“Get off your ass and come get something to eat.” Before I can say anything more, she disappears back into the kitchen.
“Yeah, I can see how she could be good for you,” says Harry. He looks up at me and winks. “How’s Herman doing?” He changes the subject.
“They moved him out of intensive care yesterday.” We get up and start walking toward the kitchen. “He’ll be on the mend for a while. But he’s starting to get irritable.”
“That’s a good sign.”
“The doctor’s telling him six weeks to two months before he can do any heavy lifting.”
“Take bets,” says Harry. We enter the kitchen. “Give you three to one Herman’s back out on the bricks in less than a month.”
“At death’s door one day, fighting to go home the next. Herman’s always been a quick healer,” I tell him.
“More power to him,” says Joselyn. “Either one of you would be laid up for a year.”
“You see what I have to put up with? What a hard-ass.” I look at Harry and smile.
“Yes, and it’ll be a long time before you touch it again with that kind of an attitude.” Joselyn has her back to us as she works at the counter slicing some small sandwiches and stacking them on a plate. “He’s been in the dumps since he first heard about what happened to Sarah.”
“Yeah, well, it’s pretty hard when your daughter comes within a whisper of being murdered,” I tell her.
“Yes, but she wasn’t. You have to let it go and move on,” says Joselyn.
“On to what?”
“You can pour your own coffee. Cups are in the cupboard over there.” She gestures with her head. “Sugar and cream are on the table. Silverware is in the drawer. Help yourself.” She turns and sets the dish of sandwiches in the center of the table. “Napkins, I don’t know. You’ll have to use your sleeve. I forgot to put ’em on the list the last time they went for groceries.”
“The FBI does our housekeeping,” I tell Harry.
“So what’s the gig this time? Protective custody, witness protection, or are we under arrest?” He looks at me.
“It’s not entirely clear,” I tell him. “I don’t think we’re in custody. As far as I understand it, we’re just cooperating with their investigation. For the time being, they’re happy to provide security, at least while we’re here and on their terms.”
“What’s Thorpe saying?”
“He’s suggesting we stick around, at least for a while. This thing with Sarah rattled him. They squeezed Joselyn and me for information, whatever we knew. They questioned Herman as soon as he could talk. Now they’re working on Sarah.”
“They talked to her at the farm,” says Harry. “Questioned me as well. They lost interest when I told them I hadn’t seen or talked to either of you in almost a month, that I’d been hanging out on the farm in Ohio since we split from California. I couldn’t tell them anything. Didn’t even see Liquida. They trampled all over the farm looking for anything that might give them a lead. They would have grilled the Doberman but his English wasn’t that good.”
“Sarah tells me the dog saved her life,” says Joselyn.
“If he’d been just a few seconds faster, the FBI could be doing DNA on a hunk out of Liquida’s ass, I suspect,” says Harry. “She’s quite attached to him. The dog, I mean. He’s been sleeping at the bottom of her bed ever since it happened. He’s getting spoiled. Kibble and bacon bits out of her hand. I take it you met him last night?”
“Lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas,” I tell him, “but that’s one animal I’d kiss. I’m glad she has him. At least for the time being.”
“Which reminds me,” says Harry. “Where is he? You didn’t lock him in the bedroom, did you? Cuz he’ll chew the carpet off the floor. He doesn’t like to be locked in a room where he can’t see out. And he tends to get antsy when he’s separated from her.”
“Sarah took him to her meeting at the FBI office,” I tell him.
“They let her do that?” says Joselyn.
“It’s hard to say no when you have a snarling dog with his nose in your crotch,” I tell her.
We pour coffee, settle into chairs around the table, and start to eat.
“Thorpe give you any idea as to whether they have any leads on Liquida?” Harry talks with his mouth half full.
“They’re looking. But without a name or something else to track, it’s difficult. All they can do is print a sketch, put it on their website, hang it in the post office, circulate it to local law enforcement, and hope somebody calls in.”
“I would think that after the bombing near the Capitol he’s going to draw a pretty high number on their wanted list,” says Joselyn.
“Depends whether they put him on their terror list or regular most wanted list. They put him on the terror list, there’s no way he’s going to get near the top. There’s too many big names already,” I tell her.
“The last time I checked, bin Laden was still number one. And that’s going on ten years now,” says Harry. “And, of course, while they’re looking, we don’t have a life. Can’t go home cuz Liquida may be waiting for us.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve thought about it. I can’t speak for either of you, but I don’t intend to sit around growing old, waiting and hoping that somebody snags the crazy bastard before he kills me or murders my daughter.” I look at both of them. “He came within a breath of killing Herman. He’s made one attempt on Sarah’s life and murdered one of her friends.”
Liquida killed Jenny, one of Sarah’s girlfriends, after following the two of them to a club in San Diego. It was Liquida’s twisted way of sending a message that my family and I were next.
“So you think he’ll try again?” says Joselyn.
“Hell, yes,” says Harry. “Unless he dies of cancer or gets hit by a truck.”
Harry, Herman, and I had become entangled with this psychotic as a result of a case that turned out to have connections with terrorism south of the border. Ever since then Liquida has been crossing our path with the constancy of an orbiting death star, making it crystal clear that he has declared war on us even if we refuse to realize it.
“It’s cultural,” I tell her. “Liquida has his roots in the Mexican cartels. These are people to whom vengeance is a religion. Only heretics allow the flame of revenge to go out.”
“What did you do to him?” she asks.
“I don’t know. But it wouldn’t matter even if I knew. Assuming I could undo whatever it was, it would make no difference to Liquida. He has no sense of proper proportion. Look at him without genuflecting and he’ll kill your entire family, shoot your dog, and burn your house. When he’s finished, he’ll dig up your ancestors and grind their bones to dust for fertilizer. He may have gone upwardly mobile and branched out to service the international terror trade, but his instincts come from the cartels.”
“So what do we do?” says Joselyn. “Stay here? Hope the FBI will provide protection? Pray they’ll catch him?”
“For how long?” says Harry. “We’ve been through this before. Hiding out in an FBI safe house. You weren’t with us.”
“Harry’s right. And when we came out into the open, Liquida came back. He killed Jenny. While we were looking for him he was busy hunting down Sarah. He’s smart and he’s very patient. He knows sooner or later we have to surface again. He’ll simply wait. When we feel safe, when we get into the routine of life with the illusion of security, that’s when he’ll hit us. And this time we may not be so lucky.”
“I can’t disagree with your logic, but it still doesn’t answer the question of what we do,” says Joselyn.
“Simple, we find him before he finds us,” says Harry.
“Unless you have a better idea,” I tell her.
“We tried that; it didn’t work, remember? Herman very nearly got killed,” says Joselyn. “It’s too dangerous. We don’t have the resources. Look around the table. There’s three of us. None of us has a gun or, for that matter, knows how to use one. Herman was your only real backup in terms of security and he’s down. Let the FBI do it.”
