“Trevor, where are you?”
“Well, I’m sort of in the bushes, by the house. I didn’t think you were here, because I didn’t see your car or anything. But that big black SUV? The one they used to take away Angie? It’s here. But if you’re with Angie, I’m assuming everything’s okay, right?”
“Not entirely, Trevor. There are still a few things to work out. How, exactly, did you know where to find us?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you’re gonna be pissed.”
37
“GO AHEAD,” I said to Trevor, trying to keep my voice even. “I won’t get mad. I promise.”
Angie was feeling a bit unsteady on her feet and plopped back onto the couch while I continued to hold a gun on Bullock. Pockmark had lost a fair bit of blood, and his head hung down onto his chest as he gripped his thigh. The guy needed to get to a hospital.
“This was the thing I was going to tell you a while ago,” Trevor said, “but I couldn’t think of a way to do it, but I’ve been thinking about it and decided the best thing to do is help Angie, no matter what.”
“Okay, Trevor. I’d be real grateful if you can move this story along and just tell me.”
“I know what I’ve done, some people might call inappropriate. But I wasn’t doing it for my own purposes alone. I think there’s a larger issue at stake here, a point to be made about how we’re all being monitored in one way or another, that Big Brother is watching our every move, and that we need to take a stand against this kind of dehumanization that threatens to rob us of our-”
“Trevor!”
“Okay. You know that day you found me at your place, and I had my computer with me, and I was looking for my dog?”
“The tracking thing,” I said. “Let me guess.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Right.”
“You’ve been tracking Angie’s whereabouts, with the same kind of gizmo you clipped onto your dog’s collar.”
“You don’t have to thank me now,” Trevor said. “When I ran into Angie the other day at Starbucks, I was helping her with her coat and I sort of slipped it into one of the inside pockets where I figured she’d never look.”
I glanced over at Angie, and at her coat, draped over the end of the couch.
“Hold on a second, Trevor,” I said. To Angie, I said, “Honey?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“Take a look in the inside pockets of your coat, see if you find anything in there.”
“Like what?”
“Sort of like a button or something.”
She pulled the coat over onto her lap, started rifling through the pockets, and came out with a small silver disc. “This?” she said.
I went back onto the phone. “We found it, Trevor.”
“What is this?” Angie asked.
“It’s a tracking thing,” I told her. “Trevor put it in your pocket, that’s how he’s been following you all over town, showing up where you least expected him.”
Even slightly out of it, Angie went red with anger. “Is that him on the phone? Give it to me. I want to talk to him.”
“Later, hon,” I said.
At the other end of the line, Trevor said, “She sounds a bit pissed.”
“Trevor, what can you see from where you are?”
“Huh? Uh, like I say, I’m just in the bushes, looking at the house. I’ve got Morpheus with me.”
“Where’s your car?”
“It’s about six blocks back. I didn’t want anyone to see it, so I walked down, but I’ve got my laptop with me.”
“Jeez, I think I’m dying,” Pockmark said. I had a look at him. He didn’t look to me like he was dying, but there was no question he needed some medical attention.
“Shut up,” Bullock said. “If you’d frisked him better, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. Wait’ll I tell Mr. Indigo.”
“I can’t wait to hear that myself,” Pockmark said. “How you gonna explain all this?”
“What’s going on?” Trevor said.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just some other people in the room here havin’ a chat. We need a ride out of here, Trevor, but we don’t have time for you to run back to your Chevy. Also, there’s another man outside or around the garage somewhere, and he isn’t going to want us to leave.”
“I saw a guy a minute ago. I think he’d just dumped something into the back of the SUV.”
Trimble’s body, I figured.
“And then he went back into the garage.”
I thought for a moment. If we could get Blondie back out of the garage, then Trevor could go in, open the door, get the Virtue running and out into the driveway, and all Angie and I had to do was run out, hop in, and go.
“Hang on, Trevor, okay?”
“Yeah.”
To Bullock, I said, “You can talk to the garage with that thing there, right?” I pointed to the intercom. He nodded. “Tell your guy to come on back here.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I take a shot at Wonder Woman Barbie.”
He didn’t have to think long about that. He pressed the button, shouted, “Hey!” He waited a second for a response, tried again. “Hey, are you-”
“Hello?”
“Take your finger off the button!”
“Hello? Go ahead!”
“Fuck,” Bullock said under his breath, waited a beat, then pressed the button again. “Are you there?”
“Yup.”
“You get that job done?”
“Yeah. Stevie’s loaded up and ready to go. We can take a drive, unload him somewhere. I know where there’s a wood chipper. You want to do the others at the same time?”
I had a chill, knowing now what was in store for us.
“First thing I need you to do is come back here. It’s these others we have to deal with.”
“Yeah, sure, just be a sec.”
“You,” I said to Pockmark. I wanted him out of the chair. If he stayed there, he’d be visible the moment Blondie opened the door. He forced himself out of the chair, dragged his leg to the other side of the room, and sat down on the floor. I motioned for Angie to get off the couch, and handed her the gun I’d taken from Pockmark.
“Think you can manage this?” I said to her. “I want you to keep it on Mr. Barbie here.”
She nodded. Tiredly, but she was more awake every minute.
I spoke into the cell. “Trevor, you there?”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“Has that guy left the garage yet?”
“No.”
“The moment he walks out and heads for the house, you let me know.”
