Chapter Thirty-Seven

 

DAVIS

 

I don't like the sound of my phone ringing, because it draws Donaldsen's attention to me. He has a faint smile on his face. He always does, as if he just thought of an old joke that was never worth laughing out loud over.

Maybe he always has. Maybe I'm the joke. I don't know, but I sure as hell know I don't want to find out what his secret is, not any more. The only thing I want is a transfer out of his command.

But that would spell career suicide for more reason than one, and I'm not ready to relegate myself to never getting another promotion again. So I keep my mouth shut about it.

 Mitch is sitting next to him. He doesn't have the subtlety that Donaldsen does, and he never has. He's got a Cheshire-cat grin on his face. It splits his face in half and shows off nearly every one of his glaringly-white teeth.

Then again, why shouldn't he smile? After all, they'd gotten what they wanted. Clearly they had been after me for some reason, and now that they'd found me, there was nothing wrong in the world of Mitch Pollack.

He was the man, and the A.T.F. wasn't quite his plaything—there were about four men who could give him orders—but he had his mouth to the ear of one of the most powerful men in the organization.

Donaldsen's soft spot for him has always been something I'd hoped to be able to manipulate, after things had gone sour. As if Mitch Pollack might be the chink in Donaldsen's armor.

It never turned out that way. Mitch was less a gap in armor than he was a shield, moving and blocking and defending. Occasionally bashing, as well.

He lacks subtlety, and there's plenty more wrong with him, but like a good dog, he's kept on a leash, and he doesn't pull on it. When Donaldsen lets him loose, he does what he wants, but otherwise, he's happy with a pat on the head and a bone before bed.

A deep breath. There's nothing to be concerned over. I know exactly what's going on here. They're trying to scare me, intimidate me about something. The key is, not to worry. No matter what they do, it can't hurt me.

They could hurt me if they wanted to. They've had that power since the beginning, and it's been a hard-learned lesson that there's nothing I can do to stop it.

They have as much power as you give them, those two. Aside, of course, from the full legal and military weight of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. Lucky for me that I don't go downrange of that little weapon.

The car pulls into a hotel, pulls up to a stop in front of the door. Mitch waits inside the car as Donaldsen gets out.

"Come on," he growls. He's not talking to Mitch, I know that much. The man never needs to be told what to do. After the years together with Donaldsen, he can practically read his boss's mind.

I slide out, and a moment after my foot touches the pavement, Pollack slips out his side of the car, as well.

The driver pulls away, presumably to park the vehicle somewhere. Pollack puts his hand back on my elbow, loose enough not to hurt, hard enough to know that I'm not getting out of this. But I know that already.

If Donaldsen is in town, something big is happening. And if he's in town hours before my deadline, he must have left before my little run away from the field office. It's a six-hour flight from D.C. and that wasn't more than four hours.

So there's something going on, and I don't know what it is but I don't like it. We get into the elevator, and I've never been in such a small elevator before in my life.

I try to take a breath, but it catches in my throat. It's too small. My eyes tell me there's plenty of space. They tell me it looks like the elevator is perfectly average.

I know better. I'm pressed into a corner. Any second now, things could go upside-down. Pollack must have noticed my nervousness, which is a mistake I'd sworn I would never make again. The promise doesn't stop him noticing.

"Jada, you look nervous. You need a minute?"

I want to tell him not to call me that name. The words catch, and I can't even open my mouth. My face feels hot, my head light. I need to get out of here. I need to go. There's important work to be done, if we're going to have any hope of getting Scheck and her gang tonight.

None of that matters, though. I just need to get back to my apartment. I want to lay down in my bed. I want to lock my doors. I want to take a shower. I want to watch late-night television. The one thing I don't want is to be here.

A noise makes me jump practically out of my skin. It's the ding of the elevator arriving on the third floor. The doors slide open to an empty hallway. Donaldsen and Pollack step out, but I stay where I am. If I'm lucky, they won't notice me slipping away.

But it's too much to hope for. Where I couldn't breathe before, now I can't stop myself breathing. The breaths are coming hard and fast and I can't even begin to slow it down for even a second.

 I need time. I need time to think, I need to get some fresh air. Just some cool, calming night air. The sun's already up, but I just want one more chance to get a few minutes of darkness, a few minutes of the cool, fresh, clean air.

Pollack's arm moves out to block the door as it starts to slip shut behind Donaldsen and his golden boy. It opens back up and Mitch steps inside.

"Leave me alone," I say. I don't know how I got the gumption to say it, but I said it.

"You know I can't do that, Jada; come on." His arm reaches out to take me by the shoulders.

"Don't touch me."

His grin slips just a little, and he takes a rough grip of my shoulders, pulls me out of my corner. I can't stop him. Donaldsen didn't pick him because he was a weakling.

He shoves me out towards his boss, and I'm in the hallway now, whether I like it or not. The elevator doors close behind me a minute later. Too late to go back now.

Donaldsen walks on ahead. Pollack takes my elbow. My skin hurts where his thumb presses into me. I don't say anything about it, because it wouldn't change anything.

He slides a card into the electronic lock and it shows a green light for a moment before he turns the handle and pushes the door open. I get the dubious honor of going in first.

It smells like all hotel rooms seem to, like sex and tobacco in spite of the 'no smoking' sign that's visible from the door. I recognize the smell because it smells just like it did when I gave up on my ladder-climbing career.

"Lord, Jada, does this bring back memories, or what?"

My face gets hot, with anger or something else, and my eyes hurt. Bad enough that I want to go home again. The urge to walk out of the room is about as strong as it could get, I think, until it gets worse again, and the screw just keeps tightening.

The beds in the room have been pushed apart, to make a big space in the middle of the room, and in the very center of that space is a wooden hotel-room chair with a man sitting in it.

The man's arms are handcuffed under the seat. He might be able to get out if he were very flexible, but Logan Beauchamp doesn't look limber.

Donaldsen comes up behind me, puts his slimy hand on the small of my back, where it burns like a cigarette lighter pressed into my skin even through my jacket and my shirt.

"You know, for a criminal, Mr. Beauchamp here had a lot to say about you. Didn't you, Logan?"