Jeffrey Lindsay - Dexter is delicious

Nobody said anything at first. It was one of those moments when the words were hanging in the air, and everybody knew what the individual words meant, but we couldn't quite get them mentally strung together to mean what we thought they meant. The elevator hurtled downward. I looked up at Alana. My eyes were just about at her chin, and I had a very good view of her necklace. The pendant actually was an ankh, as I had guessed. It was slightly elongated and came to a point that was sharp enough to puncture skin. I wondered if she had any scars from it. And although I really don't know a lot about diamonds, even up this close it looked real, and it was very large.

Of course, Deborah didn't have my view of the jewelry, so she recovered first. "What the hell does that mean?" she said.

Alana looked down her nose at Deborah. Naturally, from her great height she would have to, but there was more to it than that. She gave Debs that look of condescending amusement that only the Brits can really master, and said, "What would you like it to mean, Sergeant?" And she made «sergeant» sound like some kind of funny insect, which was not lost on my sister. She blushed.

"I mean, is that supposed to be some kind of tease, to watch us little people squirm, like some kind of game?" Deborah said. "Why the fuck would you say you know where he is, when we both know you won't tell me?"

Alana looked even more amused. "Who says I won't tell you?" she said.

Deborah stepped to the side and slapped at the big red button on the elevator's control panel. The elevator jerked to a stop and outside the car a bell began to ring.

"Listen," Deborah said, stepping right up into Alana's face — or her neck, anyway. "I don't have time for bullshit games. I got a girl out there whose life is in danger, and I think Bobby Acosta has her, or at least knows where she is, and I need to find her before she gets killed. If you know where Bobby is, tell me. Now. Or you're coming to the detention center with me on a charge of withholding evidence of a murder."

It didn't seem to impress Alana. She smiled, shook her head, and leaned past Debs and pushed the button. The elevator lurched into motion again. "Really, Sergeant," Alana said. "You needn't threaten me with your whips and chains. I'm happy to tell you."

"Then quit jerking me around and tell me," Deborah said.

"Joe has a property that Bobby's quite fond of," she said. "It's rather large, over a hundred acres, and completely deserted."

"Where?" Deborah said through her teeth.

"Did you ever hear of Buccaneer Land?" Alana said.

Deborah nodded. "I know it," she said. So did I. Buccaneer Land used to be the greatest amusement park in South Florida, and we had both been there many times as young children, and loved it. Of course, we were yokels back then who didn't know any better, and when an overaggressive mouse opened a place north of us, we realized how hokey Buccaneer Land was. So did everyone else in South Florida, and Buccaneer Land closed shortly afterward. But I still had a few memories of the place.

"That closed years ago," I said, and Alana looked at me.

"Yes," she said. "It went bankrupt and sat there for ages, and finally Joe bought it up for pennies. It's a very good piece of commercial property. But he hasn't done anything with it. Bobby likes to go there. Sometimes he turns on the rides for his friends."

"Why do you think he's there?" Debs said.

Alana shrugged, an elegant gesture that was somehow another put-down. "It makes sense," she said, sounding like she hoped Deborah knew that word. "It's empty, completely isolated. He likes it there. And there's an old caretaker's cottage on the property he's kept fixed up." She smiled. "I believe he takes girls there from time to time."

The elevator thumped to a stop. The doors slid open and a dozen people began to stampede inside. "Walk me to my car," Alana said above the crowd, and she moved forward through the pedestrians with absolute confidence that they would melt away at her approach. Somehow, they all did.

Deborah and I followed her, not quite so easily, and I took an elbow to the ribs from a large middle-aged woman, and then had to stop the closing door with my hand before I managed to get off the car and into the building's lobby. Debs and Alana were already at the far side of the lobby, walking briskly toward the door to the parking garage, so I had to hurry to catch up.

I caught them just as they were pushing through the door to the garage and heard the tail end of what sounded like a rather querulous question from Deborah. "… supposed to believe you?" she was saying.

Alana moved briskly through the door and into the parking area. "Because, ducks," she said, "Bobby is jeopardizing everything I have worked for."

"Worked?" Deborah said scornfully. "Isn't that kind of a strong word for what you do?"

"Oh, I assure you, it's work," Alana said. "Starting at the beginning, with My Recording Career." She said the words like they were the title of a foolish and boring book. "But believe me, a musical career is very hard work, especially if you have no talent, like me." She smiled fondly at Debs. "A great deal of it involves fucking terribly unpleasant people, of course. I'm sure you'll grant me that that isn't easy."

"A lot harder than turning in your own son, I guess," Debs said.

"Stepson, actually," Alana said, totally unfazed. She shrugged and stopped beside a bright orange Ferrari convertible parked by a No Parking sign. "Bobby and I never really got on, no matter what Joe thinks. And in any case, as you so cleverly pointed out, with Joe's money and influence intact, Bobby will certainly walk away from this. But if this situation is allowed to escalate, we could lose all that. And then Bobby will serve hard time, Joe will neglect business and go broke trying to get him out, and I will have to try to find a new way to make a living, which would be much harder now, as I'm afraid I'm a few years past my prime."

Deborah looked at me with a frown, and I frowned back. What Alana said made sense, of course, especially to someone untroubled by human feelings, like I used to be. It was clinically cold reasoning, serpentine but clear, and that certainly fit what we were coming to know about Alana. And yet — something was wrong with it, whether it was the way she said it or something else, I couldn't say; it didn't quite add up for me.

"What will you do if Joe finds out you've told us?" I asked Alana.

She looked at me, and then I knew what was wrong, because I saw something very dark and leather-winged at the back of her eyes, just for a moment, before the cover of icy amusement slid back into place on her face. "I shall make him forgive me," she said, and her lips turned up higher in a wonderful fake smile. "Besides, he won't find out, will he?" And she turned to Deborah. "This will be our little secret, all right?" she said.

"I can't keep this a secret," Deborah said. "If I take the task force into Buccaneer Land, people are going to know."

"Then you must go alone," Alana said. " 'Acting on an anonymous tip' — isn't that how they say it? You go alone, without telling anyone. And when you show up with Bobby, who will care how you knew where he was?"

Deborah stared at Alana, and I was quite sure she would tell her the idea was ridiculous, out of the question, an unacceptable deviation from police procedure, and far too dangerous. But Alana curved her lips and raised an eyebrow, and there was no question now that it was a challenge. And just to be sure a dullard like Debs couldn't miss that, Alana said, "Surely you can't be afraid of one young man? You have a lovely pistol, after all, and he's quite alone and unarmed."

"That's not the point," Debs said.

All the amusement left Alana's face. "No, it's not," she said. "The point is that you must go alone or there will be a huge fuss and Joe will find out I told you, and in truth I really don't wish to risk that. And if you insist on taking a team out there and making a great bloody riot of it, I shall go warn Bobby that you're coming and he'll be in Costa Rica before you can do a thing about it." The dark wings fluttered in her eyes one more brief time, and then she forced a smile back onto her face, but it still wasn't very pleasant. "What's the expression? 'My way or the highway.' All right?"