at Stabbity Joe.

Stabbity Joe’s face has that careful arrangement that says he’s trying not to laugh. “Fine with me. I’ll still pay you.”

“Just take care of yourself,” I say. “Get yourself out. That’s a bus ticket, it’s gas, it’s something.”

Candy’s shoulders shake a little, then her hand snaps out to snatch the money. The bills disappear into her generous cleavage.

Maybe I can’t change what happened with Father. Or with Lou.

But perhaps, just perhaps, I can change Candy’s life.

Probably not.

But I’m going to hang tight to “perhaps.”

“You are a softy,” Stabbity Joe says, but without rancor.

“Only when it matters,” I say.

He looks at my face, glances at Candy, then studies me another minute. “Fine.” One hand extracts his wallet. “Here’s the money I owe you.” He offers Candy a sheaf of bills. “And here’s an extra…” He flips bills with a calloused thumb. “Four hundred and ninety-one. Call it hazard pay. And yeah, get out. You have human rights and all that s**t. Use them.”

“Careful, Joe,” I say as Candy snags the bills. She doesn’t quite have enough cleavage to store the loot, so she stuffs the rest into one of those tiny pockets in her shorts. “People will think you’re going soft.”

“Hardy har har.” His eyes grow hard. “If they do, I’ll know who blabbed.”

I crouch to hoist the box. “Won’t hear it from me.”

“I believe we’re done.” Joe takes a step back towards the car.

My lips are scorched. I want to lick them, but my tongue is almost as parched. “Before you go.”

Joe pauses to raise his eyebrows.

I glance back at my destroyed rental car, then at the miles of desolate undeveloped desert between us and the distant white wall that marks the edge of civilization. “Any chance of a lift?”