P Deutermann - The Moonpool

“I’ve been reading about people turning pythons loose in the Everglades,” I said. “That’s kind of a scary thought.”

“That will be interesting, over time,” he said. “Depending on the species, they never stop growing.”

“A threat to a human?”

“Not in the sense that a python can eat a fully grown human. But a big one can surely kill you if you happen to encounter him in or near the water. They prey on monkeys a lot. Catch one drinking from a pond or a stream, grab its face and pull its nose underwater. Then they wait.”

“How big is big?”

“A Burmese can be six to seven meters,” he said. “A hundred fifty kilos, maybe more. They have prehensile tails-always attached to something. Their teeth are an inch long and they slant backwards, so if they achieve a solid bite, you’re not going anywhere. With both ends secured, they throw coils around you. That much weight, you can’t stand up. Once down, they just lie there. When you inhale, they do nothing. Every time you exhale, though, they squeeze. Pretty soon you can’t inhale. Like one of those goddamned seat belts in the backseat-the ones made for baby seats? Every time you lean back, it tightens and locks? Just like that.”

“Lovely thought.”

“Yeah, well, a primitive being can be scary. You know, it’s an artifact from the Pleistocene. And then it moves. You’re wondering why I called you.”

“Yup,” I said, glad to get off the subject of snakes. I don’t much care for snakes.

“Ms. Luscious behind me turned in the badges and TLDs for your two sidekicks, which tells me two things: They’re smarter than you are, and they’ve probably gone back to West Bumfuck, North Carolina.”

“That’s Triboro to the inhabitants,” I said.

“But you’re still here.”

“So I am.”

“Which means Quartermain’s got you doing some shit.”

I didn’t respond. He seemed to have all the answers so far. He leaned back in his chair. Samantha was looking bored, but I noticed she’d changed chairs, which put her one foot closer to us, either for some protection against all the barroom cowboys or to hear better over the jukebox. Trask was obviously waiting for me to say something.

“He does,” I said. “But I have to do it solo, without any help from anyone at Helios. If it’s any comfort, I do not intend to come creeping around the perimeter at night with fence cutters and a bag of grenades.”

“So you said,” he replied. “Too bad-we do grenades.” Then he was serious again. “Okay, here it is,” he said. “You’re on my radar. I’m pretty sure you’re not a bad guy, so I’m not here to tell you how bad things could go for you or any of my usual horseshit. But know this: There may be other players in whatever game Quartermain has going. I’m guessing he wants to use you as a Red Team. Private PI as agent provocateur. If that’s the case, you would do well to have me as an ally.”

“Unless you’re the subject,” I replied, just to throw some shit of my own into the discussion.

He was startled. “The subject?” he asked.

“As in, subject of interest. The target of an investigation. The objective of some kind of play. The individual under surveillance. It’s a law enforcement term.”

He blinked at that. He’d supposedly done tours with the military police. He had to know the usage of that word, so his question had been a stall for time. I decided to press him a little.

“As to other players in the game,” I continued, “I have to assume the feds have at least one agent under, if only because Quartermain would want to cover all his bets and his ass. You know, the Roman emperor’s wistful question: Who guards the guards?”

I waited, but he just sat there, staring at me.

“Actually, though,” I continued, “that’s not my real problem.”

“What is your real problem, then?”

“I think some evil fuck killed one of my people,” I said.

“That was probably a coincidence.”

“There are no coincidences,” I said. “First rule of homicide.”

He looked away, ostensibly taking in the dance floor scene, but thinking now. He still hadn’t even so much as said hello to Samantha, a woman he knew and probably the most attractive female in the town that night. Suddenly I thought I understood-Samantha’s being there was no coincidence, either. I heard noises out there in the woods.

“There’s one more thing,” he said finally. “Billy.”

“Oh, dear. Billy.”

“Yeah, well, he was a holdover from the previous security director. Cousin of somebody’s mama, I think. Local Southport boy. Once I started bringing my people in, he sort of stood out, and not in a good way. I told you he wouldn’t be a problem, but I may have been wrong about that.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

He smiled. “I guess I expected you to say, Bring it on. I can handle that young punk, et cetera, et cetera.”

“I can handle Billy if I see him coming,” I said. “I can’t handle Billy if he’s a long-gun kinda guy.”

He nodded. “That is very good thinking,” he said. “The good news is that he’s not a shoot-from-the-weeds kinda guy, in my opinion. The bad news is that he’s been running his mouth, and he said if he couldn’t get to you, he’d get to your furry friends. So be careful out there, okay?”

My new best friend, I thought. “Thanks again for the warning.”

“Warnings,” he said. “As in plural.”

“I’ll give you this much, Colonel. If I detect a clear and present danger to your vital area, I will most definitely let you know.”

He nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “Back at you.”

He finished his drink, dropped some cash on the table, gathered his jacket, and got up. This time he did acknowledge Samantha, and she waved back at him over the shoulder of a large man who was sporting a half-dozen dangling Helios badges and trying to score a dance. I decided this was a great time to make my creep before one of the hefties at the back of the bar asked me to dance. I rehooked Frick, went over to the bar, and settled up. Then we left.

I let Frick run around for a minute in the parking lot and then jumped her into the back of the Suburban, fired it up, and drove out of the lot. I went slowly around the block, drove back into the lot, and parked in a dark corner where I could watch Harry’s front door. I dropped the windows and settled in to wait. Sure enough, about two minutes later, out came Samantha. She was still clutching that purse in her left hand like a football and talking on a cell phone. She looked around the parking lot, as if checking for lurking muggers or rapists.

I didn’t move, and I didn’t think she’d seen me. She then walked over to a plain vanilla Ford and got in. The phone conversation went on for a few minutes, and then she signed off. She pulled the rearview mirror over, checked her makeup, then lit the car off, backed out of her parking space, and drove directly over to where I was parked and pulled in, nose to tail. She smiled at me as she rolled down her window.

“It was the purse, wasn’t it,” she said.

I nodded. I’d seen too many just like it under the arm of just about every female FBI agent I’d ever met. Compact, hard leather, big, easily accessible snap, and perfect for a concealed weapon. Some of them even had springloaded pouches, so all she had to do was unsnap the purse, hit the butt of the weapon with her open hand, and go to town.

“You think Trask knows?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “He’s too busy trying to pretend he doesn’t notice that glorious bod of yours. It’s a military thing, I think-if the troops are all salivating and acting like teenagers, the colonel should remain aloof.”