Kill Her Again

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Pope was dozing in his chair by the window when his cell phone rang for the third time that morning.

Groaning, he snatched it off the table next to him and stared bleary-eyed at the screen.

Sharkey again.

Shit.

Glancing at the bed, he noted that Evan hadn’t stirred. The only sign of life was the gentle rise and fall of the boy’s small chest. Pope marveled at his ability to sleep despite the mountain of crap that had fallen on him in the last handful of hours.

Pope himself had never been much for sleep. Not even when he was Evan’s age. He used to drive his parents nuts, never clocking out for more than four or five hours a night. And lately, despite all of the pot he consumed, he’d managed to pare that down to two or three. It wasn’t enough, he knew, but he continued to function in his own pathetic way.

His phone rang again.

Reluctantly scraping a thumb across the keypad, he clicked it on.

“What’s up, Sharkey?”

“Me, unfortunately. Any guesses why?”

“I’m a hypnotist, not a mind reader.”

“He wants to see you. Again.”

Pope let out another groan. “You’re kidding, right?”

“If I were, I’d still be in bed. Get your ass upstairs. I don’t wanna have to come get you.”

“What’s this about?”

“I don’t know and I didn’t ask, but we’ll find out soon enough.”

Pope glanced at Evan. “It’ll have to wait. I’ve got company.”

“She’ll keep.”

Pope checked the clock near his bed. Just past five. Outside, the sky was beginning to show just a hint of light.

Where the hell was that social worker?

“It’s not that easy,” he said. “Give me an hour or so and-”

“ Now,” Sharkey told him. And the tone was not friendly.

Fuck.

Pope was about to suggest that Sharkey and his boss go straight to hell, but knew that wouldn’t be wise. Over the last couple years, thanks to a woefully bad string of luck, Pope had managed to dig himself into a two-hundred-thousand-dollar hole with Anderson Troy. A debt that had more or less turned Pope into an indentured slave.

With a resigned sigh, he said, “I’ll be right up.”

“That’s a good boy.”

Sharkey clicked off.

Pope looked at Evan again, wondering if he should call Jake, see if social services was making any progress. He figured there wasn’t much chance of the boy waking up while he was gone, but didn’t really want to leave him alone.

Before he could stop himself, he was thinking about Ben again. About the good times, when he and Susan would stand over their son’s crib, watching him sleep, thinking they were the luckiest couple in the world, having a child so perfect. So beautiful.

And later, when Ben was five-a young genius, Pope was sure-all those trips to the hospital, no longer the perfect son, but prone to a myriad of ailments that the doctors had trouble diagnosing.

Little did anyone know that it was Susan they should have been examining. Susan who had been causing Ben pain. A classic case of Munchhausen by proxy. A mental illness that had led directly to their son’s death.

It was an accident, Susan later told investigators in a teary-eyed confession-a confession Pope wouldn’t have believed she’d made if he hadn’t seen the tape himself. After years of systematically abusing their son, of turning him into a sick little boy in a twisted attempt to gain sympathy and attention, she had finally gone too far. Setting the station wagon on fire, then claiming she’d been carjacked had been a desperate attempt to cover up the crime.

An attempt that had almost worked.

Pope supposed he should have sympathy for Susan, but he didn’t. Just the opposite, in fact. Hating her somehow made it easier to cope. Made him feel less guilty that he hadn’t seen the signs, hadn’t realized the truth before it was too late.

Pope’s gut burned. At times like this, he would normally distract himself with a game or a beautiful woman or a bowl of dope, but none of those were an option right now. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he was responsible for someone, and he cursed Jake for making that happen.

There was no telling what Troy wanted or how long it would take. The only option was to find a substitute babysitter. Someone he could trust. Or, at least, rely on.

Moving to the phone by his bed, he punched in a two-digit code. A moment later a familiar voice answered the call.

“Room service.”

“Hey, Kel, it’s me, Danny.”

Pope had been expecting another face-to-face with Troy, but it was more than that. Much more.

Troy had gone a bit overboard with the hired muscle-mostly because he had no real friends-but Pope rarely saw them all assembled in the same room at the same time.

Sharkey was here, looking sleepy and miffed, along with Arturo, and the so-called twin defenders, Joshua and Jonah, whom Pope always thought of as a single entity. He’d never seen them apart.

Then there was the strange creature who sat in a corner of the room, observing them all from a distance as if close contact might somehow contaminate him.

The Ghost.

He always wore dark suits and orange-tinted glasses-something about light-sensitive eyes-and reminded Pope of an undertaker.

Pope wasn’t sure what the guy did, exactly, or why they called him that, but he could make a pretty good guess, and his presence here did not bring on thoughts of happiness and light.

It was times like this that Pope wondered how the hell he had ever allowed himself to fall in with this sorry lot.

But who was he kidding? He knew all too well how it had happened. The debt he owed Troy had not been accumulated over a single night, and was not the result of a single bad hand, but rather a string of horrendous hands that stretched the entire two-year span of time that Pope had been haunting the Oasis. He was hopelessly addicted to poker in all of its forms, and was notoriously bad at playing the game.

It would be years before he worked off his debt. Most of his take from Metamorphosis — a show that had been all Troy’s idea in lieu of an actual cash payback-went straight to the man himself, including interest. The rest went to room and board. And whether he liked it or not, Pope was locked into a payment plan that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon.

Or would it?

The way everyone was staring at him, he couldn’t be sure. He glanced down at the carpet just to make sure he wasn’t standing on plastic, and made a mental note to keep Arturo within his line of sight.

“So,” he said to Troy, who was once again sprawled on the sofa. “Still having problems with Nigel Fromme?”

“I think we’ve gotten beyond poor Nigel, don’t you?”

Pope had no idea what that meant and told him so.

“Come on, Daniel. Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not playing,” Pope said. “I am dumb. Dumb as rocks. I think I’ve proven that more than a few times. So why don’t you pretend I just got off the short bus and tell me what the hell you want.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so hostile, but fear does that to you. It’s not easy to stay calm when you’ve got a half-dozen pairs of eyes staring you down, especially when you have no idea why.

Troy, however, didn’t seem to notice his tone-which wasn’t unusual for a guy who was so self-absorbed.

“I like to think that I’ve been a good friend to you, Daniel. I’ve given you a place to live, an opportunity to display your talents, and a relatively painless way to relieve yourself of your financial burden.”

Pope said nothing.

“When you came here, you were a broken man. But by inviting you into this little family of mine, I think I’ve been instrumental in changing that fact. Helped you glue some of the pieces back together, so to speak.” He paused. “Am I wrong about that?”

Again Pope said nothing. He knew Troy wasn’t really expecting an answer. Certainly not the one Pope was likely to provide.

“I don’t think I am,” Troy said. “What I am is surprised. Surprised that you would accept my generosity, then turn around and stab me in the back.”

Say what?

Pope responded this time. Didn’t hide his confusion. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“You’ve been smoking a little too much weed, my friend. I might have to cut you off.” He paused. “You had a visitor this morning. Why don’t you tell me about her?”

“What’s to tell?”

Troy frowned. “For starters, do the initials FBI mean anything to you?”

Ohhhhhh, crap, Pope thought.

He truly was as dumb as rocks. He should have known that this was what Troy was on about.

The presence of Agent McBride at the Oasis was quite a threat to a man like Anderson Troy. It didn’t matter that she knew nothing of Troy’s illegal activities and probably couldn’t care less. Troy didn’t know this. And Troy’s concern was understandable.

Pope put on his best, reassuring smile. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said.

“Of course I do.”

“No, seriously. It’s not what you-”

Before he could finish his sentence, the twin defenders flanked him, each grabbing an arm and holding him in place. Pope instinctively stiffened, starting to resist, but their grips tightened just enough to hurt.

He glanced at Sharkey, but Sharkey’s face was cold and impassive.

Troy rose from the sofa. “How much do they know about me?”

“They?”

Troy sighed. “The FBI, my friend. Pay attention.”

Pope shook his head. “Not a thing. She wasn’t here about-”

The blow was so sudden and so painful that Pope seemed to momentarily leave his body. Unfortunately, not quite fast enough to avoid the burst of fire that had engulfed his left kidney. Somehow Arturo had managed to get behind him to deliver the punch.

So much for keeping the little bastard within his line of sight.

Pope’s knees buckled, but the twin defenders stood him back up, Arturo circling.

Troy seemed unfazed by the tears of pain gathering in Pope’s eyes.

“How much do they know?” he repeated.

“Will you let me finish a sentence, for Christ’s sake?”

The second blow was to the solar plexus, again coming so swiftly that Pope had no time to prepare-as if that would have made a difference.

With a gasp, he doubled over, then tried to distract himself from the pain by biting down hard on his lower lip-which didn’t work, of course. Now his gut and his lip hurt.

There were many times over the last two years that Pope believed he had bottomed out. Had gotten as low as a man could get. But at this moment, standing in this room as these men beat on him, knowing he had allowed himself, through his own stupidity, his own careless actions, to be here, he had to congratulate himself. He had reached a brand-new low.

And this time he might not come up for air.

“Listen to me,” he gasped. “I’m trying to tell you, you’ve got nothing to worry about. She doesn’t know a thing about you. Doesn’t even know you exist.”

“Are you telling me she’s just another one of your recreational fucks?”

“No, it isn’t like that. She came to me for help on a case. Like the old days. My cousin Jake sent her.”

“That’s the cop, right?”

“Yes.”

Troy turned to his crew. “You see, that just goes to show what a generous guy I am. Despite Daniel’s direct relationship to an officer of the law, I let him into our little circle here with open arms.”

“I didn’t ask to be included,” Pope said.

The next blow came to his rib cage, and if something didn’t crack, it surely bent, as pain blossomed along his right side.

“The point is,” Troy told him, “I trusted you. Offered you a helping hand when you needed it most. And even if you’re telling the truth, and this FBI agent knows nothing about my extracurricular activities, what assurances do I have that that won’t change in the near future?”

“Only my word,” Pope croaked. “She got what she wanted and left. I don’t expect to see her again.”

“And what about the kid? She won’t come back for him?”

Pope stiffened. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Troy knew about Evan, but he was. And for some reason that frightened him more than anything else.

“No,” he said. “They’re sending someone out to pick him up.”

“Another cop?”

“Social worker.”

“And why did she bring him here in the first place?”

“It’s a long story. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“You should know by now that everything that goes on in this hotel has to do with me. Just give me the highlights.”

So Pope did, explaining about the murders, and the hope that they might be able to get information out of Evan under hypnosis.

When he was done, Troy stared at him for a long moment, then finally smiled. “Thank you for clearing that up. I’m sorry we had to be so rough on you. But I don’t like surprises. You should have warned me she was coming.”

Pope knew he was right, but said nothing.

“You see,” Troy continued, “considering the nature of my business, when it comes to matters of security and stability my comfort level is relatively low. And I’m sure you can understand that having a federal agent get curious about me is something I’d like to avoid.”

“Sure,” Pope said. Although at this point, he was in too much pain to really give a damn. “But like I told you, she doesn’t even know you exist.”

“How can you really be sure of that?” Troy asked. “As far as any of us knows, she could be using that so-called case she’s working on as a ruse to get to you. And by extension, to me.”

Pope looked at him. This was getting ridiculous. “So what are you saying? The boy’s part of it? Some kind of junior agent?” He tried and failed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice and barely suppressed a laugh. “For Christ’s sake, Troy, quit letting your ego cloud your judgment.”

He knew the moment the words were out of his mouth that he’d made yet another reckless mistake and couldn’t fathom why he’d said them in the first place. But they were out there now and he couldn’t pull them back. And any hope he had that Troy would ignore them died the moment he looked into the man’s eyes.

Troy’s next utterance didn’t help much, either. “You… insolent… little… fuck.”

Pope knew he had just crossed a line he shouldn’t even have approached. Considering Troy’s history, he was likely to react like a toddler who’s just been smacked in the face by a cold, unloving parent.

And true to form, Troy gestured to his crew and said with barely controlled fury, “I’ve had it with this moron. He’s more trouble than he’s worth. Take him out to the desert and do that thing you do so well.”

“Wait a minute,” Pope said, feeling panic rise. “What the hell are you doing? I saved your life for chrissa-”

Another quick blow, straight to the gut. Pope doubled over.

Goddamn that hurt.

“I knew you’d bring that up,” Troy said. “And I believe I’ve repaid that debt several times over. But you’ve failed me twice in one morning, Daniel. And that’s more chances than most people get.”

He gestured with two fingers and the twin defenders started dragging Pope toward the doors.

“Hold on, boss. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Sharkey speaking now.

Coming to the rescue.

“He’s a liability,” Troy said. “Knows more than I ever should have allowed him to know. And if he’s careless enough to invite a federal agent into this hotel, he deserves whatever he gets.”

“But if he’s got the FBI sniffing around him, won’t it be a little suspicious, he suddenly goes missing?”

Troy took a moment to consider this.

“Maybe. But the man has a history of self-destructive behavior.” He paused, the wheels still turning. “Make it look like suicide.”