Greg Rucka - Critical Space

Dan was waiting for me at the table in the kitchen, drinking from a longneck of Budweiser. Another bottle was in front of him, and he gestured that it was mine, but I shook my head and went to the cupboards, started opening them. The shelves had been filled with canned foods, ravioli and chili and other junk. The freezer was brimming with T.V. dinners and frozen pizzas, and the refrigerator held mostly soda, beer, and condiments. There was a sad head of lettuce wilting in the back of the crisper. I threw that in the trash can by the sink.

"What do you think?" Dan asked.

"Tell me about the alarm, what's it tied to?"

"The monitoring service. If it goes off, they notify the police."

"Who owns the house?"

"Bank in Brooklyn." When I frowned, he added, "All the paper is good."

"Yeah, but by Brooklyn you mean it's a front, that there's no name on it. It can be traced."

"Not easily."

"You're going to need to change that tomorrow, put the ownership in a name, a married couple, I don't care who. Just make it look good, and if you can backdate the sale, that's even better."

"Anything else?" He sounded testy.

"I want you to start looking into doctors, we need someone good, someone who specializes in sports injuries. Has to be completely off the record, but that shouldn't be too hard, and I'm sure you can find someone who lost their license because they started stealing from their own drug cabinet. Make sure whoever you find is discreet, because he or she may have to come out here several times."

"Is this for 'Tasha?"

"Can you do it?"

"All it takes is money. I ask again, is this for 'Tasha, is she hurt?"

I ignored the question, checked out the kitchen window into the backyard. It was night now, and there were no lights from outside.

"You will want the guards, too?" he asked. "I've got some boys, four of them. All good with arms, I can equip them however 'Tasha wants, automatics, submachine guns, even grenades. I can have them here tonight, if that's what she wants."

"Tomorrow will be fine. These are your guys?"

"They work for me."

"They know anything about protection? I mean real protection, not shakedowns."

The chair scraped as he shifted around, and I turned back to see that he was getting up, and looking pissed. "You listen, Mr. Kodiak, you can just drop that shit with me, okay? Your attitude I don't need, I know what I'm about here, I do this shit right."

"You going to answer my question?"

"I beat you down once," he reminded me.

"You did. You want to try again?"

Dan stared at me, his weight shifting into his torso. The longneck was in his right hand, and I figured he'd start with that. I didn't look away from him, and I didn't move, just started cataloguing all of the kitchen utensils and supplies that I saw in my periphery, picking which ones I'd use to stop him if he decided things needed to go that far.

Then he relaxed, his weight settling lower again, and he took a swig from the bottle.

"No," he said, after he had swallowed. "No, I don't think I will."

Back on the Franklin Turnpike I found a pay phone and called the hotel, asking for Mr. Lieberg's room. When the phone was answered, I spoke first.

"It'll do. It's not what I hoped for, and we'll need the extras, but it'll do. Her friend is waiting for me there now."

"Where?" Natalie asked.

"Franklin Turnpike in Mahwah. I'll be outside the Dunkin' Donuts."

"Take us an hour."

"Take two, make sure you're clean when you get here."

"Got it."

I hung up and got back in the car, then headed along the turnpike to the Interstate Mall, which was just a couple miles away. I cracked the window and left Miata in the car, telling him I'd be back shortly, then headed inside. At a GNC in the mall I dropped almost two hundred dollars on various supplements, then headed over to the Radio Shack and picked up another hundred or so dollars' worth of electronics. I did a little clothes shopping, as well, buying some extra underwear and the like for both Alena and myself. When I was finished I brought everything back to the car and went back into Mahwah and stopped at the first grocery store I saw. I bought food, mostly fruits and veggies, some fish, two gallons of juice, a gallon of milk, a couple of pretty lean-looking steaks. I also grabbed a ten-pound bag of Science Diet for Miata. When I'd finished loading the car, the trunk was full.

Then I headed back to the Dunkin' Donuts and waited in the car, watching the traffic and thinking. After a couple of minutes I got out again and went back to the phone, but this time I called Scott.

"You free tonight?" I asked him.

"You say such things and my heart leaps with joy."

"You've always been my number one guy, you know that. I'm going to call you in another hour or so, give you a location. Take your time coming out, but when you do, bring your pad and pencil."

"She's cool with this?"

"She will be."

"I'll expect your call," he said, and hung up.

They arrived just over two hours after I'd called, pulling into the lot in Natalie's new Audi. Alena was in the front passenger seat, a coat in her lap, the submachine gun under the coat.

"Any trouble?" I asked.

"None," Natalie said. "If he's in New York, he didn't know you were at the Grand."

"You checked us out?"

"All taken care of."

"New car."

"You like it?"

"What happened to the old one?"

"Sold it."

"Nat, you go through cars the way most people go through socks."

"I like that new-car smell," she said. "We'll follow you."

I climbed back into the rental and got back on the road, and they followed me the ten minutes it took to reach the house. The Kompressor was still where Dan had parked it, and the lights inside the house were still blazing bright. I stopped my car and let Miata out, told Natalie and Alena to wait. Dan was still in the kitchen, where he'd killed another two longnecks, talking on his cell phone in Russian. When he saw me he changed his tone, making a quick end to the conversation, then stowed the phone back in his pocket.

"She's here?"

I gestured for him to follow me.

They were still in the Audi, the engine idling, and when Natalie saw us coming, she shut off the car and opened her door. Dan started around for Alena's side, and I looked past him to her, trying to read what she wanted. She didn't seem to have any objection to Dan's approach, and so I let him help her out of the vehicle while I started unloading the rental. Between Natalie and myself we had my shopping unloaded and the bags from the Audi inside in three trips, just as Alena had reached the top of the porch. Dan was walking behind her, and his manner reminded me of nothing as much as an overprotective sibling watching out for his little sister. But when he offered to give her his elbow for support, she snapped something in Russian at him, and again it was clear that, whatever else he felt for her, she scared him.

Natalie set about a quick walk-through of the house while I unloaded the groceries, and Alena settled into one of the chairs in the kitchen, Dan again back at the table. I didn't say anything while I restocked the cabinets and fridge. The two of them spoke in Russian to one another, voices soft, though twice Alena's tone sharpened, and Dan said something conciliatory. I was folding the shopping bags and putting them away when I realized the conversation, whatever it had been about before, had now turned and made me the subject.

Natalie came back and rolled her eyes at me, and I moved to join her in the hall, saying, "I know, it's not good. It's not god-awful, but it's not good."

"The hot tub helps," she said.

"Sure, if you want to be picked off from outside."