Angels of Vengeance

if only funding a crippled government at the end of the world was as simple as passing the hat round, thought Jed. Intending to move his boss through the room, he was already scanning the crowd looking for the next donor when Cesky surprised him.

‘You know, Kip,’ the big man said, feeling perfectly comfortable addressing the President as though he was speaking to some beer buddy, ‘if you’d just make that bastard down in Texas pay his way, you could probably afford a decent tax package. Okay, maybe not my idea. I know people are always gonna be suspicious of a guy with too much money saying he should pay less tax, but as long as that asshole is holding out on the rest of the country, you can’t get nothing done. That’s why I don’t push back too hard when my invoices don’t get paid right away by the Treasury. Because I know that rat fuck is holding out on you!’

The Secret Service were watching again, but Kip had switched from polite interest to genuine engagement with the construction magnate. Cesky had found one of the President’s hot-button issues. He took a gulp from the champagne flute full of apple juice as if he’d forgotten it wasn’t a real drink.

‘I fucking tell you, Henry, I wish I had a few more guys like you working for me,’ said Kipper. ‘This is exactly what I’ve been saying for over a year. Do you know how many of my problems would go away if that guy would just pay his bills?’

And just like that, the energy between them shifted and they suddenly looked like old beer buddies after all, intent on saving the world with a couple of six-packs and a bunch of f-bombs. But Jed Culver didn’t like the way this was going. He could almost see Kip agreeing to road-trip down to Texas in Cesky’s pick-up, with a keg on the seat between them and an ass-kicking for Governor Blackstone in the offing. Not that the idea didn’t appeal, on a deeply undergraduate level, but a large part of his job involved protecting Kip from his often naive enthusiasm.

Jed was just about to step in and break up the bromance when the First Lady appeared with Marilyn and insisted that the President come over and meet a real-live Hollywood star, Sigourney Weaver. Ms Weaver had been spared the fate of so many of her colleagues by happening to be overseas promoting some long-forgotten kid’s film with Jon Voight and Shia LaBeouf when Brad and Clint and Arnie and Angelina were all reduced to pink mud.

‘Really?’ Cesky said, instantly losing interest in tax policy and federal-state relations. ‘I loved those Alien films. And I heard she was going to be in the new one, with those predators they had in that old Schwarzenegger movie. How cool would that be? Although, you know, it’s the Brits making it. So it’ll probably be shit.’

‘You liked those films? I loved those fucking films, man!’ enthused Kipper, forgetting himself in his surprise that he’d found more common ground with the construction magnate. ‘Especially the second one, with the Marines. It was the only one where you felt like the good guys actually had a chance. You know, right up until they got eaten.’

Here was a conversation James Kipper could really get lost in. But the ladies did Jed’s job for him, Marilyn in particular. The third Mrs Culver let the businessman have a couple of thousand watts of eyes, tits and teeth, before skilfully prising the President away and hurrying him off through the crowd, to safety, in a fashion that would’ve done his Secret Service detail proud.

‘I’ll tell Sigourney you’re a big fan, Henry,’ said Marilyn. ‘Come and meet her later. But I have to introduce Kip first, or that dreadful protocol Nazi will have kittens. Come on, Mr President.’

Culver and Cesky were left on their own.

‘Jeez, women eh?’ sighed Cesky, still a little dazed from Marilyn’s performance.

‘Henry, I don’t know how we’ve managed to keep them in their place for six thousand years.’

Cesky rewarded that crack with a raucous laugh. He threw down the rest of his beer just in time to swap it for another, which came floating past on a tray.

‘Yeah, women - can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, unless you wanna go gay or something! But all joking aside, Jed,’ he said, ‘I’m fucking serious about this Blackstone. The day is coming when you’re gonna have to crack him upside the head. Knock him down so hard he doesn’t get back up again. Did you know that bastard has me blacklisted down there? All of that construction and salvage and clearance work he’s got going on, and I can’t get a taste of it. He’s a vengeful cocksucker, I tell you.’

Seeing his chance, the Chief of Staff closed in, putting his arm around the other man’s shoulder, creating a small conspiratorial air between them in the midst of the roaring reception.

‘Oh, I hear you, Henry. I hear you … Which brings me to the happy topic of what you can do to help us give the worthless cocksucker a kick in the ass. Because if he ever moves his operation from Texas up here to Seattle, my friend, you can kiss goodbye to any government work anywhere in this country.’

Cesky’s expression was grim enough that Culver knew he’d hit home.

‘Yeah. You’re fucking right about that. I’ll write you a cheque before I go tonight.’

16

NORTH KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI

She could not return home. They would look for her there. The decision pained her, not being able to go back to the loft to collect any personal items, but she realised it was a small sacrifice to pay. In spite of all that had taken place in her life, and all she herself had done, since that black spring day in east Texas, Sofia Pieraro was still considered a child. The police officers hadn’t come around to the apartment simply to tell her that Papa was dead; they had also meant to take her into protective custody. Without any relatives or friends to stay with in Kansas City, she knew the authorities would move quickly to place her in foster care. Or even worse, if she tried to leave and failed, they’d probably put her into some sort of juvenile detention program. Like a common criminal. So no, she could not return home. She had to get out of this city and back down to Texas before anybody thought to look for her.

The federales would do nothing about that tyrant Blackstone. Sofia had watched her father’s resolve wither away over the last few months as he’d come to understand his own powerlessness. But he hadn’t been lying when he vowed to lay the family’s vengeance upon the man he blamed for their deaths, she knew that. Miguel Pieraro had proven himself to be utterly without mercy when dealing with the Governor’s agents, both at the homestead and later during their escape from Texas. But here, in the altogether more civilised surroundings of Kansas City, he had found himself drained of that resolve by the demands of the same authorities who promised to protect him - or rather, his daughter, she thought with some shame - and levy a harsh punishment on anyone they could prove was responsible for the slaughter of the Pieraro clan.

But what have they done? Sofia asked herself again, as she pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head and jammed her hands deep into the pockets against the cold of the night. She worried about how much colder it would be outside and wondered whether she might be wise to find a heavy jacket from somewhere. Perhaps steal one from a room. But momentum pushed her forward, and caution. It wouldn’t do to be caught stealing when all she wanted was to get away.

Midnight had come and gone some twenty minutes ago and she knew from her work here that a new shift would just be settling in. She kept her head down as she made her way down the dimly lit corridor, hoping nobody would recognise her. She knew a few people working the graveyard shift this week, but apart from a television running a news channel feed from Seattle, and the rattle of a cleaner’s metal bucket somewhere nearby, this part of the hospital was quiet. Papa’s death and her own arrival as a patient had no doubt been noted by the staff and passed around as an item of gossip or concern. It didn’t matter which to Sofia. What mattered was getting away without being seen.

The main reception desk was not staffed right now. A few desolate individuals, scattered here and there on the rows of cheap plastic chairs that occupied about half of the foyer, gave her no more than a passing glance as she hurried through. It would be busier around in emergency, she knew. There were always doctors on duty in ER, at the far north end of the building, and always plenty of patients for them to see. Drunken militia men, busted up in a bar fight. Farm and construction labourers injured at work. Auto accident victims - a lot of them in this weather. At the southern entrance, however, near the remains of a never-completed parking garage, she was able to pass through unobserved.

Sofia patted the back pocket of her jeans, checking for her wallet. She had thirteen ‘newbies’ in there, the only money she had in the world now. It would be enough for her immediate requirements; she’d just have to scavenge what she needed along the way. She hurried down the steps towards the taxi rank, where a couple of cabs sat idling to power their heaters, generating thick white clouds of exhaust. Sofia swore and shivered in the cold as she increased her pace to a light jog. It felt as though frozen fingers were clenching inside her body.