Russell Andrews - Hades

"Yes, goddammit, I am."

Justin snorted in disbelief. "Is this coming from Silverbush?"

She looked disgusted. "Give me a break. Larry Silverbush doesn't know his ass from his elbow. But I'm telling you, you should listen to me on this one, Jay. Nothing good is going to come out of it if you force your way in."

"What have you got going? Tell me how the two murders are connected."

"I'm not telling you any such thing. I'm trying to keep you out of trouble, not drag you in."

"This is bullshit, Wanda."

"It's anything but."

"Prove it."

"I don't have to prove it. But I'll prove that I know a lot more than you give me credit for."

"Let's hear."

"You should stay away from Bruno Pecozzi, too."

He thought about what Bruno had said to him, that he had to watch his back. "Have you been tailing me?"

Wanda didn't answer.

"Is Bruno connected to all this?"

Again, not a word from the FBI agent. The silence hung in the car like a cloud of cigarette smoke, thick and unpleasant. Justin knew better than to try to pry more information out of her. And she had to know him well enough to know her words weren't going to keep him from doing what he wanted to do. So the question was: Why was she saying all this to him? What was her goal? What was her angle?

"I hope you don't think this is payback" is what he finally said.

"What I'm telling you just might keep you alive," she said. "So, yes, I think this counts as payback."

"A warning to mind my own business? That's not good enough."

"If you listen to me, you'll thank me."

Justin shook his head. "You're a long way from payback," he told her, "and you know it."

"The only thing I know is that you're a stubborn damn idiot. Which I knew all along, so I can't say I thought you'd really pay attention to me. But you can't say I didn't try," she said.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Then you're on your own now, Jay."

"It always does seem to come down to that, doesn't it?" he said. Then he opened the door to her car and stepped out into the Rhode Island sunshine. Half a block away, he saw the first thing he'd seen in a while that brightened up his day. An absolutely stunning woman walking toward him. She was tall and moved like a dancer. There was something overwhelmingly sensual about her. Her dark, straight hair rustled in the slight breeze. Her bare shoulders rose and then sloped perfectly, and her arms were muscular and beautifully tapered. Her legs were long and, like the rest of her, perfect. But it was her eyes that grabbed him the most. He caught only a glimpse of them as they passed each other in the street. She had perfect eyes: the color, the shape, the way they seemed to devour her surroundings. She was Asian. Chinese, he thought. The light brown of her eyes seemed to glow against the polished, darker color of her skin. He smiled at her, couldn't help himself, and she turned her head in his direction. Just the slightest of turns. Not really welcoming his silent greeting but not ignoring it, either. Just accepting it as if it were her due. Neither of them slowed down as they passed each other, going in opposite directions, and Justin forced himself not to look back at her. As he kept walking, he felt as if he were leaving a little part of himself behind. And when he knew she would be out of sight, this heavenly creature, he realized that the temperature had turned colder than it was supposed to be. And the sky was grayer. The summer weather had stopped making sense.

Like everything else, Justin thought. Just like everything else. And he headed back to his car.

At first she thought, Shit, I did it again, thinking she'd twisted her knee and torn her cartilage. She'd done it two years before, just walking down the street. The operation wasn't bad, but the recovery was a bitch. Then she realized, No, this is worse. This pain is much, much worse. What the hell did I do? And then she saw the Asian woman-a beautiful woman, breathtaking really-and she wondered why the woman looked so happy, how could someone be so happy when she was in so much pain, and it wasn't just her leg now, it was her back, and then her neck-and then she didn't see the Asian woman anymore or anything else. Her eyes closed and she felt herself falling, and then the pain was gone.

For the moment.

Li Ling wondered what it must be like to go through life being as unattractive as this woman. Her body was toned but had no real shape. Her legs were thick from ankle to thigh. Her hair was thin; there was no pleasure in touching this hair. This woman's hips were wide and her breasts were small. Her skin was dry and colorless and cracked, not soft and touchable like Ling's own lustrous skin. Li Ling looked down at the naked woman and all she felt was curiosity. Did this woman have lovers? Did men stare at her and lust after her and want to fuck her? Did women?

Ling was alone with the woman now. Togo had gone to get the transportation. They no longer needed the woman; they had gotten the information they'd needed from her. It hadn't been easy. She'd been tougher than the man. Stronger. It had taken Togo's best effort to get what they'd needed. But of course they'd gotten it. They always got what they needed. The naked woman had given them more names. And more information. She had put them one step closer to their ultimate goal.

Ling admired this woman. She was impressed by her strength. As physically unappealing as she was, that strength made Ling want to touch her, to caress her, to have some physical contact other than the pain she'd helped inflict.

The woman wasn't moving, but Ling knew she was still alive. She bent down, put her hand on the woman's forehead. She ran her fingers down the woman's neck, gently stroking it. The hand moved farther down her chest, to her left breast. Ling let her hand rest there, rubbing the breast softly. She bent farther down, put her mouth on the woman's nipple. Ling's tongue snaked out and she tasted the nipple. It was salty from the woman's sweat. It tasted good.

She put her mouth up against the woman's mouth, put her lips against her lips. She could feel the soft breaths coming in and going out. She kissed the woman, very slowly, then she pressed harder and harder still. She could feel the woman stir ever so slightly.

Ling thought that perhaps she was making the woman happy. She deserved happiness.

Li Ling believed that all people deserved happiness before they died.

She was aware that someone was touching her. It was as if she were dreaming. And perhaps she was. The touch didn't feel real, but it felt comforting. A caring touch amid the terrible pain. Perhaps she was at a doctor's. Perhaps the miracle she'd been praying for had occurred. Perhaps someone had saved her.

She felt movement on her cheek and then the gentle touch slid downward. She felt warmth on her breast. And she wasn't sure, but she thought the same warmth was somewhere near her mouth. Then the warmth and the light pressure of the touch stopped. And she felt as if she were being transported. For a moment she thought, I'm on a stretcher, yes, I have been saved. But that flash of happiness didn't last long. Because something else occurred to her. What if she wasn't on a stretcher? Maybe it was something else. Maybe this was what death was, she thought. It was hands picking you up and moving you to the afterlife.

She felt nothing for some time after that. No hands, no warmth, no movement.

She did hear a steady drone, though. So she was still alive. Maybe this was what you heard when you were flying toward heaven. It was the noise generated by the world of the living, slowly fading as you went to a quieter place. Quiet was appealing. Quiet sounded nice. But suddenly she was overcome by a yearning for noise.

The drone stopped-she had no idea how long it had been going on; the line between conscious and unconscious was way too blurry for her to conceptualize the passage of time-and then she felt hands on her again. And more movement. Yes, she was being carried once more. She had a brief moment of panic as she began to suspect that she was not being lifted toward heaven. She was not going upward; she felt herself falling now.