Conspiracy of Angels Read online

  Her keys jangled as she unlocked the Cougar’s little trunk. “You know what, Mitch? I don’t know if you can handle the concept of me taking care of myself. But it’s been done.” She swung the trunk lid up and looked down, and her expression went dead serious.

  Mitch dropped the bags back into the cart and came up behind her, saw a bundle of black wire mesh. It looked like the same kind of mesh that covered the body of the Cougar.

  Mitch leaned closer. “What is it?”

  Her voice dropped low. “It’s the black box.”

  “You wrapped it up in that stuff?”

  She turned to look at him. Her eyes were intense, like a hunting animal. “When it was chasing us through your house, I realized something. It’s tracking the box.”

  “What do you mean, tracking it?”

  “The box must give off some kind of signal. Or the Archangel senses it somehow. It’s homing in on the box.” She reached down and ran her fingers across the bundle of mesh, smoothing out the outlines of the cube inside. “This stuff was made for spy planes. It blocks all kinds of radiation. Michael had a whole crate full of it, that he stole from the Conspiracy. The Archangel can’t see it, or anything inside it. It’s invisible to it.”

  It took Mitch a couple seconds to put it all together. “So the Archangel can’t see this car. Because it’s all covered up.”

  “You catch on quick.”

  “And when exactly were you planning on telling me about this?”

  She folded her arms, stared up at him. “Far as I’m concerned, it’s just me and Brutus hunting this thing. Maybe you can help out and maybe you can’t. But I don’t owe you anything. Least of all information.”

  She owed him plenty, he figured, but he decided to let it slide. The girl was full to the brim with anger. Just like Jocelyn.

  He held up his hands, a peace sign. “So it’s you and Brutus. Who’s he?”

  Geneva smiled a little and patted the Cougar’s fender. “Sorry, I guess I never introduced you. Mitch, this is Brutus. Brutus, Mitch.”

  “You talk to your car?”

  “My dad and I found him when I was about five. Somebody had abandoned him.”

  “What, on the side of the road?”

  “Uh-huh. But for, like, years. There were spiderwebs all through the engine compartment. My dad got him running again and hid him in this old barn we had a couple miles from the cabin. Brutus seemed like a good name for him.”

  “Him? It’s not a him. It’s just a car.”

  She gave him a pitying look, big puppy dog eyes, and patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Mitch. Maybe someday you’ll have a cool car of your own.” She lifted a bag out of the cart and loaded it into the trunk.

  Mitch grabbed a couple bags, too. “It’s just a car,” he said, but not too loud.

  They tried three different places for coats and came up empty-handed, until Mitch finally thought to check a sporting goods place. As always, Geneva parked on the far edge of the lot, leaving the black car all by itself.

  Geneva was like that, Mitch realized. All alone, by her own choice, right in the middle of the world going on around her. It was like she wasn’t part of this world, and didn’t want to be.

  Inside the store, as they wound their way between racks of bicycle clothes and camouflage vests, he tried to make her smile. It wasn’t easy.

  He picked out the warmest, softest coat he could find for her. When he pulled the fur-edged hood over her head, she peeked out from beneath, giving him a sour look. “Mitch, we’re going up to the mountains. Not Antarctica.”

  “So? Hey, maybe the truck Lanny’s getting us doesn’t have heat. You think of that? Look, you don’t like this coat, no problem.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash. He licked his thumb and peeled off three fresh, sharp hundred-dollar bills. “Here. Go pick out whatever you want.”

  She looked at the money, but didn’t touch it. “Mitch, where did all this come from?”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “You think I ever paid taxes? Come on. Here.”

  She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

  “Look.” He bent down until he was eye level with her. “I went to prison. You understand that? I did time for this stuff. I made my restitution. So if Uncle Sam doesn’t get his piece of the pie, so what?”

  “Mitch, it’s stolen money.”

  “Like hell it is.” He straightened up. “Hey, I earned this money. I got paid to break the law. The police had a chance to find this money, and they didn’t, so screw ‘em. Look, the point is, okay, I broke the law. I did my time. But I’m not that person anymore. I don’t want to be him. I don’t want to do the things I did, ever again. I want to start over.”

  “And this is your idea of starting over?”

  “I was never there for Jocelyn, like I should have been. I was always out on the road. I didn’t take care of her, like I should have.”

  Geneva took the coat off. She didn’t look at him. “I’m not your daughter.”

  “I know that.”

  “You can’t just buy me things and think that that makes everything okay. You can’t just settle up your conscience with that.”

  “Look, you want the jacket or not?”

  She threw it down and headed for the door.

  Mitch caught up with her halfway there. He grabbed her arm.

  She twisted away. “Let go of me!”

  He dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. “Listen to me. If I wanted to buy my way out of the past, I’d give this to charity. Understand? I’d give penance or join the Peace Corps or some shit like that. But I got one plan and one plan alone, and that’s to get the son of a bitch that killed my little girl. You got a problem with that?”

  She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head.

  “Good. Because you act like you’re willing to die to get this thing. Well, I don’t want you to die. And if one lousy jacket makes any difference in the world, I’ll buy you the whole goddamn store.”

  “Mitch …” She bit her lip.

  “You don’t have to fight this thing alone anymore. You got me, for what it’s worth, and I’ll stick with you to the end. That’s a promise.”

  She hugged him, taking him by surprise. Held him tight and didn’t let go.

  Carefully, he put his arms around her, smoothed down her hair. He looked out through the store’s big glass windows, out at the parking lot where the black Cougar sat, all alone.

  *

  A cold rain started up as they drove back toward the motel. Mitch stared out of the Cougar’s rain-dotted windows. In his mind, he kept seeing the Archangel bursting through the glass into his living room, the curtains clinging to its long arms for just a moment, billowing out behind it like wings as it hurtled over the flames toward him.

  The moment kept looping through his head, darker and less distinct each time, as if his mind couldn’t handle the memory for long. The only thing that stayed the same was the gut-wrenching feeling that he was seeing something that shouldn’t exist.

  They’d kept ahead of the thing so far, but they couldn’t beat the odds forever. Sooner or later, it was going to find them again. Mitch needed a plan before that happened. Before it cornered them and finished what it had started.

  He fought off a shiver. Outside, the rain made people’s breath steam as they walked, made the streets shiny and slick. That gave Mitch an idea.

  He watched the city go by outside until he saw what he wanted: an old shut-down strip mall. Signs in the big, empty plate-glass windows advertised retail space for lease, but the numbers were old and faded. Nobody was keeping too close an eye on this place.

  He nudged Geneva’s elbow. “Hey, turn into there and pull over.”

  She had natural instincts. He could see that. The way she looked around for cops before she turned. The fact that she went into the alley and pulled in behind the long building, in the back where all the power transformers and air-conditioning junk ran along the beige-painted bricks. T
he asphalt was littered with bits of newspaper and fast food wrappers. But the main thing was, nobody could see them from the main road.

  Good. Property owners took a pretty lousy view of people practicing stunt driving on their property.

  Geneva shifted the Cougar into neutral and sat back, looking at him. He realized she could actually be a pretty girl, if she got rid of all the scary makeup. But he figured this wouldn’t be the best time to bring that up. She gave him that look again, like she was waiting for a lecture. “What?” she said.

  “Well.” He cracked his knuckles. “You want to learn something?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Something, like what?”

  “You know what a bootlegger reverse is?”

  Her mouth went crooked. “No. You just make that up?”

  “You ever watch the movies, cop shows, that sort of thing, where they’re driving one way, and they spin the back end of the car around and drive the other way?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s a bootlegger. Some people call it a hairpin. My old man always called it a reverse. You know how to do one?”

  Her eyes scanned the empty back lot. She looked tense. But at the same time, he could see a little excitement start to flush her face, a little smile creep up on her. She gave him a sidelong look, suspicious. “What are you saying?”

  “You want, I’ll teach you how.”

  “Here?”

  “Sure. The pavement’s wet, should make it easier on your tires. And there’s enough room.”

  She stared off into space for a moment, thinking it over. Then she took a deep breath and let it out.

  “You want to?”

  “Yeah.” She reached forward and put her hand on the dashboard. “But do this first.”

  “Do what?”

  “Just put your hand here.”

  He did. The black vinyl was warm from the air blowing out of the defogger vents.

  “Promise Brutus you won’t hurt him.”

  For a second, Mitch felt stupid. It was just a car. It didn’t have feelings. But then he realized she wasn’t really talking about the car. She was talking about the only thing she had left of her old life. She’d lost everything else. This Cougar might be just a collection of nuts and bolts, but it defined her. And she depended on it for her survival.

  He nodded, taking it seriously. “We’re gonna take a little tread off the tires.”

  “Oh, like that’s never been done before.”

  “Okay.” He cleared his throat and leaned back in the seat. “Here’s what you gotta do. Go straight down this back lot, you want to be doing about thirty when you get to the wide part there.” He pointed. “Lock up your parking brake and crank the wheel hard left. The rear end should break loose and swing around. When it does, let go of the parking brake and floor it. Work with the skid and you should be able to straighten it out and go.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Well, unless you go into it too fast, in which case you’ll have to countersteer.”

  “I thought you said thirty miles an hour.”

  He held up his hands. “Give or take. It’s a guess. You’re also going to want to do this in neutral.”

  She folded her arms. “I think you’re making this up.”

  “Swear to God. I’ve done this a million times.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah. And you’re not the first person I’ve taught.”

  Geneva nodded to herself. “Fine.” She unbuckled her seat belt and opened her door.

  “Wait, where you going?”

  “You’re going to show me.” She came around the back of the car and opened his door. “Well?”

  He looked up into her face. She trusted him with Brutus. That said volumes.

  Without a word, he got out and switched places with her. He had to adjust the driver’s seat all the way back. “You sure you’re all right with this? I mean, I don’t want to break anything, you got a bad bushing or something.”

  “Mitch, you know who takes care of this car?”

  He shook his head.

  “Me.” She swelled up with pride when she said it. “If I say Brutus is good to go, you know he is.” She patted the dashboard again.

  He had to smile. “All right.” He felt around for the fit of the controls: the touchiness of the pedals, the gigantic seventeen-inch steering wheel. The automatic transmission shifter was on the console, a fat chrome handle. The parking brake pedal went down easy, but he didn’t see how to bring it back up. “Where’s the brake release?”

  “You shift it into Drive, it releases itself.”

  “Very nice. What year is this?”

  “1968.”

  “Not bad.” He shifted into gear and let the car roll forward. The engine rumbled. It wanted to go.

  He drove around the back lot a few times, getting a feel for it. It woke up memories from when he was younger, all the way back to high school. He’d forgotten how solid these cars felt, back before the days of plastic trim and electronic controls. It made him wonder how he’d ever gotten used to the new stuff.

  He got Brutus set up for the run he’d described for Geneva. He looked over at her, saw her watching him like a hawk. “You ready?”

  “Nice car, isn’t he?”

  He smiled. “Let’s find out.” He hit the gas, and the tires barked. He got to thirty sooner than he expected, held it for a second until he got to the widest spot in the parking lot, and then let his instincts take over. Shifted to neutral. Stomped on the parking brake. Spun the wheel left.

  The tires shrieked and the back end of the car whipped completely around, tighter than he figured. His stomach dropped, made him feel like he was flying. He shifted to Drive, floored it. The tires kept squealing all the way through the turn. He overcompensated for the skid and ended up waggling a little bit before he got it straightened out. When he did, he slowed down and stopped.

  “Son of a bitch.” Mitch let out his breath, felt a rush of excitement hit him after the fact. “This thing turns pretty tight.”

  “Told you.” She shook her head. “Come on, Mitch, you should have some faith. Now move over.”

  The first time Geneva tried the same maneuver, she went into it too slow and the Cougar refused to skid. That was only natural. It was hard for a good driver to let a car skid out on purpose. She came around and tried it again, much faster this time, and the car skidded around almost a full circle.

  A couple more times, and she had it. By the time she was doing it as good as Mitch, she was grinning, and he was about ready to lose his lunch.

  The sun broke free of the clouds. Golden sunset washed over everything. Mitch told her they had to stop because of the glare, but really it was to give his stomach a rest.

  The setting sun turned the wet asphalt into shimmering gold. It shone off a thousand different spots, like diamonds scattered on the wet ground.

  Geneva leaned forward, patted the dashboard. “Good boy.”

  Mitch smiled, feeling proud, in a way he hadn’t in years. Like he was a new man, finally free of the nightmare that had been his life. Like he finally had choices now, he could do a little good, pass on a little knowledge. It felt great. He wanted this moment to last.

  Then he heard the sharp crack of a gunshot, from far off, and dots of blood flecked the inside of the windshield. Geneva choked out a gasp.

  Her eyes went wide.

  EIGHTEEN

  Another flat crack echoed through the back lot. A bullet zipped past Mitch’s head. He could feel the pressure in the air, gone instantly, like a breath of wind. But this time he saw the tiny flash where the shot had come from.

  Across the street, there was an old blue Monte Carlo, a swoopy seventies model, its wheel wells rusted out. He could see the shadow of a guy in the open passenger-side window, the long barrel of a rifle pointed at them. The second bullet had passed harmlessly through the car, in one open window and out the other. But the first bullet?

  “My arm,” Gen
eva said, her voice tight with panic.

  Mitch saw the animal fear in her eyes. Saw the big ugly hole in her jacket, blood welling out. Time slowed down to a stop.

  He felt like he wasn’t there anymore, not in the moment. Not alive. Like someone had taken a snapshot and held it in front of his face, focused tight on the bullet wound, Geneva’s big eyes, the spots of wet blood on her cheek.

  Somehow, he knew that if he stayed put, at least one of them would die. They were both in the line of fire. The sniper, whoever it was, could get them both with a single shot. Mitch had maybe one whole second before that happened.

  He pushed her down into the seat. At the same time, he reached back and pulled his door handle. Slid low out of the car, feet hitting the pavement.

  “Drive!” he yelled. Slammed the door behind him.

  His pulse pounded in his ears. He ran parallel to the road, legs pumping, trying to sucker the sniper into aiming for a moving target.

  Shoot at me, you son of a bitch. Shoot at me!

  Not daring to look across the street. Knowing if he did, he’d slow down. And then he’d be dead.

  He ran as fast as he could move his legs, expecting any moment to feel the wind get knocked out of him by a bullet. His feet pounded on the asphalt. The air burned in his lungs.

  He heard another shot. A hole burst in the pavement five feet to his left.

  He ran across the street at an angle, going for the stucco-covered corner of the next building, the nearest solid object.

  What was Geneva waiting for? The engine of the Cougar still idled behind him, not changing pitch. He ducked around the corner and stopped, breathing hard.

  Footsteps came down the alley, fast. A clean-cut, dark-haired guy in a hooded sweatshirt came sprinting out of the alley, saw Mitch and brought up a little black pistol.

  Mitch backpedaled around the corner, slipped in a puddle and almost fell. Gunshots took apart the corner stucco. Pieces of it flew off, little puffs of dust hanging in the air.

  Mitch grabbed the guy’s gun arm just as he came around the corner. He outweighed the guy nearly two to one, so when he grabbed him, the guy swung around. Mitch went with it, steering the guy headfirst into the wall as hard as he could. The stucco crunched, exposing the stained bricks beneath, and the guy dropped to the ground in a heap.