Part 7 (2/2)

”Sure. If you don't, what've I got to look forward to, except slopping out this greasy spoon's kitchen and a cot at the halfway house?” He shook his head. ”That, and just waiting for something, I don't even know what it is, that'll never happen. I'll pa.s.s.”

That didn't surprise me. Maybe I'd known it from the beginning, when I'd first met him here beside the garbage dumpster and we'd started talking.

And maybe that was why I hadn't been totally surprised, when the whole business at the hospital with Stinson had turned out to be a setup, something that he and his buddy Perry had cooked up at my expense. Because if it didn't go off the way they'd planned, he'd still get what he wanted. What he wanted more than anything.

”No . . .” I shook my head. ”You're not pa.s.sing on anything.” I tucked the .357 back inside my jacket. ”I'm not letting you off the hook.”

He gazed long and hard at me, as my words sank in.

”I'm not doing anything,” I said. ”Except my Plan A. I'm just going to start up my bike and head on out of here.” I tightened the straps of Dalby's backpack. ”And I'm going to leave you here, just the way you were. And just the way you're going to be.” I snapped the buckle of the waist belt together. ”Because that's just how cold I am.”

He nodded, almost in appreciation. ”That's cold, all right.”

”If you hadn't p.i.s.sed me off so bad, I might've helped you out. And . . .” I turned and slung my leg over the Ninja's seat, getting into riding position. ”If you ever find some other way to screw around with me, maybe I'll change my mind.”

”That's not likely to happen,” said Mason. ”Let's face it I'm a tame rat. An old one, too. This was pretty much my last chance to screw around with anybody.”

”Probably so.” I started up the engine, feeding it enough throttle to rev it into a high whine. ”Keep it that way.” I picked up the helmet he'd bought for me and slipped it on, visor up. ”Or don't.”

I turned the bike around and headed out of the empty parking lot.

I didn't look back.

TEN.

”Now do you want to talk?”

They had been waiting for me the guys in the fake paramedics van. Again, out on the street near the strip mall. They just wouldn't give up.

With my fists gripping the Ninja's handlebars, I looked over at Jerry behind the van's steering wheel. ”I'm not really in the mood,” I said. ”Lot's happened ”

”Yeah, we know.” Jerry nodded. ”Look the situation's changed. It was bad enough before, but now it's worse. We know what happened at the hospital ”

”I don't think you do. You weren't there.”

”Actually . . .” He leaned out the driver's-side window. ”We were. Okay, maybe not inside the hospital, but we saw what happened outside. With the window getting shattered, and the guy falling out ”

”He didn't feel a thing. At least, not by the time he hit the pavement.” I reached inside my jacket and pulled the .357 partway out, just enough to remind these people of what I was carrying. ”You, on the other hand, might not be so lucky.”

”We're willing to take the chance.”

”That's great for you,” I said. ”But why should I?”

”Hey.” The guy looked genuinely hurt. ”We should be friends really. Who do you think switched off the security cameras at the hospital?”

”Wait a minute. You did that?”

”Piece of cake.” Now he was visibly pleased with himself. ”All we needed was a late-night coffee shop with a Wi-Fi connection, and we're in. My buddies and I were hacking into those kinds of systems back when we were in junior high. The two-bit company that runs the service won't be able to switch it back on until they trace the server we patched everything to. It's in Uzbekistan good luck with that.”

”Okay . . .” I eyed him suspiciously. ”So why?”

”I told you we should be friends. We're on your side.”

I mulled it over, while we were waiting for the light to change. I wasn't falling for that bit about being friends, but still. They'd said something before, about what was in the bag I was carrying. Maybe they knew, maybe they didn't but given everything that'd gone down, it was probably worth finding out.

”Okay.” I raised a hand and pointed to the side of the street, a couple blocks farther on. ”Pull over.”

”Here's the deal,” said Jerry. ”It's a contest.”

We were sitting in the van, parked on the street, with my motorcycle pulled up behind. It was a little cramped in the van's otherwise empty cargo area, with three of us sitting there. Dalby's backpack was between my shoulders and the rear doors, in case I needed to beat a hasty retreat. The .357 rested in my lap, my hand poised on its crosshatched grip.

I ignored what he'd just said. ”Where's the rest of your little outfit?”

”We dropped 'em off back at the motel,” said the other one. ”We didn't want you to feel like we were ganging up on you.”

”Wouldn't have mattered. So . . . a contest, you said?” I looked over at the little battery-powered lantern in the middle of the floor. ”Correct me if I'm wrong, pal, but people get into contests for fun. That's my understanding. And believe me, in this whole business, I haven't had any fun yet.”

”Well, it all depends upon how you consider it ”

”I consider almost getting killed as pretty serious. Especially when I'm just trying to do my job for which I'd get paid. For me, that's the real serious part. Just the kind of girl I am.”

”This isn't going well.” The guy sitting cross-legged next to Jerry shook his head. ”I don't even know why we're talking to this person.” He had been the one in the pa.s.senger seat, when the van had pulled up next to me at the stoplight. ”We're going way off plan here.”

”Look, just let me handle it, okay?” Jerry turned back toward me. ”You'll have to excuse my partner Simon. He's not really into improvising.”

”You need to be.” When I looked straight into Simon's moist blue eyes, my gaze made him flinch, Asperger's-style. ”That's my free advice. If I couldn't roll with the punches, I'd be dead by now.”

Simon didn't say anything, but just looked moody and disgruntled.

”Could we get back on track?” I raised the .357 from my lap, just for emphasis. ”You said you had something to tell me something about what I'm delivering ” With my other hand, I tugged on one of the shoulder straps of the backpack still slung behind me. ”And, yeah, I really would like to hear that bit. But not enough to put up with this c.r.a.p.”

”Sure.” Jerry made a visible effort to simmer himself down. ”But I told you already. It's a contest.”

”And I take it that's the way Dalby set it up from the beginning?”

Jerry nodded. ”Pretty much.”

It was my turn to simmer, at least inside myself. Now I was seriously p.i.s.sed off I hate it when the people I'm working for think it's okay to lie to me. About exactly what the job is, that I'm doing for them. If they'd just be straight up and honest with me, things would nearly always go better for them and me. But when they didn't tell me the truth, that something else was going on, that meant two things. One, I was more likely to stand a chance of getting killed. And two, they seriously underestimated me. Like I wouldn't find out somehow, about their sneaky c.r.a.p. Of the two, that was the one that really annoyed me.

”And the contest,” I continued after a moment, ”is that I am supposed to try and get this package up to San Francisco, and you're supposed to stop me from making the delivery? That's it?”

”No.” He shook his head. ”The contest doesn't have anything to do with you well, yeah, it does, but not like that. The contest is between the Alpha Team and the Beta Team. You're just sort of the football between us.”

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