out.
“What did you hear?” he asked.
“Not out here.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Come on in.”
He opened the door the rest of the way and stepped back. I took the opening and went in. The place was messed up a little. A desk drawer was still out. The old guy looked rattled.
“What did he tell you?” he asked.
“He didn’t tell me anything; I heard your name and tapped his JZI communication.”
“That’s a federal off—”
“Hey, I was watching your back.”
“Why?”
“Because you helped me out. Because you’re a slummer from Bullrich, like me.”
He thought about it, and it looked like he bought it.
“What did you hear?” he asked.
“Not much, sorry. Just that you stirred up a hornets’ nest and they were looking to pick you up. They’re still watching you, you know.”
He nodded. His eyes darted around like he wasn’t sure what to do. That’s when I picked up the jack.
My JZI picked up the signal, and when I locked on, a revivor signature snapped on the scanner. It was somewhere close. Inside the apartment.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No.” I scanned around. There was a closed door down the hall. It was where the fan noise was coming from. The signal was in there. I caught a whiff of something, a chemical smell that I knew from the grind.
“You sure you’re okay, Chief?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look like you saw a damn ghost.”
“I don’t know,” he said, and shook his head. “Maybe I did. The truth is, I’ve got to take off for a while.”
“A while?”
“I might not be back.”
I looked around, but I didn’t see any bags or anything.
“Where you going?”
“It’s not important. Just do me a favor.”
“Shoot.”
“If your friend asks, you never saw me today.”
“They sicced that red-haired bitch on you, didn’t they?”
That stopped him. I could see it was true. The look, like he saw a ghost, came back.
“What do you know about that?”
“I know her name. It’s Zoe Ott.”
“How do you know her?”
“I saw her when I went to look up Wachalowski at the FBI. Did she get in your head?”
The look on his face said yes. I chanced a look at the closed door and scanned through. The revivor was in there; I could just make it out. That’s where the smell came from. A body had been cleaned up in there.
“You knew?” he asked. I turned the scan on him and saw the gun tucked under his shirt. “How much do you know?”
“I know what she does.”
He nodded. I saw the JZI flicker behind his eyes, and he got quiet for a second.
“The Fed, he’s an old soldier, like you,” I told him. “He got me out of a bind. Whatever his beef with you is, it’s got nothing to do with me. I just want some answers.”
The orange light went out. He sighed.
“Cal, look. You need to get out of here, okay? I’m telling you this for your own good. You need to leave, and so do I. Just …you didn’t see me.”
“I can take you out of here. They won’t be looking for me.”
“Cal …”
“I’m not being tracked. I owe you.”
He thought about that. His hands moved to his hips. His right one was close to the gun.
“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Shoot me?”
His hand didn’t move. He stayed like that too long for my liking, though.
“Wait here,” he said. “I got to make a call.”
He went into the next room and shut the door partway. On the other side, I could hear him rooting around for something. I didn’t hear him talking, but I picked him up on the JZI. I turned the backscatter onto the bathroom door up close and saw the revivor in there. It had a gun in its hand.
Through the walls I could see pipes and wiring. He paced in the next room, then went to a big safe. It was too thick to scan through. I lost him behind it.
I gave him a minute, but he stayed out of sight. The safe was big enough that he could have used it to cover his ass while he went out a window or something.
“Chief?” He didn’t answer.
I stepped up to the door, ready to shove it when he opened it and came out.
“I said to wait,” Buckster said. He had a metal briefcase in one hand.
“Sorry.”
“You want answers?” he said. “Let’s go.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Grab what you need.”
He held up the metal case.
“I got all I need,” he said. “Let’s go.”
8 Fathom
Nico Wachalowski—Empire Apartments, Apartment #213
I didn’t doubt who planted the monitoring device, but as soon as I passed through the perimeter and my JZI came back online, a message was waiting that confirmed it.
I still couldn’t reach Calliope; her JZI was showing a status of blocked, meaning it wasn’t taking calls. There was any number of reasons she might do that, but the last time we spoke, she was with Buckster. I’d feel better when she responded.
The truth was, I’d worried about her more than I let on. I wasn’t sure why. I hadn’t known her well at all, but somehow she’d gotten under my skin. When we started writing back and forth, I caught myself getting concerned when she stayed quiet too long. It was my first experience being home and waiting for someone to finish their tour.
Was that how Faye had felt? If so, it must have been worse, because back then when I stopped writing, I never started again. I didn’t even look her up when I came back. I never got a chance to make that right.
