Chapter Thirty-Nine - OLIVER
What happens next is a shit storm of epic proportions.
Apparently, if you know the right dirty reporter, forty-five G’s is enough to get you on every cable news channel as breaking news. In fact, the coverage is so thorough Mac and I go looking for more TV’s and remote cable hoppers until we have every TV in the building hooked up in my office on the fourth floor and they are all going at once.
It took about thirty minutes for the second outlet to pick up the story. After that it was a race for details. In fact, two hours later there are news vans cruising up and down College Avenue, apparently enthralled not only with trying to find a good place to do a live broadcast, but also the haunted house across Jefferson Street, at the FoCo Theater.
We get paranoid at that point and draw the curtains on my window so they don’t know anyone is up here.
My mom and dad called. In fact, all of us get calls from family and friends.
We don’t answer any of them. But I do send a text to Ariel: Don’t. Panic. That’s a code phrase we’ve had since we were kids. If something is going wrong, we let each other know not to panic with a single text and no follow-up.
So hopefully she is spreading the word discreetly, to all those who matter.
The headlines start out with the basic facts. Mr. Corporate is dead.
But it doesn’t take long for that to turn into an entire recap of that fateful night eleven years ago. Old footage of us resurfaces, old allegations are rampant. And soon, it’s all tied into the little fiasco that happened out at Hundred Palms Resort. Claudette is introduced. And apparently reporters have been working hard these past few days. Because they have a whole timeline—or what they think is a timeline, because they get most of it wrong—leading up to the fire and shooting out in the desert.
The resort has been closed since Ivy and Nolan came to town two days ago, but there are local reporters out there too. Talking up insane theories about satanic rituals and devil worship.
Whatever.
“I hope West is holding up OK,” Nolan says, his foot tapping out of control on the hardwood floors.
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Mac asks. “He doesn’t even have a TV.”
“That place is crawling with people,” Nolan says. “That basement isn’t very secure.”
“No one will go down there,” I say, thinking it through after the words are already out. Nah. “He’ll be OK. Cindy can slip in tomorrow morning with water and food and a change of clothes. Hell, if Victoria wants to go hang out down there with him, she can.”
“No,” Mac says. “She’s gonna need to be visibly upset if this is going to work.”
Pax comes up the stairs from the third floor, where he’s been trying to contact Liam since this all started.
“Any luck?” I ask.
He nods. His face is dead serious.
“What?” Nolan asks. “What happened?”
“I got a meeting.”
“When?” Mac asks.
Pax comes over to my desk, glancing at the drawn curtains and then all the TV’s. “Tomorrow morning. He’s flying in. He’s gonna tell me where to meet him once he gets here.”
“Did he ask for a pinky toe?” Mac asks, trying to lighten Pax’s mood.
“No,” Pax says with a heavy sigh, dropping into the chair in front of my desk. “He asked for Victoria.”
“Fuck,” Nolan says.
“What should we do?” I ask.
“Not involve her, of course. We’ll just have to show up without her and see how it goes.”
“Did you tell him you’d bring her?”
Pax starts to shake his head, but it turns into a nod pretty quick. “I didn’t have much choice if I want the meeting.”
We’re all silent after that.
“We won’t, though,” Pax says, trying to convince himself.
“We should all go home,” Mac says. “You and Cindy should stay at Ariel’s house tonight. I think Victoria might need the support.” He looks at me next. “You too, Shrike.”
But I shake my head. “No. I made plans with Katya tonight. I left a message for her but… she’s probably with Ariel and she’s probably been told not to reply.”
“So you should come with us,” Nolan says as he peeks through a crack in the curtains to look down on the street.
But I don’t want to get stuck over at Ariel’s house tonight. There is safety in numbers, but there’s also safety in a well-fortified house. And even though Ariel is part owner of ShrikeSafe Security, my house is much better fortified.
I want Katya with me and I want us both over there, behind my wall and gate, inside my brick building with floor-to-ceiling bullet-proof, mirrored, garage-door windows.
“Do you think they’ll follow us if we leave the back way?” Mac asks.
“Only one way to find out. Unless we want to be stuck here all night,” Pax says.
“No,” the rest of us reply together.
We look up at all the TV’s when more breaking news banners flash across the lower third.
“I think I know where Katya is. And she’s probably cold, so if you guys are ready…” I get up from my desk and start turning the TV’s off. “Let’s head out.”
I turn the lights out as they shuffle down the stairs, all moods somber.
We did it. We killed Corporate and we bought a reporter and it made national headlines within a few hours.
We’re winning, right? Our plan is working, right?
So why do I feel so fucking afraid of what’s coming?