The Secret History of Las Vegas

Forty-seven

Dawn almost never brings clarity with it, and this morning was no different. It was close to four a.m. when Salazar dropped Sunil off.

One of your guests is still waiting, the doorman said as he let him in.

Guests? There’s more than one?

Yes, Dr. Singh, your girlfriend and another woman. An older one.

My girlfriend?

The young lady who is always here. Asia, I think her name is.

Ah, and the older one?

She signed in as Dr. Jackson. She had the same work ID as you. I thought you might be working late, but she left very soon after she arrived.

Huh, thank you, Sunil said. He was unsettled by the idea that Sheila and Asia had met. He didn’t understand why Sheila had come, but he didn’t like that she knew about Asia.

Oh, also the police were here. Several units were broken into and trashed. We were unable to reach you, so please let us know when you get in if your unit was affected too. I will come up and take pictures and file a report with the police for you. At the moment we think it wasn’t a robbery but the work of vandals.

How did vandals get into a secure building, Sunil asked.

The doorman looked down at his shoes. The police and management are investigating, he said.

Sunil contemplated calling Salazar. Fuck, he thought, this is not what I need now. Thank you, he said to the doorman, and crossed to the elevators. As the doors closed, Sunil reached for his phone. Why hadn’t anyone tried to call him, he wondered, and then remembered that his phone had been off, and that he still hadn’t listened to any of his messages.

Why would vandals break into this building? Fuck, he was too tired for drama. He had barely inserted his key into the lock when the door swung open and Asia stood there, face less swollen than before, but clearly badly bruised. She was wearing his shirt and not much else, and in that moment, Sunil hated himself because he was at once turned on and torn up for her.

Asia, he said.

Sunil.

What happened?

I’ve missed you, she said, and her voice was very quiet.

They stood there for a while, as though stranded, stuck, as if waiting for directions from someone hidden in the wings. He smiled suddenly and touched her face, and she pulled back, wincing.

Can I come in, he asked, as though he needed permission.

She stepped back and he shut the door behind him, then drew her to him, holding her close, yet gently, so as not to hurt her.

Did the vandals do this to you?

No, she said. They were long gone by the time I got here.

Did a client do it?

She nodded against his shoulder.

Have you been checked out, medically?

I’m fine, really.

Was it, you know—

Rape? No.

What then?

Someone tried to kill me.

Oh baby, he said, and his voice was heavy with sorrow and guilt and despair. I’m so sorry, so sorry. What did the police say?

The casino handled it. You know, it would get awkward with the police; I would be arrested for solicitation. Besides, he got away.

I’m so sorry, Sunil repeated, realizing that, like most people, he kept forgetting that although prostitution was legal in most of Nevada, it was actually illegal in Vegas itself.

I’m okay, Asia said, but her voice was slight, a faint tremolo against his skin.

They stood there for a while in silence, Sunil stroking her hair.

Sheila was here looking for you, she said, trying to keep the jealous bite out of her voice.

Did she say what she wanted?

To see you. Like me, she was worried. We’d both been trying to call you all day.

I’m sorry. My phone was switched off.

I needed you today.

I’m sorry.

She pulled away, wrapping her arms tight around herself. Where were you?

Salazar and I went to chase down a lead in the desert.

Who is Salazar, she asked. She hadn’t meant for her voice to be shrill, but it was.

The detective who brought the twins into my institute.

What twins?

The ones you didn’t want to talk about, remember, he said.

Right, she said. Of course.

The doorman says the police were here. Did they bother you, he asked, unconsciously straightening the Kentridge painting, looking things over, trying to tell if anything was missing, wondering if it was too soon to go through his effects.

No, she said. Nobody came here.

Do you need anything, he asked. Something to drink, to eat, or something for pain?

Asia shook her head.

Can you tell me about your attack? Do you know who it was?

She nodded. Yes, she said.

He sat next to her on the couch, noting that the Bible where he’d hidden the hard drive with his research was open, the disk gone. This is not the time, he said to himself, forcing his attention back to the moment, to Asia. He took her hands in his, and something about this moment, about his absence in her time of need, reminded him of Jan and of the whitewashed room in Vlakplaas. He pushed the memory down, but not before he saw a spray of crimson pattern the white walls.

Who was it, a regular?

A new client, relatively new, she said.

As she spoke she saw in his eyes how difficult this conversation was for him, and something inside her took pleasure at that. At the knowledge that even beyond himself, beyond any control he could have, he loved her. And in that moment she knew she couldn’t drag the moment out. There was no kindness in protecting him, or herself for that matter, from the terrible truth of it.

It was your friend Eskia.

Sunil, who had been stroking her hair, felt himself stiffen, his hand unconsciously gripping her hair.

Ow, she said, so softly it was barely a sound.

I’m sorry, he said, letting go. Eskia, you said?

Eskia.

He needed to sit down. No, wait, he was sitting down. He didn’t know Eskia was in town. What the fuck was going on? Had Eskia broken in here? To harm Sunil or just steal his work?

Why, he asked, not sure what he meant. Did he mean, Why did he hurt you or Why would you sleep with my friend, my rival, my nemesis, even if you are a hooker?

Why what, Sunil?

Why would he try to hurt you, Sunil said, gathering himself, bracing. Why did he do this?

He said he wanted to hurt you the way you hurt him before he kills you.

Kills me?

Yes, he said he was going to kill you.

Sunil got up and walked over to the window.

Why does he want to kill you, Asia asked.

Sunil said nothing, unable to speak for the sheer rage that was burning through him. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? The e-mail with Jan’s ring should have been enough, but he thought the text was from South Africa. It never even occurred to him that it could have originated in the United States. He knew the only way Eskia could have got that ring was by exhuming Jan’s body. And because he had been there, because he had seen what Eugene did to Jan when Sunil couldn’t turn her with the drugs and mind-altering methods he was perfecting, he knew that if he hadn’t found that ring on the remains — a ring that Sunil had slipped into that anonymous hole in the ground as a kindness, as a way to make sure Jan’s spirit could find its way into the underworld — Eskia would never have been able to identify the remains as Jan’s. He wouldn’t ever have found whatever closure he was trying to create. And now this.

Sunil, why does Eskia want to kill you?

Sunil shook his head. Something that happened a long time ago, he said, barely above a whisper.

Something very bad, she asked, realizing even as the words formed that it was a pointless question. She already knew the answer to it.

Yes, he said. Something very bad.

Did you do it?

It’s complicated, he said.

Did you kill someone important to him, she interrupted, impatient.

I didn’t kill her, he said.

She let out her breath.

But I did nothing to stop it either, he said.

Who was she?

Jan, he said.

Someone he loved?

Someone we both loved.

Jan. And when Asia said the name it brought an old and yet familiar ache back to Sunil and he stood there, wide open and weak, the light passing through him, refracting nothing.

Asia got up from the couch and approached him. She stood behind him for a while, barely an inch between them, and yet it was the chasm between worlds. She stepped forward and wrapped herself around him. Her feelings confused, churning, unsure whether to be angry with him or to comfort him, but yet wanting desperately to hold on to him.

Tell me everything, she said, afraid to ask, her breath hot on his back through his shirt.

Are you sure, he asked.

Yes, she said, thinking, No, I don’t want to hear about her, but knowing this exorcism was the only way forward, for her, for Sunil, for both of them. This woman she knew was still alive for Sunil.

And so he told her.

And in the two hours that he spoke, they went from standing by the window to sharing tea in the kitchen and then finally to intertwining their limbs in bed, where they fell into a fitful sleep.

The shrill ring of a cell phone woke Sunil. In the dark bedroom he fumbled around for it. What, he said.

This is Salazar.

What the fuck, Salazar! What time is it?

Just after six. I’m sorry to wake you.

What is it, Sunil asked, glancing over at Asia as he got out of bed and shuffled into the living room. She was still deep asleep as he shut the door behind him.

I need you to come.

Come where?

I’m out by Lake Mead.

Bodies?

Yes. Several bodies, and there’s one we both know.

Who?

I need you to come.

How will I find you?

There’s a car waiting downstairs for you.

Okay. Fuck, Sunil muttered as he hung up and pulled some clothes on.

As promised, there was a police car waiting outside. He paused, thinking how much he hated the uniforms. Thinking how impossible it was to explain the sheer terror of a Casspir rolling into Soweto, bigger than a tank, more invulnerable it seemed, a sheer beast.

Is everything all right, Dr. Singh, the doorman asked as he opened the door.

Why don’t you worry about doing your job so thieves don’t just walk in, Sunil snapped, sliding into the back of the police car. They were already pulling away from the building when Sunil remembered Asia was alone upstairs and in danger from Eskia should he choose to return.

Wait, he said, stop.

And he made the cops wait while he called Salazar. He told him about the break-in and said he would come only if Salazar provided police protection for Asia. He omitted that he knew what she might be in danger from. Salazar made one of the cops from the car stay. The guy didn’t look too happy about it, and Sunil made a mental note to come back with coffee and a snack for him. He texted Asia so that when she woke up to the cop outside, she wouldn’t be startled, and then he was off.

As the car picked up speed, lights and siren going, the sun was coming up over the Luxor, washing the dark pyramid in gold.

Shit, Sunil thought, I need to check in with the twins and Brewster. Not to mention he had to get a visitor’s pass for Fred. One day away from the institute and he was already behind. Whatever Salazar wanted him for had better be fucking incredible, he thought.

He wasn’t aware he had fallen asleep until he felt Salazar shake him awake. The police car had arrived at Lake Mead and, from the looks of it, so had half the Las Vegas Police Department.

Forty-eight

The peacocks were screaming again and Water rubbed his eyes as he got out of bed. He shuffled to the window but there were no birds in sight. He yawned and hit the Nurse Call button.

Fire’s caul snapped back and he yawned too, breath extra funky from the heat of the caul.

Jesus, those fucking birds! I swear if I could I would kill the entire gaggle, he wheezed.

Ostentation, Water reminded him. Not gaggle, ostentation.

Fuck you too, Fire said. Did you call the nurse? I would kill for a cup of coffee. Or at the very least, break a few knees.

Babies are born without kneecaps, Water said.

Really, Fire said. This early? Fuck, I’m too old for this shit.

“Senectitude” means old age, Water said.

And shut up or I’ll fuck you up means shut up or I’ll fuck you up.

We shed skin particles as we get older, Water continued, as though Fire hadn’t spoken. We shed two pounds a year and by the time we’re seventy, we’ve shed one hundred and five pounds of dead skin.

Jesus, you fucker. I’m trying to think about breakfast.

The food that is digested in your stomach is called chyme.

Fire took a swing at Water’s face, but his arms weren’t coordinated and it just looked like Water was swinging a puppet around.

Good morning, gentlemen, the nurse said, responding to the call button. How can I help?

Coffee and some food, Fire wheezed.

It’s too early for breakfast, but I’ll rustle up some coffee and see if I can’t find a couple of cookies.

Do you all have special courses in talking to patients in a condescending tone?

In 1670, Dorothy Jones of Boston was granted the first American license to sell coffee, Water said.

Why can’t you be nice like your brother, the nurse asked, smiling at Water, before shutting the door behind him.

And where the fuck is the doctor, Fire asked. He’s been gone a whole day. How are we going to get out of here?

Water smiled. Fred is coming for us, he said.

Forty-nine

The crucified horned figure stopped Sunil.

I know, Salazar said gently, handing him a cup of coffee. It’s pretty grim.

Naked except for white boxer shorts, the horned figure was nailed to a rough wooden cross, his tattooed arms spread like wings. His throat had been cut nearly through, so that the horned head dangled dangerously close to falling off.

The cross itself was rising out of a heap of corpses.

What the fuck! Sunil said.

Are you going to be okay?

Yes. Is that Horny Nick?

Yes.

Why would anyone want to do this?

I don’t know. You’re the expert on sick fucks, Salazar said.

Sunil shook his head, watching as the forensic unit took photos and collected samples as though they were inspecting an elaborate movie set. Shit, he said.

I know, right, Salazar said.

Shaking his head, Sunil tried to focus, forcing himself into damage-control mode.

I’m not sure this killing is related to the ones from two years ago. For a start, those body dumps weren’t ritualized like this; neither was the most recent one you saw two months ago, right? This is so radically different. Completely different pattern, different signature. Serial killers are very fixed in their patterns. If this is a serial killer, then you have two different people, Sunil said.

Don’t tell me that, Salazar said. I don’t want to have to think that there may be more than one.

Sunil wanted to allay Salazar’s fears, to tell him that the killings from two years earlier, as well as these, were the work of the institute. His work. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again. This wasn’t Brewster’s work. At least, Horny Nick wasn’t. There had to be another killer. Probably the same one who killed that girl two years before.

Anything you want to tell me, he asked.

At least we know the twins aren’t the killers you’re looking for, Sunil said. They’ve been locked up.

Why do you think the killer targeted Horny Nick?

I don’t know. Are the other kids safe?

Yes.

Good, Sunil said, not knowing why.

Salazar was watching him closely.

What is it, Detective, Sunil asked.

Salazar shrugged. Nothing, he said.

Sunil turned his attention to the crucified kid. Poor devil, he muttered.

Listen, I looked into your situation on your way here.

What situation, Sunil asked.

You know, your concerns about your apartment and your worry about being targeted. I mean, normally I wouldn’t do that, but you asked me to assign protection to your girlfriend and I needed to know. Anyway, turns out several apartments in your building were vandalized too, so I don’t think you are the target. It was just random. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.

You have to trust me on this one, Detective.

See, now, that’s the kind of crazy talk that just sends up red flags to old policemen like me. I don’t even trust the evidence half the time, so why should I trust you?

There are things I can’t tell you.

As they spoke, Horny Nick was taken down from the cross. Sunil watched as the coroner and his officers stood on the other bodies to get him. He was laid out on a stretcher, and slowly the other bodies were laid out too. He and Salazar watched the men work, the careful attention to detail as they dismantled the rise of corpses, as though solving a puzzle, each step carefully photographed, each body systematically mined for evidence. It was slow, the work, and it took nearly an hour for the bodies to be separated. Sunil counted twelve lying there, with Horny Nick making thirteen.

Twelve bodies, Sunil said out loud.

What’s that, Salazar asked.

The twelve bodies match the twelve apostles, with the crucified Christ making thirteen. Except this was no Christ but a horned figure, a devil on a cross. The devil and his twelve apostles.

Fuck, that’s some dark shit, Salazar said. You have to give me something.

Sunil shook his head. I’m not a profiler, he said. You might need an expert from the FBI. I’ve given you all I have.

I don’t trust the fucking FBI. You helped me two years ago, and I need your help now.

No, I didn’t help two years ago. If I had, we wouldn’t be here today.

We have to try, Salazar said. He grabbed Sunil by the arm and dragged him over to where Horny Nick lay. Look at him. That kid didn’t deserve to die. Look at him! Now, tell me, do you think you might know who did this?

Sunil stared at the lifeless eyes of the teenager and the jagged line where his throat had been cut.

No, Sunil said. No, I don’t know who could have done this.

Fifty

Asia was gone by the time Sunil got back. She had left a note saying she was going home. In that moment he had to confront the fact that he had no idea where Asia lived. It was true that she had always deflected his attempts to come round, but still, in retrospect, he could have tried harder.

He called her. It went straight to voice mail.

Asia, he said. You aren’t safe on your own. When you get this, ditch this phone — it can be tracked — and then pack some things and come stay here with me. It was stupid and he knew it. She was no safer with him than at her place. Fuck, he said, and hung up. He had to get to the institute, but first a shower and change of clothing.

On the way out, he stopped by the doorman’s desk. There was a new guy, which he didn’t mind since he hated the last one.

Good morning, Dr. Singh.

Could you arrange for a reliable service to clean my apartment?

On the way to the institute he called Sheila’s cell. It went straight to voice mail.

Sheila, it’s Sunil. Call me, he said, trying to sound casual — no need to cause any panic.

Good morning, Dr. Singh, the receptionist said as he walked in, a little too cheerfully.

Sunil smiled. Brewster on the warpath?

The receptionist nodded, her smile frozen.

Good, Sunil said.

And it was good. Dealing with Brewster, and the twins, would be a welcome distraction from the events of the past twenty-four hours. He was about to walk away when he remembered Fred was coming.

Listen, Janice, he said to the receptionist. I’m expecting a visitor today. Fred Jacobs. I’ll just fill in this visitor request form with all her information. Please make sure she is shown to my office when she comes.

Of course, Dr. Singh.

Brewster was waiting in Sunil’s office, pacing back and forth, taking deep drags on the oxygen canister stuffed into his lab-coat pocket. Sunil stood on the threshold and watched him, thinking it would be relatively easy to kill Brewster. All one would need to do would be to substitute liquid nitrogen for the oxygen.

Dr. Brewster, Sunil said, shutting the door behind him and crossing to his desk. To what do I owe the honor?

Where have you been?

On my day off?

You have no days off until the twins have been dealt with. I thought I made that clear.

No, no, I don’t remember us agreeing to that. Still, no harm done, eh? They were busy getting an MRI anyway, as I remember.

Your tone is more confrontational than usual, Dr. Singh, Brewster said, sitting down suddenly.

Are you okay, Sunil asked, wanting to, but not saying: You look closer to death than usual.

Tired, Brewster said.

There have been more body dumps. Another teenager among them. Throat slit. Plus twelve men, Sunil said.

I see. Well, we have the MRIs back, Brewster said.

Sunil sat behind his desk and turned his computer on. With a few clicks, he had accessed the images from the MRI. Did you see these yet, Sunil asked.

The MRIs? Of course.

Doesn’t look like they are joined by much. They don’t seem to share any vital organs.

No, they don’t. We could probably separate them very easily.

Not very easily, no, Sunil said. It’s still a risky operation given how long they’ve been conjoined, and at their age, a separation has never been tried. They could die.

I’m just pointing out that we could if our research depended upon it.

I can’t imagine why it would, Sunil said.

Well. It’s worth noting, Brewster said.

Did you notice that although Water’s brain lights up pretty well, Fire’s stays mostly dormant, Sunil asked. That’s very strange. These results are accurate, right?

Yes, they are accurate. I noticed that too and I thought it was strange since Fire is the animated one. Of course, since he is smaller they could have overdosed him with the anesthetic.

That wouldn’t explain why his brain looks dead, like the only things alive are the instinctual circuitry — like respiration.

I told you these twins would be fascinating for our study.

About that, Sunil said. I don’t think I want them in my study. I’m thinking I should just let them go. Let the police and county deal with them. Tomorrow is Tuesday anyway, which is the last day we can keep them without admitting them.

Then admit them.

For what? I don’t need them in my study and I don’t think they are crazy. Odd, eccentric even, but not crazy.

I wasn’t asking.

Sunil looked at Brewster for a minute, sizing him up. We need to talk, he began.

Do we? Think carefully before you speak, Sunil.

I think you’ve started the trials up again.

That’s a serious accusation, Sunil, Brewster said.

And yet you’re not denying it.

You’re right. I have been running live tests again. Your research is taking too long, particularly the control dose. The military contract that funds you moved the timetable up and I knew that I couldn’t depend on you to do the tests. You aren’t the risk taker I had hoped for. You are far too deliberate, even for a scientist.

Are you responsible for the dead homeless men?

No, Sunil, Brewster said, smiling. It’s your research, your doing, so I would say you are responsible.

I can’t believe you would be this irresponsible with my work and my reputation. Do you know this could damage me irrevocably if it gets out, Sunil said, his voice higher than he meant for it to be.

Stop being so excitable. I’ve made you a very rich man. Not bad for a black from the slums of Soweto. The army likes the tests so far. I told them you could have the antidote ready in a month. They’re ready to begin tests on their soldiers.

I need more time, more research. Rage is not just chemical. It might be mimetic, too, do you understand? If we start administering that drug to soldiers, they will go berserk and kill each other. There is no controlling that kind of rage.

Well, the U.S. military is not going to wait.

I am close to a breakthrough. I just need more time and no more distractions. We have everything we need from them. MRIs, DNA, X-rays—

I’m still not convinced.

Well, I will give it one last shot. An interview today and then if you want them to stay, you’ll have to sign the papers, Sunil said.

Brewster got up and walked over to the door. Pausing, he turned. It’s nice to have you back on board, Sunil, he said and closed the door behind him.

Fifty-one

Fred parked her jeep in the visitors’ lot, mentally noting the rental parked two cars down. She could always spot rentals and cop cars. She could also tell that the guy sitting in the front seat was up to no good. That was her true gift in the carnival, besides running everything. An unerring insight into human nature and a true gift for the con: a formidable combination. She lit a cigarette and walked over to the rental.

Hello, she said.

Hello, Eskia said.

She touched the bridge of his glasses. Anyone ever tell you that you look like Superman with those glasses, she asked.

Superman didn’t wear glasses.

Fred smiled. All right, Clark Kent, then.

So who are you?

More important, who the fuck are you? Who do you work for, a rival institute? Are you some kind of industrial spy?

I’m just bird-watching.

I don’t need you fucking up my deal here.

And what is your deal?

That is none of your business. What is your business is not fucking up mine. So what are you anyway, some kind of private eye? I know you’re not a cop. All I want to know is will you be moving on?

When I’m done, Eskia said, smiling. He wanted to ram his fist into Fred’s face. Who did she think she was, coming over to him and talking shit? How did she spot him anyway? That could mean only one thing; she was very well trained. Was she CIA or DOD?

All the time they were talking, Fred was scanning Eskia’s car for clues. She noted the laptop and reached into her bag and switched on the hard-drive copier she always carried. She could tell he was spooked that she had spotted him, which meant that his laptop probably didn’t have any real firewalls or protection. Copying it would be easy.

Eskia reached into the messenger bag next to him on the seat and took out a gun with a silencer on it. Nothing could jeopardize his mission here. Even as he leveled the barrel at her chest as she leaned in, he was scanning the parking lot to see if it was empty. It was.

Clever, Fred said, seeing the gun. Just what every girl needs. A hole in her breast implants.

Well, I guess that’s one way of ending this unpleasant conversation, Eskia said.

I guess, Fred said. What’s the other option?

I’m sorry, did I suggest there was another option?

Fred smiled and blew cigarette smoke in his face. I have no idea who you are or what you’re about, she said. But I have some business here today that cannot be interrupted. Can you stay out of it for today?

Or I could just shoot you now, Eskia said.

I’m a downwinder and a freak, she said. That means I’ve been paranoid and driven my whole life.

I don’t know what that means, Eskia said, smiling and adjusting his glasses.

Fred watched his finger tighten slowly on the trigger and thought, What a fucker, he is one of those sick puppies who loves killing.

Look at your shirt. It looks like you spilled something, she said.

Eskia looked down and saw the red dot of a laser scope.

Oh no wait, Fred continued, that’s my sniper. Silly me. Told you I was paranoid. Now, my advice is to lay low and forget your business here for today. Okay?

With that she was gone, headed for the main entrance to the institute, leaving Eskia to wonder who she was and how she could have one-upped him.

Across the lot, in a blue Volkswagen borrowed from a rookie, Salazar watched Fred. Who is that guy, he thought, and what the fuck was going on? He called in a favor with an old friend in the FBI to run the tags for him. Same guy he had looking into Sunil. He liked Sunil, but something was off about him. Something Salazar couldn’t ignore.

Salazar adjusted the telephoto lens of the camera. Was that a targeting dot on the driver’s shirt? He swung the camera around, scanning the rows of parked cars for the source. Sure enough, in a black SUV, a midget with a rifle pointed at the silver car was visible in the window. He guessed that was one of Fred’s fighting midgets. Why she needed this kind of backup was unclear, but there was nothing he could do about it without compromising his cover in some way. Best to wait. He returned to looking at the rental just in time to see Fred disappear into the institute.

Salazar put down the camera with the telescopic and reached for his coffee. It could be a while. With the air off in the car, he was getting a little too hot. Fuck.

• • •

Dr. Singh is expecting you, Janice said, handing Fred her pass. John over here will escort you to his office.

Fred turned to look at John. Clearly security, she thought — black suit, black T-shirt, all a tad too obvious.

Hi, John said. Before we go, I need to look in your bag. Is that okay?

Sure, Fred said, handing over her snakeskin bag. While John expertly went through the bag, Janice tried to make small talk.

On the form Dr. Singh filled out it says you run a carnival, she said.

Yes, Fred said, smiling. That was the snake boy until he displeased me, she said, pointing to her bag.

Janice winced and smiled tightly. John didn’t pause in his search. Fred noticed the look on Janice’s face and smiled at her sweetly.

This way, please, John said, handing her back her bag. Fred took it, glad that John hadn’t thought to take her cell phone apart. If he had, in the place where the battery should be he would have found a small wedge of Semtex flattened and a small detonator that was activated by pushing the Call and pound-sign buttons simultaneously.

The elevator ride up was fast and silent. Like bad sex, Fred thought. The door opened up on the sixth floor.

This way, John said.

Soon they were outside Sunil’s door. John knocked.

Enter, Sunil called.

Your guest, John said, leaving them alone.

Sunil crossed from behind his desk.

Welcome, he said, offering Fred his hand. How are you? Good trip?

Yeah, sure, thanks. Hey, nice office.

Thank you. Can I offer you a drink? Coffee?

Something stronger?

Yes, of course, he said, going to fetch the single malt from the sideboard. As he poured, Fred crossed to the wall of photographs.

Why cows, she asked, touching their hides through the frames.

Sunil looked up. Just something from my childhood, he said, handing her a glass.

She clinked it against his and took a swig. Good stuff, she said, very good. Is it single malt?

Yes.

So tell me about the cows, she said.

They’re nothing, he said.

They take up a whole lot of wall space to be nothing, she said.

They’re good photos. That’s all it is sometimes, he said.

Yes, she said. Sometimes.

Please sit down, he said.

She sat in an armchair and crossed her legs. In jeans, knee-high boots, white shirt, and a simple necklace of turquoise, pale blue against her tanned chest, she looked casual, relaxed.

Are you married, Dr. Singh, she asked.

Sunil was taken aback by the question, and he mumbled his answer. No, he said, holding up his ring finger as proof, absently wondering to himself why he had bothered to do that.

Why not?

I don’t know, he said. Work?

She smiled. Me too. Work.

Why do you ask?

Just making small talk, she said, finishing her drink in one gulp and holding out her glass for a refill.

Of course, he said, taking her glass and getting up. It wasn’t clear if he meant of course I’ll get you a refill, or of course you’re making small talk.

I’m quite anxious to see the twins, she said as he handed her the refilled glass.

Yes. I’ll have them brought up. This is going to be my last interview with them. If I sign them out you’ll be able to take them home tomorrow. You might want to find a place to stay for the night.

Are you offering?

That would be inappropriate, Sunil said.

Of course, she said, and laughed.

Sunil went to his desk and picked up the telephone and dialed. Bring Fire and Water to my office now, he said.

Fifty-two

Asia was heading west, to the King of Siam, a bordello way out in the desert. The King of Siam looked like an ordinary low-sprawling ranch house nestled among twelve acres of green oasis in the desert. The place boasted a world-class spa; a stable with horse-riding lessons, where the exclusive clientele could ride bareback while fucking, if their tastes ran that way; a Tantra teacher; an Olympic-size swimming pool; tennis courts; and a private airstrip. What wasn’t immediately obvious were the guards, who were everywhere.

The King of Siam was an exclusive establishment, a members-only cathouse with a membership fee in the high five figures. Its clientele included senators, congressmen, and CEOs. In addition to a selection of the most gifted, diverse escorts, it prided itself on its discretion. Most of the escorts were well educated, many with graduate degrees, and most spoke at least two languages, a necessity since many clients were international.

In a good week, even with the house taking its percentage, some girls could earn up to twenty thousand dollars. Even girls like Asia who didn’t have college degrees and spoke only English could still average five thousand a week. Girls couldn’t apply or audition for the King of Siam; Big Bill Brown, the owner, chose each girl usually after a chance encounter and a careful background check. In the ten years that they had been open, no one had ever breached the grounds, not even the most committed paparazzi. The joke was that only Area 51 had better security.

Asia had a standing invitation from Big Bill, ever since she’d spent a night with him in Vegas when she first got there. She had taken him up on the offer only once, for just a week, but she found it difficult to follow the house rules.

Even before Sunil had called her, pretty much as soon as she left his place, she ditched her phone and headed for this sanctuary where she knew she would not only be safe but could earn six figures easily in six months. She had every intention of calling Sunil, in a week or two. She wouldn’t give up on him but she couldn’t deal with the baggage in his life right now.

The landscape was a blur as she picked up speed on an incline. There wasn’t much to see here anyway. Just ostrich and alpaca farms, abandoned malls built to service still-empty developments, the occasional deserted water park, desert, and more desert. Classic Nevada — where dreams died as quickly as they were born.

Genevieve was waiting when Asia arrived. Not much older than Asia, at twenty-eight, Genevieve had the poise of an older, more experienced woman.

Hello, Asia, she said. So Big Bill tells me you’ll be staying with us for a while. Do you know how long?

Until I figure out some stuff.

A man, Genevieve asked, her voice soft, the texture somewhere between pity and envy.

Isn’t it always, Asia said.

Genevieve smiled. You’re welcome as long as you want. You’ll be staying in Number 12. As always, the money gets processed through me, tips as well. The house now keeps thirty percent, but you’ll find that our new services justify that.

Asia took the electronic key for her room. It felt strange to be back, yet oddly comforting. Here there was no pretense about what the girls did. They weren’t escorts or hookers or companions or dates. They were just girls — old-fashioned and classy. A good thing; wholesome, even. As she picked up her bag to head down the hall, Genevieve called after her.

Cocktail hour is six. Prompt.

Okay, Asia said.

Whatever it is that you’re running from, you’re safe here, Genevieve said.

Asia smiled. I know, she said.

Fifty-three

Salazar yawned and stretched. He was still in the institute’s parking lot. Eskia hadn’t moved. Salazar lifted his camera to his face and studied him through the zoom. He moved the focus around, but Eskia was too far away to get a clear look at his expression. What does he want, Salazar wondered. His phone vibrated against his leg and he reached for it.

Yeah?

So I’ve got some information on that guy you asked me to run.

Do I need a notebook?

No. He used to be in the ANC’s fighting arm in South Africa back when they still had apartheid, and then after the transition was made, he joined the South African Security Services. His file there is sealed even to Interpol, so I am guessing that means he has had some dealings in black ops.

Why is he here?

Visa says he is on holiday.

So this is personal?

Possibly — of course, he could just be lying.

Yeah, you’re right. What about the other name I gave you?

What’s all this about, Salazar?

Just a hunch, you know?

Well, his name checks out. Sunil Singh is who he says he is, a South African psychiatrist working here in Vegas on a green card. He has Department of Defense clearance, so he must be working on something important for the military.

Any connection between the two of them?

Nothing official, but I don’t have access to that kind of information.

What kind is that?

You know, South Africa before 1990. The police and military systematically destroyed most of the records in South Africa before things were fully handed over to the blacks—

Was Sunil DOD or Special Forces over there?

Not as far as I can tell.

Thanks, I owe you.

You owe me several for this, Salazar. I’ll never get to call in any of them, though, will I? I hear you’re planning to retire, old man.

Fuck you, you dinosaur, Salazar said, laughing.

Tell you what. My wife loves those crazy boats you make. Give me a nice one for her and we’ll call it even.

Come over whenever you like and pick one out.

He hung up.

What do you want, Eskia, Salazar muttered to himself. Are you the killer we’re looking for?

He finished his coffee and went back to looking through the telephoto lens. Fuck, he had to pee. He put down the camera, reached for the empty coffee cup, unzipped, and sighed.

As he returned the now warm, half-full cup to the cup holder he made a mental note not to drink it by accident.

Fifty-four

Fred, Water said, and even Sunil could tell that he was in love.

Water, she said, crossing the room to hug him. As unlikely as it seemed, Sunil could tell that Fred loved Water, too.

At least one thing hasn’t been a lie, he thought.

Doc, Fire said, where the fuck have you been?

Hello, Fire, Sunil said. Please, guys, sit.

They sat. Fred sat next to them on the couch.

Fred, Sunil said. Do you mind moving to the armchair over there?

Why?

This will go faster and easier if you can remain neutral throughout my interview. Physical space is the first step toward that.

Fred nodded. She squeezed Water’s hand and moved. Crossing her legs, she cut a look at Sunil.

Water, how are you today, Sunil asked.

Water shrugged.

So where were you, Doc, Fire asked.

I went to get Fred for you, Water, Sunil said.

Water looked up and smiled shyly. I love Fred, he said. Fred loves Water.

Fred smiled.

Do you know what happened to us yesterday, Fire asked.

Yes, you had an MRI done, Sunil said.

It was an outrage. We were forced to undergo a medical procedure against our will at a zoo, a zoo!

I’m sorry about that. I tried to stop it on principle, Sunil said.

A lot of good your principles did us yesterday, Fire said.

Boys, Fred said, voice soft. Play nice. The doctor is trying to help you.

Water smiled at her, Fire looked away.

So your MRIs revealed something interesting. It seems that you are not conjoined at any vital spots. No major organs, no major arteries.

So, Fire asked.

Did nobody do any tests when you were born? You could have been separated with relative ease, Sunil said.

And what kind of life would I have had, Fire asked. I would be a small, immobile lump with a superior intelligence.

Is the life you have now any better? Stuck as you are to your brother’s side? A burden to him?

Doctor, Sunil, please don’t talk to them like that, Fred said. Her voice was still soft, but there was a definitive edge to it. The twins trust very few people. The only time they were presented with a chance for separation, as babies, it was by the doctors of Area 51 and there were conditions. Their mother, Selah, declined the offer, she said, riffling in her bag and retrieving her cell phone. She pretended to check it and then slipped it into her shirt pocket.

Look, I understand that they are your friends and you want to protect them, but I have a job to do here. I must ask you to be quiet if you want to remain in the room, and if you cannot be quiet then I will have to ask you to leave.

Fred put up her arms in surrender.

I’m sorry, she said.

Now, where were we, gentlemen?

Discussing the possibility of some Frankensteinian surgery, Fire said.

I never mentioned surgery, Sunil said.

You were talking about removing me from my brother’s body, Fire hissed.

If it were removed from the body, the small intestine would stretch twenty-two feet, Water said.

The MRI shows some unusual results in the brain area, Sunil said.

Well, I am a genius, Fire said.

Yes, well, as it happens, this does concern your brain, Fire. You see, when we are at rest, even asleep, there are certain areas of the brain that are lit up, and when we are animated, speak, think, or react emotionally, different parts of the brain light up. Do you follow me?

I just said I was a genius, Doc. Of course I follow you, Fire said.

Well, it seems that your scan revealed something a little disturbing. The only areas that are lit up in your brain are at the old brain; you know, the medulla oblongata, the part that governs your autonomic systems. Your brain, for all other intents and purposes, is dead. The scan suggests that you are brain dead, Sunil said.

What the fuck, Doc, Fire said.

Really, Sunil, Fred began.

Sunil turned to her. Please stay out of this, he said. Now, he continued, turning back to Fire, something tells me you already knew this. So I want you to tell me exactly how can you be both so animated and brain dead at the same time?

I’m a yogi, Fire said, and laughed. Fuck, Doc, I told you when you met us. We are King Kongo, African Witchdoctor. We have strange powers, man. What can I tell you? We should be in a comic book, not a psych ward.

This is serious, Sunil said. I want to release you, but certain people here want to keep you here for tests, particularly given the new information on your brain.

One out of twenty people have an extra rib, Water said.

Here’s what I know, Sunil said. Water is completely healthy and his brain is fully functional. In fact, according to his MRI, his brain is fully lit up. It would seem from the MRI that Water is in fact the genius.

The twins looked away.

I would go so far as to say that there is no Fire and Water. Just Water. Here’s what I believe, and correct me if I am wrong. Fire was born brain dead, alive mostly because he had autonomic function. When the doctors wanted to remove him, it became clear to Selah that Fire would die very quickly if he were removed from Water, so she decided against the operation, which most mothers would do. Am I right so far?

The twins remained silent, and Fred moved uncomfortably in her chair.

It was bad enough that you were conjoined, but to have a parasitic, brain-dead, half-formed twin was worse, Sunil continued, ignoring Fred. So my guess is that you developed a way to make it appear as though Fire was alive. The bigger you made his character, the more believable he was. It’s a very good plan, and I think you are very gifted.

Fuck you, Doc, Fire said. Where do you get off talking to me like that!

I’m sorry, Sunil said, not sounding very sorry at all. Look, I don’t want to keep you here. Some things have come to light in the last twenty-four hours that place you very low on my priority list. I would like to establish that you are mentally capable and let you go. Then I can focus on what I want to do. Do you understand?

I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fire said.

Sunil turned to Water.

No pithy fact from you, Water?

Fact, Water said. Something known to exist, or to have happened, something known to be true. Fire and Water are facts.

Really, Sunil asked.

Dr. Singh, that is enough, Fred snapped.

Gentlemen, I have devised a very simple test to prove the fact of Fire and Water. I would like you both to talk at the same time.

What, Doc, Fire asked.

I’ve been so stupid, Sunil began.

I could have told you that, Fire said.

Fred smiled.

Remember when I asked you about Water’s tongue, the first night I examined you?

No, I don’t, Fire said.

I asked you if Water’s mouth was always a little parted and his tongue moves and you said yes. I should have known then but I was so wrapped up in my own recent struggles. That’s a classic tell for ventriloquism.

There are no classic tells for ventriloquism, Fire said.

Then prove me wrong. Both of you speak at the same time.

May I, Doc, Fred asked, walking over to the twins.

Sure, Sunil said.

Sitting next to the twins, Fred gently touched Water’s face and embraced him. As she did so, she slipped her cell phone from her shirt pocket into the generous sweatshirt he had on. Pulling away, she kissed Water gently.

Tell him, she said. It’s okay.

Water smiled and nodded. Turning to Sunil, he said, You are right, Doc.

About what, Sunil asked.

About everything.

Sunil sat back and let out his breath. He had been half hoping that he wasn’t right. He got up and crossed to his desk, where he’d left the bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a drink. What a weekend. It was hard to believe all that had happened since Friday, and now this revelation. He almost wished the twins hadn’t been performing. Before he knew it was true there was the slight chance that he could release them. Now he knew he couldn’t. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were psychopaths. No, that Water was a psychopath. If he could pull off this act for so many years, then he could do anything. Sunil turned around and sat on the edge of his desk.

What were you doing at the lake with all that blood, he asked.

I really was just swimming. The water of the lake feels good, takes the pressure of Fire off my side. Do you know how much muscle control it takes to hold up a dead twin? Water is so very soothing and it’s not like I can take a dip in my local gym’s pool.

I suppose not, Sunil said. And the blood?

I knew about the body dumps; I couldn’t risk a body.

Smart, Sunil said. Enough theater to attract law enforcement, but I still don’t know why.

Sunil, Fred said.

Yes?

Can we cover Fire up, she said. He’ll be fine under the sweatshirt. He’s used to it. The truth is he freaks me out a bit, those eyes. Always has.

Like Ed Mordake’s twin, Sunil said. Cover him up. It’s fine. I’m a little freaked out too. Now that I know the truth, it’s like having an animated corpse looking at you.

Fred nodded.

Tell me something, Sunil said.

Which of us are you asking, Fred said.

Both of you, either of you. I know you’re members of the Downwinder Nation, a radical group. What does the Downwinder Nation do, exactly?

We are committed to the eradication of dangerous military research in Nevada, Arizona, and Utah. We find ways to close down facilities engaged in such research.

After everything that had happened in the last few days, Sunil wasn’t as surprised as he might have otherwise been. This new information was just one more piece of a crazy week. And do you intend to close us down? I suppose that’s why you are here, right?

We do what we can, Water said.

Why risk telling me all this? What is going to stop me from turning you in? You are threatening to destroy my research.

You won’t turn us in, Fred said.

How do you know I won’t?

Because you have more pressing matters on your mind, Fred said. I met a man outside who I think is looking for you. He has a gun with a silencer.

That’s it. We’re done here, Sunil said. I’m calling security to escort you out of the building.

With that, Sunil picked up the receiver and dialed the guard. After hanging up he said to Water: You realize I cannot let you go now.

Water just smiled.

I’ll see you soon, my love, Fred whispered to Water, loud enough for Sunil to hear. With that she followed the guard out, without a backward glance.

See you around, Doc, Water said. Or maybe you won’t. Remember, we are the witchdoctor. Laughing, he followed the security guard out.

When they left, Sunil walked back to his desk and poured another drink. He carried it over to the wall of zebu. Maybe Asia had been right. Maybe it was some tarot that he had unconsciously assembled. Too bad he couldn’t read it.

To you, Asia, he said, raising his glass. I hope you are safe.

He downed the drink, straightened his clothes, and headed out to see Brewster. As he waited for the elevator, his cell rang. It was Sheila’s number.

Sheila, he said, I’ve been worried about you.

It’s me, Sunil, Eskia said.

You fokker! I’ll kill you.

Someone will die today, that’s for sure, Eskia said. And if you don’t want it to be Sheila, you had better come downstairs now. I’ll be waiting.

Don’t harm her, you shit. She had nothing do with this.

And Jan? What did she have to do with anything?

Why now, Eskia?

If you’re not here in ten minutes I’m leaving with Sheila.

Don’t harm her. I’m getting into the elevator now.

Sunil hung up and rode down to the lobby. In the parking lot, Salazar watched Eskia start up his car and pull up to the front of the institute. He saw Sunil come out and get into Eskia’s car. As they drove off, Salazar started up the Bug and followed.

By her car, Fred lit up a cigarette and watched the cars leave. She glanced at her watch. It was midafternoon. It wouldn’t be long now. She’d better get going. She pulled her car around to the back of the institute, where deliveries were made. A Dumpster hid her car from view.

She settled down to wait. Water should be out anytime now.

Fifty-five

Behind them, the sun was burning a hole in Vegas with the magnifying glass of the MGM. Sunil’s right hand was secured to the door handle with a zip tie.

Just in case you think about escaping, Eskia said.

He did it as soon as Sunil sat down, before he had a moment to realize that Sheila wasn’t in the car. As they headed west, Sunil pulled at the door.

Where is Sheila?

I don’t have her, Eskia said. She was just the lure.

Where are we going?

For a ride. Somewhere private where we can talk honestly.

You could have just walked up to me and shot me anytime, Sunil said.

And how would that have been any fun?

You stole the disk from my place, Sunil said. Do you plan on selling the contents? If so, good luck with that; it’s password protected.

I don’t need luck. I have you. I was trained to be like your friend Eugene. You will tell me everything.

Eugene wasn’t my friend, Sunil said.

How could you work for him, harming your own people? Give up every last shred of dignity to serve those killers. But you were not alone in that particular weakness, and thanks to the humanity of our leaders like Madiba and Tutu we forgave scum like you. But I will never forgive you for Jan.

Do you think that’s what Jan would want?

If you speak her name again I will shoot you right here, so help me God.

Something in his tone told Sunil he wasn’t kidding. Fine, he said. But can you at least tell me where we are going?

To your reckoning. Now, shut up while I drive.

Behind them Salazar took swigs from the bottle of whiskey in his jacket pocket. He had to keep reminding himself that the coffee cup, though still warm, was not full of coffee.

Slowly Vegas slid behind them like a mirage and was soon swallowed up by desert and sand. The sun was tilting west.

Fifty-six

Sheila stood by the slot machines as she waited in line for Starbucks. It had never bothered her before, but now the tackiness of Vegas felt like a layer of dirt she couldn’t quite wash off.

Really, did there need to be gambling in the airport? But that was the way of Vegas. To wring you dry and then send you off poor and broken but still full of hope — enough so that you would come back to lose, or win, depending on the fates.

While she waited, she listened to Sunil’s message again. Typically he waited a full day to return her calls and when he did he tried to make it sound like there was something other than his tardiness involved.

Double macchiato, she said to the overly cheerful barista.

What size?

Medium.

Grande it is.

Sheila smiled. Starbucks Italian — its own special language. She moved down to the other end of the coffee bar. In a few minutes she was shaking fake sugar into her cup.

She should call Sunil. He sounded so worried. But when she dialed, it rang and rang. No answer.

Typical, she thought. She was going to hang up without leaving a message, but at the last minute she changed her mind.

Hi, Sunil, it’s Sheila. I’m at the airport. I decided to leave a day early for Cape Town. I met Asia. She seems nice. So, eh, unless there’s something that needs my attention, I’m going to be boarding in a couple of hours. Okay, I’m going to stop rambling now. Call me. It’ll be nice to hear your voice before I leave.

She hung up. In the corner by the vending machines a woman had just won on the penny slots. Sheila sighed. She’d never felt so alone.

Fifty-seven

You should let me answer my phone, Sunil said. If I don’t, it will raise suspicions.

Eskia laughed.

You overestimate your own importance, he said. No one’s looking for you. And in a couple of hours I’ll be done with you, and by tomorrow the coyotes will have done with you too if you’re lucky.

Will killing me change anything? Bring Jan back?

Don’t try to work me, Sunil.

The things I did, you did, the people who died, that was a different time, Eskia. We were different people then. Hasn’t there been enough unnecessary death? All of us from that time, we have so much to atone for, so much to forgive. Can you really handle any more?

Eskia laughed: You don’t understand anything. It didn’t stop for me. I still do what I did then. I still clean up the mess of spineless men like you. I am still fighting the war, Sunil. It didn’t end just because Madiba was freed and the world congratulated itself. It’s still going on; the Boer are still at war with us, and we with them. You will never know the depth of my sacrifice. What I have given up for the ideal of a free and equal South Africa. The sacrifices I made, I made not just for that ideal. I made them for love, for the love of a particular woman. Jan was that woman. And what you and your friends did in Vlakplaas took that away from me, demeaned everything I gave, made all the blood on my hands meaningless. When you took Jan, you took my grace. But your death will buy back my meaning. You should feel honored that you will be my Isaac and I your Abraham.

Listen to yourself, Sunil said, and there was something like pity in his voice.

I think we’re being followed, Eskia said, abruptly changing the conversation. Yes, he said, we are. He pulled off onto the shoulder, the tires throwing up small pebbles.

Salazar smiled. That old trick, he thought, shooting by, pretending to go on. When Eskia pulled back onto the road, he could still see him in the rearview mirror. Cat and mouse, Salazar said. He liked that. I can still follow you from up here, he said.

Eskia, Sunil said. There is still time to stop.

Stop?

You can’t believe all that juvenile shit about giving so much for South Africa’s freedom just so you could be married to a white woman legally? That is the depth of self-delusion. You may have given up a lot for love, but it wasn’t for romantic love. It wasn’t. And don’t you think the rest of us paid a huge price? What is it with all this one-upping of trauma? That’s all the new South Africa seems to be about. Who suffered more, those who went to prison or those who stayed out, those who lost loved ones or those who didn’t. On and on, tallying an impossible math.

Shut the fuck up, Eskia said. Try to die like a man, with some dignity, not this babbling that you think will save you. Do you think I have forgotten that once, a long time ago, we had a friendship? I never forgot that and yet here I am, resolved to kill you. No last-minute babbling will shake my resolve — you will die here today, alone, and I will bury you here. So please, if you must speak, make peace with your gods.

Sunil was silent. There was nothing to be said. He was going to die here. Alone. He wondered if there was something he was supposed to think about, if his entire life was meant to flash before his eyes. If it was, it wasn’t happening to him. Instead all he felt was an overwhelming fatigue, and a curious empty detachment. As if he were watching all this in a movie. He felt only one niggling regret. That he had never let himself love again, not since Jan. What a waste that had been. All that guilt, all those years. What would it have felt like to let himself truly fall in love — with Asia, or Shelia? Would it have made this moment feel any different, because if there was any certainty here, it was the inevitability of today? Of this moment. In a strange, inexplicable way, it felt right. I’m going to die today, he thought, and it wasn’t as scary as he had expected it to be.

Eskia turned off the freeway and onto a dirt road, headed for some disused buildings a few miles in the distance, in the shadow of a huge rock formation. Sunil was oddly impressed by it all — not only the eternity of the landscape but by the level of planning and effort and resolve Eskia had put into this.

Perhaps I should have kept my research in South Africa instead of coming here to Las Vegas, Sunil thought. There would be no end of damaged people like Eskia that he could have studied, not to mention the entire Boer nation. Maybe psychopathy wasn’t born in the brain after all. Perhaps it wasn’t a function of which gland was closer to or farther from another. Maybe psychopathy was born in the heart, by shame; shame and a broken, betrayed heart. He liked this new line of thought. It didn’t lend itself to empirical exploration, but there was a beauty to it, he thought, something beyond the mechanistic. Perhaps it just means that I still have a heart, which in itself is no small miracle.

Eskia stopped the car and pulled him out. He threw Sunil to the dirt and quickly attached a new plastic tie to his wrists while he lay there, breathing in the dust, feeling it tickle the back of his throat. He looked over to see Eskia pulling a duffel bag from the trunk of the car. Struggling to his knees, he looked around. There was a clump of Joshua trees in the distance and what looked like a flash of blue.

Well, Eskia said. Here we are.

Fifty-eight

Sunil knelt there in the dirt while Eskia put his bag on the closed trunk and began to unpack it. Both of Sunil’s hands were securely fastened with zip ties, which were cutting deeply into his skin; still he struggled against them, feeling the sticky warmth of blood on his wrists.

There’s no point struggling, Sunil, Eskia said, back turned. No one can get out of a zip tie. Not even Houdini if he were still alive.

Sunil resisted every impulse to scream, to curse, to beg. Instead he mustered all his energy and got up on his feet. He fully intended to ram into Eskia from behind, then head off into the desert, take his chances there. But before he could gather momentum for his charge, Eskia turned and struck him across the face with a crowbar, dropping him to his knees again.

Come on, Sunil, really? Do you know how long I’ve been doing this? Worked over people like you? I am justice, Eskia said.

You sound like Eugene, Sunil gasped, licking at the blood from his cut lip.

Eskia shrugged. Angels and demons have a lot in common, he said. Except of course to what service they put their powers.

Sunil spat at Eskia, the spittle and blood landing short.

Come now, bruh, Eskia said. Have some dignity. Now, here’s what I need from you. The password for the hard drive.

You’re going to kill me anyway, so why should I tell you?

I didn’t say how I was going to kill you. Sunil, you should know there are things worse than death.

Sunil said nothing, but he was beginning to sweat.

Did I ever tell you that I sent you the telegram announcing your mother’s death, Eskia said.

What the fuck are you talking about?

I was with your mother when she died. Or rather, I should say, when she begged me to take her life.

You’re lying!

Why would I lie? I have nothing to gain from that. Do you want to hear my story or not? Makes no difference to me.

Fuck you!

Your choice.

Eskia turned and paused before a series of items he had laid out on the trunk lid. The crowbar, a set of pliers, several scalpels, needles in varying sizes, a small blowtorch of the kind chefs use to caramelize a crème brûlée, a piece of rubber six inches long and about as wide, taken from the inner tube of a small tire — from the days when tires still had inner tubes — and a plain jute bag. Everything needed to break a man, to destroy body and soul, was available in most hardware stores or pharmacies.

Sunil glanced at the assemblage of materials and looked away, taking deep breaths, trying to brace himself. He knew only too well what was coming.

Eskia held up the bag.

In the old days, he said, the Afrikaner police would wet a bag like this, force you facedown, and squat on your back. Then they would pull the bag over your head until your lungs began to burn. Sometimes, depending on what they wanted, they would just let your lungs burn out, no questions asked. A fire made of air, or its lack. But I have something different planned for you.

Eskia put the bag down and picked up the piece of rubber.

Do you know what this is?

Sunil looked away.

The Afrikaner police called it the devil’s ski mask. Remember how it works.

With a lot of effort, Eskia pulled the piece of rubber down over the struggling Sunil’s head until his entire face was covered.

There, there. Now, how long should I leave it on?

Sunil was thrashing around on the ground, trying to use the friction of sand and pebbles to dislodge the mask. He couldn’t breathe, or see, or hear, or swallow. He felt like his head was on fire. He heard himself yelling in his head but knew instinctively that he had made no sounds. Just as a warm blackness welcomed him, Eskia pulled the mask up over his mouth, exposing it. Sunil opened his mouth and swallowed air in big wheezing gulps until he began to choke.

Password, Eskia asked, voice casual.

Fuck—

That was all Sunil could say before the rubber covered his mouth again, forcing him to once more thrash around like the chickens he’d seen being killed in the shebeen. Again, just at the threshold of that welcome wet, black blanket, Eskia pulled the mask up a couple of inches. And although he didn’t want to, although he wanted not to breathe, to end it now, his mouth and lungs overrode him, taking in deep gulps of air.

When I went to see your mother I worked for a unit of the ANC that was dedicated to killing informants. Killing those who betrayed the cause. To send a warning to others who might be tempted to turn us in. A kind of incentive, you could say. We came to the camp where your mother was being kept. In those days, the republic put black mental patients in camps, temporary shelters in the worst parts of the city, under flyovers or in former dump sites. In your mother’s case, she was housed with others in an abandoned mine workers’ barracks right in the heart of a township, one big ugly building that housed three hundred crazy people and thirty attendants who treated them worse than dogs. There was not a doctor in sight or a single dose of medication. It was little more than a prison. The worst part was that all those attendants, all thirty of them, were black, just like the patients. There were twenty names on that list. Your mother’s was one of them. We knew about White Alice and the deaths of our men in Zimbabwe. There was a lot of debate about your mother, Sunil. Many felt she should be spared because she hadn’t really been an informer. That she had paid enough when she sewed her mouth shut, and that even though those scars had long since healed over, she was locked in the hospital. But mercy was in short supply in those days and her name was added to the list. When I came into her room, she knew why I was there, but she said nothing. I’m not saying that it was easy to kill your mother. I stood there a fair while just looking at her. And then she let out this moan. Oh my God, it was awful. Like the sound a dying animal makes, a keening to freeze your blood. So I did the only humane thing I could, I did what I saw her eyes begging for. It was a mercy, you know, that bullet to her head. You should thank me for that. The thing is, Sunil, you and I know that you should have died, not her. It was you who betrayed your father. Johnny Ten-Ten told us everything when he joined. Instead your reward was a job at Vlakplaas. Maybe that was punishment enough.

The sound from Sunil was guttural and now he struggled to his feet, hands still tied behind him, and lunged for Eskia. A short blow from the crowbar brought him down.

I’m getting bored, Sunil, Eskia said.

With that, Eskia pulled the piece of rubber tubing back down over Sunil’s mouth and watched him writhe.

In his head, Sunil begged for a quick death. Willed his body, and his mind, to stop fighting, to just give in. Please let me die, Sunil begged his body. Let me die. He couldn’t even bring himself to think about his mother, to think about all the ways he had betrayed her. That was too much to contemplate, even now. Instead he forced himself to only think of death, of his dying, of speeding it up. And then there it was, a deep, wet darkness, and it was taking him, like a river of blood, a waterway of oblivion.

But then he was sputtering and his chest hurt and the sun burned his eyes. Words wouldn’t come, but he was thinking, No, no, no. Fuck, no!

Slowly his eyes began to focus and he realized he wasn’t dead and that there was a new wetness. Salazar was giving him mouth to mouth. Closing his eyes, Sunil bit down on Salazar’s lip, forcing him to let go.

What the fuck, you asshole! Salazar screamed, jumping back.

Sunil coughed for a minute and then said: I’m sorry, man, but you were enjoying that a little too much.

Fuck you! I should have let you die.

Sunil struggled up, his hands still tied.

Can you cut me loose?

Salazar pulled a pocketknife and cut the plastic. Sunil rubbed his still-bleeding wrists.

Where is—

Over there, Salazar said, pointing.

Eskia lay a little distance from the rental, his body twisted, glasses in the dirt, one lens broken. But it was the gaping hole in the back of his head that held Sunil’s attention.

Had no choice, Salazar said. I had to shoot the fucker.

Yeah, Sunil said, but his voice was sad.

Here, Salazar said, passing Sunil his flask. Drink some of this.

The whiskey burned Sunil’s air-deprived throat, but its sting felt good. It was the sting of life. Thanks, he said, passing it back.

Welcome back, Salazar said. Now, wait here, I’m going to fetch my car, then radio the locals to come in. I think we’re on reservation grounds so it will have to be the tribal police. But they’re fair.

Was that you I saw by the Joshua trees? In a blue car?

Yeah, I borrowed the Bug from a rookie at the precinct.

Hey, Salazar, he called as Salazar began to walk away. There’s your killer right there, he said, pointing to Eskia. He is the man who took the lives of all those homeless men.

Yeah, Salazar said. I guess we solved it, then.

Fifty-nine

The security man shoved Water unceremoniously into his room. He sat on the bed for a moment and, lifting his shirt, he stroked Fire’s head gently, singing softly under his breath. Half an hour later the door opened. Brewster stood there sucking on his oxygen tank flanked by two security guards.

Water, the man said.

Water said nothing.

It’s okay, boys, Brewster said to the guards. I think this one is harmless.

If you say so, Doctor, one of the guards said.

Brewster waved them away. Go, go, he said. Turning back to Water, he said, Don’t you think that’s creepy, stroking your dead brother’s head like that?

How would you know that, Water asked.

Brewster pointed to the ceiling. I have eyes everywhere. Remember me? I believe you belong to me now. Did Sunil explain to you that you are now here for good?

Has anyone ever told you that you have a sort of Dr. Mengele manic look about you?

Dr. Brewster laughed. This is good, he said. You are as feisty as I have been led to believe. I am really looking forward to studying you.

Fuck you, Water said.

No, no, my friend, it’s you who’s getting fucked. You are not going anywhere. You don’t seem to understand that I have complete power over you. Unlike Sunil, I am not soft, or trying to make restitution for my sins. In my experience, men of science — true men of science, mark you — are like unto the gods. I have no interest in your humanity. No, I am only interested in your monstrosity, and that, my friend, is the medical term for your condition. So if I decide to cut your hands off as part of my exam or dissect you where you stand—

It’s vivisect, Water corrected.

What?

Vivisect if alive; dissect if dead, Water said. You should know that, being a doctor and all. Or are you so high off that oxygen tank you’ve been sucking on?

Why you—

Oh, shut up, Water said. While he spoke, Fire retreated under his caul.

I—, Brewster began.

Fuck this, Water said. He reached forward, ripped Brewster’s ID off, and then, wrapping his oxygen line around his neck, he slowly strangled him. It took longer than he expected. It was like Brewster wouldn’t die.

He let himself out with Brewster’s key and headed to the elevator, which he rode down to the hidden labs in the basement, the ones he knew Sunil had never seen. Selecting one that seemed right in the middle, he gathered all the tanks labeled FLAMMABLE into a pile. Next he took out the cell phone that Fred had given him. He pushed the buttons in sequence and the countdown began. He had five minutes to get out. Best to go, he thought, placing the phone in the middle of the pile of tanks. He took off at a fast trot, and three minutes and fifty seconds later he was out the back door, past the loading dock, and into Fred’s car.

Fred gunned it out of the institute’s grounds and quickly onto the main road.

Did it go well?

I had a bit of unexpected luck, Water said.

Oh yeah?

Yeah, Brewster came to see me.

Did he?

Yes, with his own oxygen line.

They laughed, and Fred gunned the engine some more, pushing the car even faster. Then she pulled off the road into a strip mall that afforded a perfect view of the institute from its lot, parking right next to the black SUV that held the midgets. They all got out and sat on the roof of the SUV. Fred glanced at her watch.

Not bad, she said, we have ten seconds to spare.

In exactly ten seconds, the institute went up in a ball of fire. It was spectacular, as though the old days of the bomb tests were back. Flames and smoke in a big plume that rose over a hundred feet into the sky, throwing debris everywhere, showering the parking lot of the strip mall with ash.

I told you I was a fire wizard, Water said.

Yes, baby, Fred said, kissing him.

We should have brought Champagne, he said.

You don’t drink, remember?

Oh yeah.

I feel bad about all those poor apes still trapped in the building, one of the midgets said.

I know, the other said. I wish it could have been different.

By the time the fire brigade got there, there was nothing left to save. They just concentrated on making sure the fire didn’t spread. The entire institute was gone; even the peacocks had gone up in flames.

Spectacular work, Fred said.

Water turned and kissed her deeply.

Where now, he said.

The desert for a while. The carnival has already moved on. We’ll catch up later.

And like that, Fred, Fire, Water, and the fighting midgets were gone.