Blood and Bone(31)

I sigh, already embarrassed at the idiot I'm going to make of myself. He  hands me my visitor pass and gets out of the car. He grabs a cane from  the back and starts his very slow progression down the alley. I get out,  clicking my high heels along the concrete. I pass him, ignoring his  existence completely.         

     



 

When I get to the large building, I walk through the front doors,  feeling the memories attempting to come back in. I block it out. I don't  need to stand like a moron in the middle of the floor as my head fills  with all sorts of memories that don't matter right now.

I scan my card and walk to the escalator. The ride up is so familiar I  feel nauseated. At the top of the shiny white area, I turn right. The  girl at the front desk with the huge doors behind her smiles at me when  she sees me. She's friendlier than a front-desk girl should be. In  Spanish I ask her if the weather has been good in DC, as I have only  just arrived.

She immediately stops smiling, bites her lip, and nods.

I ask her if she is a flying monkey.

She nods again.

I roll my eyes, hiding the fact I'm starting to feel bitchy for doing  this to her. She smiles weakly. I point at the door behind me and ask  her if there is a Mabel who works there. She is my grandmother, and I  need her recipe for lemon loaf.

She shakes her head.

Finally, acting as if I am completely annoyed, I ask her if she speaks Spanish. I'm stunned I can.

She nods. I slap a hand down on the counter and call her a lying pig.

"Ma'am, please don't get upset. We will work with you to correct this.  Clearly you've been told to come to the wrong place." Her accent is  similar to Pat's.

I slap my hand down again, asking God why he has cursed us with stupid Americans.

She stands up. "Did you just call me a stupid Americano?"

I lunge forward, acting like I might come at her, using the thickest Spanish accent I can. "You stupid Americano!"

She grabs my hands, slapping them down on the desk. "You will not talk  to me like that. I don't know who you think you are, but you're lucky us  Americanos let you Mexicans into the US. Damned foreigners. You have to  come to America and speak American, not Mexican."

I feign shock. "I no Mexican!" I'm not sure I'm doing the Spaniards of the world any favors talking like an idiot.

A security guard comes through the door. "Is there a problem here?"

The girl's face is flushed. "No, no, sir. We're just having us a little  disagreement. She's at the wrong counter, and I tried telling her that."

He gives me a look. "This is a secure area. We don't allow visitors in here."

In Spanish I tell him she's a savage who called me a Mexican and said I  speak Mexican. I add that she called me a foreigner and refused to greet  me in Spanish, even though the sign right there says Spanish is an  acceptable language at this counter. I say that she doesn't speak a word  of Spanish and his company is racist.

His cheeks become the color of hers. He understands every word I speak.  He turns, pointing at the doors behind him. "Mallory, go inside and tell  Mr. Kip that you might not have told the whole truth on your  application."

She swallows hard. "What is she accusing me of? I did nothing!"

I lean across the desk. "If you speak Spanish you know what I accuse you of."

Her eyes narrow. She turns quickly, storming through the large doors  behind us. The security guard has friends suddenly. Several of them are  there, surrounding me. The man sighs. "I am terribly sorry, ma'am. We  are not racist, I assure you. Now is there something I can help you  with?"

I shake my head, hoping it has been enough of a diversion since every  security guard on the floor has been alerted to me and my situation. "I  have wrong counter. I know this now. I am looking for Aunt Mabel."

He scowls. "There's a Mabel in here."

My heart drops. "Mabel Manuel?"

He shakes his head. "No, you do have the wrong area." He holds a hand  out. "There are a dozen floors in the building. Maybe call your aunt to  see if you have the right floor."

I offer a small wave. "Thank you, kind sir." I turn and walk past the crowd of them that have gathered in the hall.

My heart is racing, my stomach is burning, and I have never felt more  alive. I turn and walk back to the escalator, taking out the cell phone  Derek gave me earlier. I dial a random number as I take the escalator  down. I pause on the main floor, noticing how many of them are still  watching me. An answering machine kicks on, but I talk like I have  reached my aunt. I speak animatedly in Spanish, slapping myself on the  forehead like I have come in the wrong building. I walk out the front  doors, looking to the right and nodding as if she has given me the  directions again. I walk into the next building and take the elevator to  the third floor. It's an accounting firm with a large staff. I take the  stairs when I get to the floor and leave through the back alley. When I  get back into the fresh air I pull off the wig and ditch the mole and  glasses. I pull off the sweater and wrap everything in it. I fluff my  hair so it's huge. I walk to the Dumpster behind the building and place  the sweater and other items in it. I walk the long way back to the car,  praying he's doing okay.         

     



 

I start the car with the key he gave me when he handed me the phone as  he drilled me on the details of the plan. The drive to the park five  blocks over is tense. It isn't that I think he's going to get  caught-he's a genius. It's that Randall is a smart man. He's been the  head of our operation for a long time. He might know things about Derek.  Things I told him, that Derek won't be prepared for.

I sit in the car, waiting for a long time. Eventually I get out,  standing in the freezing air with nothing but my tank top and jeans on. I  lie on the hood, like it's a summer day and not an evening in late  fall.

The clouds look like horses. I swear they always do.

When the sun sets I start to really worry. I pace, walking around the  car with my teeth chattering and my skin turning a pale-blue color.

Finally, when I can't take it any longer, I get back into the car and  wait for him in there. It's completely dark in the park when I admit  he's in trouble. I don't want to. I want him to be okay, and I want him  to come back to me. But I can't deny the fact of the matter is that he  is clearly caught or worse.

I drive around the city twice, like he told me to, and head back to the  apartment. When I get there I have to remind myself I am the craziest  monster in the world and nothing in the dark warehouse is going to be as  nuts as me. I creep into the dark, jumping several times when noises  taunt me from their hiding place in the shadows.

Climbing the stairs to the flat makes me nervous, and not just because I  have the entire warehouse behind me. While I have turned my back on the  darkness and made myself vulnerable, I hardly notice it because the  door is open to the flat and the light from it is flooding the metal  stairs.





15. MAGICAL KEY OF DOOM

It's insane, but I swear I can feel the heat from the lights inside the  flat. When I get to the top of the stairs I wish I had a gun. There's  blood on the doorknob. I reach up, pushing the door open farther,  revealing more dots of blood spattered across the foyer.

I hurry inside, expecting to find him wounded.

I don't expect him to be on the floor unconscious, but he is. I'm nearly  blind with worry and fear as I dash across the room, skidding on my  knees to his side. I push him over, finding a crudely wrapped and  blood-soaked wound on his side. The puddle of darkening blood beneath  him seems too great to be survivable. I lay him on his back, pressing  down on the injury. He stirs, wincing. "Your hands are freezing!" He  speaks with a breathy whisper.

"What happened?" My voice is cracked and falling apart, just like everything else.

He shakes his head, grinning. "He switched places where he keeps his  gun. I assumed either the bar or the desk, but he put one in the  bathroom. He was clearly getting paranoid."

"Was? Did you kill Randall?"

He lifts a hand to my cheek. "I saw the light leave his eyes."

I push harder on the wound as hot liquid seeps onto my cold hands. "We have to get you to the hospital."

He shakes his head, swallowing like it's painful. "It's a stomach shot. I  had a window of time. I could see you one last time, or I could get to  the hospital and leave you to worry about me." He smiles weakly. "I  couldn't stand to see you vulnerable and scared. What if you went back  for me?"

Tears start to fill my eyes, again trying to make it so I can't see everything. "No. You have to see a doctor."

He laughs, cringing in pain. "I am a doctor, let me tell you. No one  lives this amount of time with a stomach wound. I'm on borrowed time."

I slump over the wound, shaking my head. "Borrow a little more. Don't leave me."

He lifts a red hand, running it across my cheek. "I won't ever leave  you." His hand drops to my chest, patting my heart. "I will live here,  in the light we made."