Chapter Twenty-Five
The DJ petted his cat.
A new song cranked. The Mission: Impossible theme. A giant laser lit up. Men in lab coats scurried around checking pressure gauges.
The men’s room in the back of the nightclub was even busier.
Ted Savage, Coleman, and Escobar had made a beeline for the handicapped stall and barricaded themselves.
Escobar extended the Phillips-head on a utility knife and, moments later, Ted and Coleman pulled the mirror off the wall. It lay across the sink.
“Break that shit out!” said Savage.
Escobar dumped a baggie of white powder. “Hold on to your fuckin’ heads, dudes. This is hundred-percent pure Peruvian flake. Couple lines of this primo blow and you won’t be able to find your own nuts.” He flicked open a giant barber’s straight razor.
“Now, that’s a freakin’ blade!” said Coleman.
“Cut those cocksucking rails!” urged Savage.
Escobar sliced and diced. He pulled back the blade. “Who’s first?”
Savage dove forward with a rolled-up twenty. A hard snort, then his head snapped back. Nose pinched between his fingers. “God damn. Where’d you get this shit?”
Escobar was already cutting Coleman’s lines. “Had it flown up in the diplomatic pouch. Nobody checks. Nobody’s allowed to… Your turn.”
Coleman bent over…
Back in the lounge:
Serge drained a bottle of water. “So the consulate sent you to check up on me?”
“No, that was on my own,” said Felicia. “With the generals and that dead reporter, I can’t trust anyone. And Guzman’s still a little naive. I’m doing this for my country.”
“What makes you think you can trust me?”
“Because you’re not in the spy business. You aren’t connected to anybody, and I need independent help to see this through.”
“But of course I’m a spy,” Serge protested. “You injected me. That’s like spy baptism.”
“Come on.” Felicia laughed. “That was when I thought you were hooked up. But you told me a lot when you were under the serum.”
“Like what?”
“You’re just a local guy who foiled a random carjacking. But everyone now thinks you’re working for someone else, so you’re playing along.”
“What about me showing up earlier in your office?”
“Saw right through that.”
“You did?”
“Of course. You noticed me on the street and wanted a date. Happens a dozen times a week. All kinds of stupid excuses to talk me up, like delivering a package to the wrong address… Except you were actually pretty funny-and cute-but I didn’t want to let on.”
“I can live with that account… So you know it was just a typical carjacking?”
“The simplest explanation is usually the right one. But in the diplomatic world, imaginations run wild.”
“But you won’t tell them, right? I’d kind of like them to go on thinking I’m Jason Bourne.”
“I don’t think I could convince them otherwise.” Another laugh. “You’ve created quite a circular firing squad.”
“How so?”
“Guzman likes you, because you saved his life from a so-called hit squad, and the head of my consulate likes you because Guzman likes you, but he hates you because he doesn’t know your game and you might threaten his cushy gig in Miami, and Escobar thinks you’re after his job-or used to-but he’s more of a threat to himself and is now being courted by the CIA to find out more about you. And of course there’s the local boob twins, Oxnart and Lugar. Then Victor Evangelista, who’s dick-deep in gunrunning.”
“Please keep talking to me like that.”
“It’s no joke. Vic’s the key. We need to trace his shipments backward to the source and figure this whole thing out before another democracy’s overthrown by multinationals.” Felicia craned her neck around Serge, squinting toward the back of the club. “What’s taking those guys so long?”
“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
What she didn’t want to know:
“Dear God, help me!” screamed Escobar.
“Holy crap!” yelled Savage. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Wasn’t on purpose.” Crying now.
“What do we do?” whimpered Coleman.
“Okay,” said Savage. “Uh… Uh… First we have to remain calm.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know.”
Back in the lounge, Serge stretched and arched his back. “How do you get all your information?”
“Mostly from the head of our consulate. He’s chatty in bed. Guy goes through Viagra like popcorn.”
“Don’t you love those TV ads for the stuff?” said Serge. “Especially the medical warnings: ‘Discontinue use if experiencing diminished eyesight.’ I mean, who’s schlong out there is so limp it requires blood to be diverted in such quantities that the room starts to go dark?”
“Serge, come back to me,” said Felicia.
“What?”
She gently placed a hand on his. “I know who you are.”
“Right, I’m not a spy.”
“No, I’m talking about everything.” She lit a dark brown cigarette. “Police records, psychiatric diagnosis, the bodies.”
“How’s you learn all that-allegedly?”
“I’m a spy.”
“But if you know my whole history, you’re… not afraid to be sitting here?”
She formed her mouth into a circle and blew smoke rings toward the ceiling. “Natural attraction has no master. You can’t diagram it logically.”
“You’re attracted to me?”
“Jesus, Serge. You’re otherwise so intelligent.” She rolled her eyes. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“I don’t… I mean, you… me?”
She stubbed the cigarette. Her hands disappeared.
“What are you doing?”
A huskier voice. “What do you think I’m doing?”
Serge seized the sides of the table with his hands. “Whoa!” He glanced around to see if anyone was watching.
The voice became even throatier. “You enjoy that?”
“But we’re in the middle of a club full of people.”
“I like it that way. Public places.”
“Paraphilia?” said Serge.
“And dangerous situations, particularly espionage. That’s why I was so good wrecking political careers.” Felicia’s mouth neared the side of Serge’s head. “Are you getting in the mood? I’m in the mood. In fact…” She whispered the rest, then plunged her tongue in his ear.
