The Nowhere Man

40 People Who Deserve It

Evan’s feet dragged lifelessly behind him, leaving ski tracks in the snow. The morning glare off the ground was piercing, forcing him to squint. His legs and arms throbbed from the cold. His head hung forward, hair latticing his eyes. A narco had him by either arm, Dex leading the merry little charge.

They hauled him into the barn and threw him onto the wrestling mat. Shuddering, he curled on the blue rubber. Only now did he allow himself to register the state of his body. The chill crept into his bruises, stung the ring of raw flesh around his neck. His head swam from the cold, from the exertion, from more kicks and punches than he could keep track of. He could no longer feel his nose or his lips. His ankles ached. His thighs burned, his calves were on fire, his breath growing more ragged by the second.

If he died here in this desolate valley, he’d be another in a long list of people who had failed Alison Siegler and the boy.

And yet how could he rescue them when he was in need of rescuing himself?

There was a lesson in that somewhere, of that he was sure, but he didn’t know what. If Jack were alive, he’d summarize it neatly into something pithy — part koan, part fortune cookie. He’d put the situation into context, salvage it by turning it around on Evan, transform impotence into insight.

Evan stared at the circle of narcos penning him in and tried to convert his helplessness to rage, but the old tricks no longer worked. Not right now. He felt undressed, vulnerable.

Defeated.

He heard the barn door roll open. Footsteps.

He caught a whiff of familiar cologne. It smelled like a country club.

René’s voice settled over him. “Your plan didn’t work out very well.”

“No,” Evan said. “Doesn’t seem to have.”

Two of the men patted him down roughly. One of them yanked the RoamZone from his pocket and handed it to René. With amusement René regarded the smashed screen and the cracked casing, bubbled from the fire. He laughed at the seemingly useless phone and tossed it back at Evan. With numb fingers Evan fumbled it into his pocket, then curled into himself again to try to generate warmth. The collar scraped into the tender flesh at the contact points.

René adjusted his eggplant-colored scarf. “You look cold.”

Evan licked his cracked lips and tried not to shudder. Tried and failed. Finally he let his eyes roll up to take in the stout man once again. Manny stood behind him.

Evan drummed up a smile. “The band’s getting back together.”

“You’ll find that your humor is going to evaporate quickly,” René said.

“I’ve seen what you do in that medical lab.” Evan’s fingers moved to the scab in his arm. “You stole my blood? When I was passed out?”

“You’re too old,” René said. “You’re just the bank. The kids, they’re the feast.”

Evan had to breathe a few times to get enough oxygen. “Why do you want their blood?”

René took a moment to smooth down his hair. He adjusted the thick fabric of his suit, skimming his hands over the lush lapels. “Scientists at Cornell have been conducting the most fascinating research,” he said. “They took old rats and young rats and stitched them together at the flanks. Literally combined their circulatory systems. You wouldn’t believe what they discovered.”

“Try me.”

“The short version is that it reversed aging in the older rats. Turns out that bathing old stem cells in young blood has a rejuvenating effect. It enhances memory, strengthens skeletal muscle, hastens healing. Who would have thought that the fountain of youth was right there all along? A fountain inside our youth?” He paused, pleased, and studied Evan. “Let me guess. You object vehemently. I’ve committed a moral atrocity that flies in the face of nature.”

“Antibiotics and skyscrapers fly in the face of nature,” Evan said. “I don’t give a shit about natural or unnatural. I care about who you’re doing this to.”

“Oh, I just skim a little off the top. Like a mosquito. Besides, you’re hardly one to object to hurting people.”

“I only hurt people who deserve it.”

René showed off his glorious caps. “You are such a wonderfully pure thing. A self-made construct.”

Evan pushed himself up to sit on the mat. He still felt weak from the exposure, but his arms were tingling, the blood flow picking up again. “The young rats. You didn’t say what happens to them.”

“Well, that’s the unfortunate part,” René said. “They aged prematurely. Their muscles broke down, didn’t heal the same way. Every benefit has a cost.”

“As long as you’re not paying it, right?”

“That’s right.”

“So you get David to lure kids here? And you siphon off their blood? But it’s not a perfect science, is it? Sometimes it goes bad.”

“Every advancement has its complications.”

“There’s a difference between stealing and killing.”

“Not really,” René said. “In one instance I steal blood. In the other I steal a different resource — the only resource not able to be replenished. Time. Killers are only thieves of a different stripe. They steal time — the time their victims would have had left to live. Ten years. Forty. They take it to enhance their own time. It’s a trade, and it favors the bold. Just like those who can afford better medications, safer cars, who had the birthright luck not to be born in a flea-bitten Third World shack. That the kids I”—here he searched for a word—“sip from generally emerge unharmed is a testament to my magnanimity. There’s nothing to stop me from taking everything every time.”

“Except your kind heart.”

“I don’t like to do harm, you see. I’m just willing to.” René set his hands on his knees and leaned over Evan, and for the first time Evan considered just what a large man he was. “However, given the mess you left in my basement? I’ll enjoy what I’m going to do to you.” He stood up, clasped his hands. “But we have so much to clean up first.”

Dex was suddenly behind Manny, relieving him of his Kalashnikov. There was a slight delay as Manny seemed to realize what had happened, and then his mouth stretched into a rictus of dread, a twitching oval lined with gold teeth. No words emerged.

“Xalbador, he speaks poor English, is that correct?” René asked, gesturing at one of the men who had dragged Evan through the snow.

Manny stared into the middle distance.

“Is that correct?” René repeated.

Manny managed a nod.

René flicked two fingers, and Xalbador stepped forward. A skinny kid in his early twenties, he hadn’t yet thickened into manhood. A wide belt cinched his jeans, holding them up. The Santa Muerte tattoo on his neck was inked but only half colored, a few scabs still showing from the needle. With his wispy mustache and lupine cheeks, he was young and mean and had a lot to prove.

Manny would not look at him.

René said to Manny, “Will you translate for me?”

Another tiny nod.

René cleared his throat. “Tell him that given your failure, he will be succeeding you in your position.”

Manny’s lips wobbled, his mustache bristling. He palmed his mouth, trying to still it.

“Tell him,” René said.

Dex sidled a step closer, set a hand on the ledge of Manny’s shoulder.

Manny said, “Dado mi fracaso, es posible que vas a tomar mi posición.”

“Tell him that his primary — no, his only job — will be to watch our guest.” René stabbed a finger down at Evan on the mat.

Manny cleared his throat. “Solamente … solamente tienes que echarle un ojo a nuestro huésped.”

“Tell him you are hopeful for his success and wish him well.”

Manny’s Adam’s apple twitched. He turned to René. “Por favor—”

“You are hopeful for his success and wish him well.”

“Tengo la…”

René nodded encouragingly.

Manny licked his lips, his gold caps gleaming. His brow glistened with sweat. “Tengo la esperanza de … de tu éxito y … y … te deseo … deseo lo mejor.”

René looked at Xalbador, who raised his AK-47 and put a tight grouping of bullets through Manny’s chest.

Evan thought, Two dogs, five guards, two snipers, David, and Dex.

Xalbador dragged Manny’s body out through the rear barn doors, leaving a path of blood across the concrete.

“Nice show,” Evan said.

“Don’t worry,” René said. “It’s not over yet.”

Dex pushed open the door to the interior office and pulled Despi out by her hair.