Tales from the Shack: Nobody

I sprinted the rest of the way, the pulsing sound of blood in my ears drowning out everything.

The key card worked perfectly, just as it was supposed to, and I burst in ready to swing my electronics laden backpack at anyone in the way.

I was too late. And just as I somehow knew it would be, it was Amber.

Slumped in a couch where she'd manage to pull herself. She hadn't even gotten undressed and her clothes were soaked with blood. I pushed her over, desperate to help, but as soon as I saw her blank eyes, I knew it was too late.

No last words. Another broken doll just tossed to the side. I stood up, shaking, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar, looking past the whisky bottle and ginger ale. Pale, wide eyed, another doll waiting to be broken.

I looked at my bloody hands for a minute and began to woodenly clean up. Make sure I'd left no prints. I took one last look at Amber, touching her hair.

I stood slowly, straightened up and walked out.

Down to a gas station where I called the number in my note pad. It was off schedule, but that had to mean something to them. There was a click on the other end, but no voice.

"It went bad. Two... two dead."

I hung up. I didn't know what would happen, so I headed back to my room.

I'd barely sat down on the bed when the phone rang.

"Out front 10 minutes."

A carpet cleaning service van pulled up and the side door opened. I got in and got a glimpse of "Jackson" as he put a black cloth hood over my head. I didn't fight it. I didn't care anymore.

Wherever we were, we parked in a parking garage and I was walked through several doors and sat in a chair. Nobody tied my hands or put handcuffs on me. They could sense that I'd given up.

When the hood came up, it was Donna that took it off. We were in some kind of office -- a pretty nice one.

"What happened?"

I numbly went through the events. My voice seemed too steady, too far away.

A couple minutes later a guy with a hooked mustache and a build like an MMA fighter came in.

Donna looked over at him. "The op is blown. The swallow and the delivery man are both KIA."

"Shit. We can use blackmail, tell him there were witnesses."

"That's about it. Give him a month to stew on it, then pop it on him. Cut him a deal; a cover up in exchange for the information on the dual use tech."

The guy nodded. Then looked over at me with narrowed eyes. "This is the Nobody Girl?"

"That's her."

He studied me for a second. "I was starting to think she wasn't real."

"I'm not even sure she's real." Donna turned to me and handed me the hood. "I need you to put this on, they're going to take you back to your room. " She paused. "I would've let them go in a few months. I really would have."

She said it quietly, like she needed me to believe that. Like maybe she needed to believe it.

***

I sat in my room for two days. Trying to catch my breath. Trying to think. Trying to figure out why I was even doing this. Let them kill me. It didn't matter.

I managed to walk over to Amber's room, let myself in. It was locked, but locks barely even slowed me down anymore.

Amber's room was a little better than mine, at least her bathroom had an actual door. But she'd done things. Put up pictures, put out things that made the room more like a little home. A champagne bottle held a bunch or flowers on the a little café table with two chairs.

Her closet was separated into two parts. On one side were gaudy, flashy things, with high heeled boots and shoes. On the other side were jeans, t-shirt, flannel shirts, and a couple sets of clothes set away from everything. A pretty pale blue dress and a man's suit, with a nice shirt and tie.

I wondered if they ever went out like that or if they just had dinner together on Sundays dressed up. It didn't matter, I supposed. As long as it was Sunday.

I touched everything, looked through everything. And I didn't find anything that helped.

I went back to my room and lay awake for hours.

It hurt. I'd never felt like this. I couldn't explain it, couldn't describe it.

Anger, so much anger. At first it was aimed at Donna, but Donna hadn't done this to them. She'd taken advantage of it, but she'd just repurposed some ruined lives.

I waited until after five in the morning, after any possible phone call, and slipped out. I left everything but some clothes and headed out to keep some promises. Amber's stash of money was in a bunch of plastic baggies in a hotel rooftop water tank. Seventeen thousand dollars. She must have saved nearly every dime of her "cover" money.

I had places to go. Fuck Donna.

***

I waited in the condo for hours, waiting for him to get home. Listening to him shower and fix himself a last drink before turning in.

Warren Gervais, age 38. Occupation: Nightclub owner, pimp and drug supplier. Former "boyfriend" of Amber Coyle.

I'd watched him for over a week. I was practically living in his condo with him. He'd kept on driving on, ruining lives and screwing people over. I looked for any sign of redemption, anything that might make him worthwhile.

I didn't want to find any, but I made myself look. For Amber's sake. She'd gotten a little bit of redemption and she'd have wanted anyone to have a chance at it. She was a better person than me.

It didn't matter, there just wasn't any good to find.

He fell deeply asleep, courtesy of the GHB I put in his drink. Just for the irony of it, I bought it at his own nightclub from one of his own pushers.

When he finally woke up, he was tied up in the middle of his own living room.

As confused as he was waking up like that, it got worse when I walked over to where he could see me.

"Hello, Walter."

I pulled out a small photo of Amber and held it up for him -- it'd taken some looking, but I'd found an old high school yearbook picture of her.

"You remember Amber? Nod if you do."

He shook his head violently.

"Bullshit. I know you do. You whored her out, you used her. You ruined her life."

He stopped.

"I just wanted you to know that she found someone and was happy. She'd probably have forgiven you."

He had a look of hope, of relief in his eyes.

"She probably would have. But I'm not her. I don't think I've had four real friends in my whole life and what you did to her killed her. Eventually."

He started to try to squirm out of his bonds. I walked around behind him and stood on one end of the stocking that was loosely tied around his neck, then rolled the other end around my gloved hands.

"Burn in hell, Walter."

***

Tommy's ex and her husband were a little harder to find, I had less to go on. And I wasn't really sure what I was going to do. Tommy wouldn't have wanted the kid to suffer for something her mom did. The girl was fifteen, so she could probably survive without parents, but Tommy would have been horrified if I'd sent her down a path that would likely end up like me or Amber.

Tommy's ex wasn't a nurse anymore, just another full time trophy wife to a rich doctor. She spent a lot of time doing the rich-bitch shit that trophy wives do. Charities, spa treatments, cross-fit, yoga, spin classes, "finding themselves in art" -- whatever the hell that means.

The doctor spent most of his time working for a research hospital and lecturing. Most of his time. He had hobbies, too.

I was waiting for her when she walked out of the shower into their bedroom.

"Have a seat, Carrie."

She looked at the automatic and sat. Good puppy.

"Who are you?"

"You know what a guardian angel is, right?"

She nodded, wide eyed.

"I'm the opposite, I'm here to personally fuck up your life."

She started to speak before I cut her off. "Shhhh."

I looked at her. Nothing special at all. Nothing to drive a man over the edge like Tommy had gone.

"I don't know what the fuck Tommy saw in you."

She had no idea who I was, but she could feel my anger and she thought on her feet. "We didn't want what happened. I wanted to let Tommy down gently but I didn't realize Catarina would be a blue baby. That gave it all away."

"Were you even planning on telling him?"

"Roger and I weren't sure what we were going to do. The whole thing... Tommy and I were on different shifts all the time. Roger and I just started as flirting, and ended up... out of control."

"So you sent him to prison."

"I didn't plan that. Roger was angry -- you know he's paralyzed, he'll never walk again."

"He deserves it. He earned it. Was Tommy supposed to be okay with your shit?"

She looked down at her feet fidgeting. "I thought we could sit down and work it out. I don't know how, but Tommy was always good at... compromise."

"I just wanted you to know that Tommy died a hero. A real one. Like you see in comic books. He sacrificed himself." Maybe not on purpose, maybe he didn't really know; but I knew who we were working for. I knew what we were doing.

She paled. "He's dead?"

"He and his wife died together." Close enough anyway.

She sucked in her breath. "I didn't know he was married again. I... we lost track of him years ago."

"She was totally his, no matter how bad it got. And it was a hell of a lot harder than a few months of different shifts. A hundred of you wouldn't be worth one Amber."

She at least had the grace to look guilty.

"So here's the deal. You get three more years. On the day after Catarina graduates, I'm sending Roger these."

I tossed pictures down in front of her. Her fucking her physical trainer. "You're a fucking cliché. You made this easy. I've seen the pre-nup. Totally one-sided and you'll get fuck-all in the divorce. And just so you know..."

I tossed another set of pictures down. Roger never walked again after his encounter with Tommy, but his equipment worked just fine. These pictures had a dizzying array of nubile young med students earning extra credit in very inventive ways. Most of the med students were female, but certainly not all of them.

I wasn't too surprised at what I'd found. I'd spent years following people, a lot of them rich privileged people. Faithfulness wasn't too common in their world. Hypocrisy was, though.

"You two should call the CDC, start a study. Neither one of you seems to know what a condom is. How the hell you haven't caught anything is beyond me. Maybe you can use these to try to break the pre-nup. After Catarina graduates. If you do anything before that, I'll kill both you and Roger. I mean that."

She looked at the pictures, trying not to hyperventilate. "But..."

"Three years. That's it."

I left her sitting there trying to figure out what to do. It wouldn't matter, I had video of both of them, and in three years, I'd made arrangement with a lawyer for sealed envelopes to go to everyone I could think of. University boards, hospital and charity directors, newspapers. They'd be ostracized at best. It'd all be hypocrisy, of course. Few of the indignant voices of condemnations would be from anyone who wasn't just as dirty.

But that's how witch--burning works. Point at someone else -- someone who's made a mistake - and scream "heretic" so nobody does it to you.

Besides, as long as I was still alive, I planned on coming back as often as necessary to make sure their lives stayed fucked up in new and interesting ways.

Everybody needs a hobby.

***

If I hadn't been so pissed off, I would have gone after Morton Gallagher, Esquire before the others. I hadn't forgotten the ginger ale highballs.

Donna must have figured out what was going to happen. I'd been in his house before, but when I cased it this time, the security systems were state of the art. The type of systems you'd find on an Embassy. Brand new. Most of it wasn't available to the public. Even the insanely rich Gallagher's couldn't have bought it. But Donna wanted him alive. If I'd have had a few special pieces of equipment, I'd have ghosted right through it. But I didn't.

I settled in to watch. For weeks he barely left the house at all.

But most people can't live like that for long, especially an uber-rich asshole who was used to having everything his way. So I used a different tool, one I did have. Brandon had called it "Tactical Patience."

I could almost feel "Morty" going stir crazy, losing his mind to boredom.

He lasted almost another month.

I waited. I wanted to make sure he wasn't bait.

Patience.

I knew where he was going anyway; "Morty" needed to feel like a big man.

It took me a few hours to find the hotel. Always the honeymoon suite, complete with hot tub.

For another month, I watched over him. Checking for surveillance teams, slipping in and out of the hotel, watching for anything out of the ordinary.

Finally, I was convinced. Donna had either decided I wasn't a threat or had hung him out to dry.

I waited until the 'working girl' left his room; from the way she was holding her face he needed more than a few squeals to feel like a big man now. She was skinny and wore a bleach blonde wig along with her fresh bruises.

He was sitting in the hot tub, pretty buzzed when I slipped in. A lot more than a few highballs. Barely able to even focus his eyes on me when I stepped in.

I held the gun on him. "Stay in the tub."

"What... what are you here for?"

"For Amber. And Tommy."

He looked lost. "Who's Tommy?"

"The guy on the stairs."

"Wait... that woman, the one with the guards, she said we had a deal. She'd cover it up if I got her what she wanted."

"I'm not her. Why did you do it?"

He looked around desperately, looking for a way out. "I was so high, I don't even remember it very well. I remember doing it...but I don't remember why." He shook his head. "I tried to leave the back way and ran into the guy on the stairs."

I didn't say anything.

"Shit. You're her, aren't you? The one she warned me about." I could see panic setting in. "What does it matter, it was just a goddamn whore!"

I almost shot him right then, but his leg kicked up in front of me and I grabbed it, lifting as his head ducked under the water.

I shoved the gun in my jacket pocket and lifted with both hands. He fought, but he had no traction and I was standing on dry ground. He tried to kick my hand away, but that didn't last long. Too stoned, too drunk. He couldn't keep his head above water. All he could do was splash. For a while.

I held his leg up until a few minutes had passed without movement.

Let his leg fall back in. Turn the tub up to max heat. Drop the whisky bottle - and another - into the hot tub.

I hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door on my way out.

***

I could have run. Mexico City maybe. Easy to hide in 9 million people.

But I didn't really want to. I could have purpose here.

It took months to find her, of course. Months to figure out the patterns and movements. Find the right rabbits and shadow them.

Wary and vicious as they were, they were still rabbits.

It was a red brick warehouse with an underground parking garage, near Georgetown with a dull blue and dark red sign that said "Calliope, LTD."

No fence, just a low brick wall around the building and a bunch of concrete planters full of flowers. The kind of planters you surround buildings with to keep car bombs out. I could see dozens of things that had to be cameras or other sensors.

I was calculating whether to find a way to slip in or wait until Donna left and simply follow her home, when I realized the right answer was neither. This would either work or it wouldn't.

I went into Georgetown and bought a nice charcoal-grey business suit with a skirt. I'd never had anything like that before and I had to get the shop girls to help me figure out shoes and a purse and all of that.

I even went and got my hair and nails done.

I'd never done that before. But I figured you should always try to look nice going to a funeral. Especially if it's yours.

I just walked straight up to the security guard shack at the entrance.

"I'm here to see Donna."

He looked at me with offhand amusement.

"Is she expecting you?"

"I think so."

"And who should I say is here?"

"Nobody."

His relaxed attitude and badly-hidden contempt disappeared instantly and his eyes flickered around the parking lot. One hand lightly touched the grip of his hand gun while he keyed his mike with the other.

"Central this is Gate. The Nobody Girl is here. She wants in."

I couldn't hear the response because he had an earpiece in, but seconds later four more guards arrived. Two with shotguns.

They gave the suit a once over; I wasn't the raggedy-girl they'd been expecting to see.

One of them ran a metal detector over me before they led me in. The guy with the hooked mustache met us in a hallway and waved the guards off, raised an eyebrow at the suit and led me further in, to an outer office where a slender black woman -- obviously a very competent and professional secretary - sat and typed on a computer.

The man gave a wry smile and pointed to a chair in front of the secretary. "Wait here."

As soon as the inner office door closed, the secretary whispered.

"Don't take any shit from her. She needs you."

"Why?"

"You're the Nobody Girl. They say if it can't be done, if there's no way in, Nobody can do it. Nobody sees everything. Nobody can handle it. Nobody can do everything. They've been using you for the hardest targets out there for years now. Bargain for whatever you want."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Amber and Tommy were my friends a long time ago. I'm Candy."

Alive. Candy was alive. Which meant that, maybe, Donna meant it when she said she planned to let them go.

She kept glancing at the door to Donna's office, mouth in a grim line. "They saved me from myself, but they were willing to let the asshole that killed Amber and Tommy go. But you weren't were you?"

"They were the only friends I've ever had."

She smiled with a curled lip. "He pre-paid for five days at the hotel. He was pretty much stewed meat by the time they went looking for him."

Before I could respond, the door opened and the guy gestured me in.

I sat in the chair in front of her desk while the big guy leaned against the doorway.

Donna took off her reading glasses and looked me over. She noticed the suit, a suit similar to hers, and I knew she got the message.

I was done just being the raggedy-girl, except as a disguise. I might not be her equal here, but I knew I was valuable.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you need me and I think I need to do this. I don't know who 'we' are, but I know some of what we've been doing and I know somebody has to do it."

"You go off the reservation again, I absolutely will have you killed."

The guy at the door smirked and mouthed the words "If she can find you." at me. I got the instant impression he'd known her for a long time and loved pulling her chain when he could.

I kept a straight face.

Donna sighed. "When we learned you'd killed Gervais, we knew you'd be coming for Gallagher sooner or later. And I was pretty sure you'd get to him, no matter what we did short of putting him in Guantanamo. I don't have the manpower to cover him forever and he wouldn't take the custody deal. So we wrung him out as fast as we could." A grim smile. "Since he had the consistency of wet dog food by the time we found him, it was for the best."

"Nobody wants something."

Her face hardened and her eyes flickered to something on the corner of her desk. "What?"

"Tommy and Amber get married."

A glimmer of confusion, then understanding. "It'll be registered in Virginia, dated from when they started working for me." She smiled softly. I didn't even know she was capable of that. "They're already next to each other. I buried her in that blue dress, wearing her ring. And him in his suit. I'll have the headstones changed."

We both ignored the tears that started sliding down my cheeks, but she studied me intently for a long few seconds.