Butterfly Stomp Waltz

Chapter 19

19

We take separate paths down to this little inn Rob knows about, just short of Portugal’s southern coast. I wouldn’t exactly call it rancid. Or festering. Not quite. It does have a few points to recommend it.

One: the overly unctuous, unpleasantly oily owner happily exchanges a few folded euros for anything we want—probably including bootleg kidneys and weaponized Ebola, if we ask. Jacka backs the Caddy and the Beemer into the disused dairy barn behind the place, out of sight. There’s lots of room around both, so we can escape in a hurry. The only car in the dirt lot is the owner’s minivan, gangrenous with rust. Rob rents the inn’s whole top floor, three tiny bedrooms with a larger shared room.

Two: on the other side of the neglected two-lane road there’s this six-foot white fence separating Sir Noah’s estate from the peasants.

And three: Senhor Unctuous leaves us alone to check our equipment and plan.

As the sun squishes against the horizon, we’ve gathered in the common room. We have a plan. Our equipment is prepped. Clothes, laid out on cramped uncomfortable-looking beds. The next few hours are for relaxing.

The common room is furnished in late Salvation Army Reject. (Do they even have the Salvation Army over here?) Rob sprawls on the ratty gray couch, head on an armrest, feet on the far cushion. He’s lost the fancy suit’s jacket, but he still has a thin red tie impeccably knotted around his neck. He hasn’t bothered to remove his shoes, and frankly, I wouldn’t either. Looking at the cushion, his toes might catch something.

Bradley’s in this tall scuffed green leather wingback chair, its side patched with duct tape, her feet resting on an abused ottoman, ankles crossed. Her head’s tipped to the side. I think she’s snoring.

Jacka’s sitting ramrod-straight on the other couch. He’s still in the overpriced suit, but he ditched both jacket and tie. He’s doing his very best to study his k****e, one of the old models with a physical keyboard, but every few minutes his eyes twitch over at me.

I’m doing my pre-raid stretching. At the moment, it’s the splits. The carpet is even grungier up close—they must not have rented out this floor for weeks. Months, maybe. The open windows and the constant breeze help blow out the mustiness and the tint of mold, but really eliminating the smell would take a flamethrower.

My thighs and hips burn after the long car ride. After the splits I have another half dozen stretches. Probably another hour. We don’t start getting ready for at least an hour and a half.

Jacka’s eyes flicker at me. He yanks his attention back to his book.

It’s annoying, but I can’t really blame him. A guy probably can’t even see someone doing the splits without imagining his tackle stretched on the rack. Men are weird that way.

Stretching doesn’t take all my concentration, so I have my tablet to catch up on news. Freelance contractors have to keep up on world events. The last thing you want to do is blindly accept a gig to, say, raid a third-world oil refinery the day after its country explodes in revolution. You have to know enough to charge the insurrection surtax up front. If I get through the news soon enough, I’ll catch up on some comics. Maybe even try the new Hellblazer, though it isn’t the same since the reboot. I haven’t been able to read anything for fun since Newcastle. Maybe now that I’m moving, now that I’m aimed at the selfish bastard behind Deke’s death, that can change.

So I’m scrolling through my news feed when a headline catches my eye.

The bold type sparks a blaze of rage through me.

My vision actually turns a little bit red. My pulse abruptly hammers my temples. If I wasn’t stretched so far out, I probably would have jumped in the air. Instead, this feral angry twitch ripples through me and I shout “f**k!”

I clamp my teeth together to prevent another outburst. This is not the time.

Rob is instantly alert, and Jacka stops pretending to read and looks right at me. Bradley needs half a second to jerk to full consciousness.

“What has happened?” Rob says.

I try to answer, but if I open my mouth another obscenity is going to explode out. I force myself to empty my lungs and breathe deeply through my nose, trying to bank the all-consuming rage. Not now, I think. Save this for when you need it.

You are going to need it. I promise.

It’s another breath before I can say, “Today’s headlines. ‘Newcastle Biologics Announces Sickle Cell Treatment Breakthrough.’”

Rob immediately looks sympathetic. “Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry.”

Jacka and Bradley glance at each other, at Rob, and at me in bafflement. “Excuse me?” Bradley says.

Jacka and Bradley know Deke is dead. But they don’t know the details.

Rob looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Shall I explain it?”

I grit my teeth. I don’t want this out. I don’t want anyone to know. If I’d been able to contain myself, nobody would know anything.

But it’s relevant.

And if anyone’s going to say how wunderkind Beaks got played, though, it’s going to be me.

“Deke died raiding Newcastle Biologics.” My words are clipped and short. “I thought we fried their research network. Apparently not. But Noah used that as an excuse to seize control of Newcastle.”

“They have multiple labs,” Rob says. “I am certain you destroyed the one.”

“I got a tip a few days later.” My muscles shudder with adrenaline and anger. If I hold the stretch while I’m so furious, I’m going to tear something. Grimacing, I lean back to rotate my legs out in front of me, adding annoyance to anger. “The research company Butterfly Star was keeping its research secret. Federally-funded research. On sickle cell disease. They’d had breakthroughs.”

Jacka shook his head. “Bait.”

“Yeah.” Embarrassment added to fury burns my face red.

Bradley looks between Jacka and I. “Bait?”

“Miss Salton here has this problem with the plutocracy,” Jacka says. “If a wealthy person wants to piss her off, keep a world-changing secret. Like a cure for a disease that affects poor black folks.”

“That’d annoy me too,” Bradley says.

“When she gets annoyed,” Jacka says, “she sets bear traps. With napalm.”

“And I took it,” I say. “I swallowed the hook.”

I can’t say the next part—it’s not mine to tell. I give Rob a hint of a nod and he comes to my rescue. “That’s where Beaks and I collided. I was engaged to retrieve that same data from Butterfly Star, eliminate any competition, and perform a blow-out. I had a full ensemble, but Beaks was single-handedly reenacting Die Hard.”

“I thought I was more Catwoman, myself,” I say. It’s a feeble joke, but it blunts my blazing passion.

“You were set up to take her out,” Bradley breathes.

“Jack Noah was the patron. He attempted to double dip,” Rob says.

“I got the data,” I say.

Rob says, “And helped me fulfill part of my contract.”

“I released the data into the Internet,” I say. “I thought someone would make use of it.”

Jacka shakes his head. “And someone did.”

My jaw is so tense it’s hard to talk. “The bastards who set us up. He won if Rob stole the data. He won if I copied the data. The building got blown out. We gave Noah everything he wanted.”

Bradley says, “Yeah, this guy needs to go.”

I skim the article. “Noah takes over as chairman of the board. Announces this himself. It’s like he thinks he’s Lex Luthor or something. No real details, though. Expects drug tests later this year.” I flick the screen off. “Pretty much just a sunshine enema.”

Jacka snorts at that.

“Beaks, you have every right to be upset,” Rob says. “I’m quite displeased myself. But at this moment, anger is counterproductive. We’re shorthanded. We need you calm. Collected. Ice-cold and ready for work.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. But it’s hard to admit that out loud. Fortunately, my rage aims me where we need to go. “Fine.”

I’m tighter now than I was after the drive here. I shake my shoulders to relax them, then sink back into the splits. I leave the tablet alone to focus on breathing deeply and slowly.

Just like Deke taught me.

Bradley settles back in her chair, expression thoughtful. Rob sinks back onto the couch, already completely relaxed.

Jacka watches as my legs inch outward, naked amazement on his face. I’ve just settled my thighs into the carpet when he shakes his head and stands. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up when we’re about to set hell loose.”