Max Collins - After the Dark

Mole had a big fat half-smoked cigar in his teeth, which had survived the trip through the window. He said, “I was listenin’ on the ledge — entertaining BS, too. Anyway, you were about to jump his shit, weren’t ya?”

That was true, but Max said, “Where the hell did you get the cigar?”

Mole shrugged. “Found a box of Havanas in Snake Boy’s office downstairs.”

“You took time to look for cigars ?”

“Chill, Miz Messiah — Popeye needs his spinach, Mole needs his smokes.”

If the lizard man hadn’t just saved their skins, she might have been tempted to whale on him.

Puffing happily on his Havana, Mole jabbed the pistol into Bostock’s ribs and said, “Sounds like Nixon here knows where Logan is.”

Bostock stood silently, sullenly. He didn’t seem particularly afraid, which bothered Max.

Mole got right on that, raising the pistol from the man’s ribs to six inches from his left eye, thumbing the hammer back.

The tip of his stogie waggling an inch from his captive’s cheek, Mole said, “Your problem, Bosty ol’ boy, is it’s Max here who thinks the sun rises and sets on Logan Cale. To me, he’s just another annoying ordinary, which I’m sure you can identify with.”

Sweat began to pearl Bostock’s upper lip.

Mole went on: “Of course, I ain’t crazy about you, either — though I do appreciate the Havanas. Even so, I’d just as soon pop one in your eye as not. So, asshole — you ready to die for the Conclave?”

Joshua finally entered the conversation, growling, “Take one for the team.”

Bostock remained stoic.

Mole turned an eye toward Max.

“Screw it,” she said. “When White calls next, we’ll tell him everything and gamble he’ll play ball.”

Bostock said, “White will never—”

Max said to Mole, “Shoot him.”

The secretary’s eyes widened and his hands shot up, palms outstretched in front of him, pushing the air in a “be reasonable” fashion.

“Wait!” Bostock blurted. “Wait — I do know where Logan is... I can show you the way.”

Mole eased the gun back a few inches.

Max came over to the pair then, her face less than a foot from Bostock’s. “Selective breeding, and you’re what they came up with?” She got out her cell phone, punched some buttons.

The voice in her ear was reassuringly sassy: “Original Cindy. Whatchu want?”

“It’s me, Cin.”

And Max outlined the situation for her friend.

“So,” O.C. said, the sounds of Jam Pony in the background, “all I gotta do is rent a boat, drive it out to some godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere and babysit some old coot who’s a vegetable?”

“That’s all, Boo.”

“No problem. But you gonna owe me, girl.”

“As usual. And I need you to hook up with somebody else.”

She gave Cindy the number of Sam Carr. Max was confident that once again Logan’s doctor would make a house call.

“And tell Sam to bring Bling and/or other support. Couple guys who can handle themselves and are Eyes Only friendly.”

“Hostile territory?”

“Yes — secured hostile territory, but hostile.”

They searched the mansion one more time, making sure all of the security force was out of action; the survivors were rounded up and locked away in the basement. Then the little commando squad took a few minutes to grab some food — for now and later — in the Cale mansion kitchen.

But they couldn’t afford to wait around for their friends to arrive and take charge of Lyman Cale. Max was confident Original Cindy could handle the situation, and the X5 would check in with O.C. and Sam Carr by cell phone.

They took the boat back, got the car, and — following directions supplied by a suspiciously cooperative Bostock — hit the road.

“How do we know this button-down bastard ain’t leadin’ us on a wild goose chase?” Mole asked Max as he guided Logan’s wheels down a back country road.

Hands and feet bound by duct tape, Bostock chuckled in the backseat, jammed between Joshua and Alec, who had the pistol pressed into the private secretary’s ribs.

“You’re easily amused,” Max said to their prisoner.

Shaking his head, Bostock said, “I’m not leading you on a ‘wild goose chase.’ Not at all — I’m taking you right where you want to go.”

“Yeah,” Max smirked. “You’re a great guy, Bostock. Class act.”

He grunted a laugh. “You think you’ve won. You’re only making my own inevitable victory that much easier. By hand-delivering you to the Conclave alive, I will not only shame White and his family, I... I ... will become the chosen one. Ames White’s defeat will be complete, as will my ascension.”

“Sorry, Franklin,” Max said, “but there’s only room for one messiah in this car, and according to you, I’m it.”

Everybody but Bostock laughed. Even Joshua got the joke.

“When we crucify you,” Bostock said nastily, “you won’t be coming back.”

“Pretty cocky,” Max said, “for a man on his way to see the father of the child he had murdered... Boy’s body is in the trunk, by the way.”

Bostock’s smug facade faltered, but only for a moment. “White must be even softer than I thought if he lost to the likes of you.”

Alec jammed the gun in the man’s side. “Yeah,” Alec said. “Takes a real schmuck to let transies like us get the better of him.”

Her cell phone chirped. “Go for Max.”

“It’s Sam, Max. I’m with Lyman Cale.”

“Can you do anything for him, Doc?”

“I’m arranging to have him taken out of here by private medivac — but I don’t hold out much hope. The man has been nearly starved to death.”

“These the medivac people Logan has used?”

“Strictly Eyes Only ops. Bling’s with me now. We need to not hang around here, you know — you left some... trash.”

The mansion and the grounds were littered with dead security guards. And of course a few live ones were salted away in the basement, and might get frisky, over time...

“You’re right, Sam. Get out of there, ASAP. Get Logan’s uncle some help, and you and Cindy to safety.”

“Got it. Good luck. Stay safe.”

“You, too, Sam. ’Bye.”

She broke the connection.

“Dr. Carr?” Alec asked.

“Yeah. If Mr. Cale lives to see the New Year, it’ll be a miracle.” She turned to Bostock in the backseat, her voice icy. “By the way, if White doesn’t kill you, I’m going to.” Their eyes met for a long moment, and he kept his face impassive and proud; then she turned back — and heard a little gulp behind her.

They drove for hours and, as midnight passed and the temperature turned cold, Max wondered what exactly she and her friends could do to stop a comet that was supposed to wipe out mankind come Christmas.

The weirdest part was that she cared. Most of the ordinaries had shared nothing but revulsion and fear with her and her kind. If she was their damn messiah — and she’d had a sort of virgin birth, hadn’t she? — she couldn’t say she was wild about the idea of dying for their sins.

“That’s it!” Bostock said from the backseat. “Just up ahead!”

Mole slowed.

At the mouth of a blacktop lane that cut through dense trees was a large white sign that said in bold black letters:

“Somebody doesn’t have the Christmas spirit,” Mole growled.

“That’s the only way in,” Bostock said, an excited edge in his voice.

“And out,” Max said. She turned and looked at their captive, pointedly. “You’d just love us to go driving down there — a gate? A guard?”