Bloodshot - Cherie Priest [107]
I almost laughed. One of these days, Domino may as well change his name to “Little Shit.” But I said to him, “Don’t antagonize anybody, dumb-ass.”
“Ooh, asshole’s got a baaadge,” he said in a singsong voice.
“Asshole’s got a pair of handcuffs, too, and a big car over there. You wanna take a ride?”
“Fuck you,” Domino said again.
But I had an idea. I said, “Ask him what kind of badge it is.”
The boy said, “For all I know that badge is a fake, anyway. Doesn’t look like any badge I ever saw.”
“Good boy,” I whispered.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. What are you, fifteen? You got any ID?”
“I don’t need any ID. I’m fifteen,” he lied. He was fourteen, but he could run with it either way. “And my parents don’t care that I’m out, so don’t bother asking to call them.”
“Maybe I’ll just throw you into the car.”
“Maybe you can just suck your own dick and flash your fake badge at somebody else, and see if it gets you anywhere. You’re not even a real cop.”
“I’m worse than a real cop.”
“What is he—like, a rent-a-cop?” I asked.
Domino read off the badge, answering both me and his interrogator, “CIA? Like I’d know what a real CIA badge looks like. For all I know you got that thing at Party City.”
“Are you still talking on that cell phone?” asked the man with the badge.
“Yes, motherfucker. What are you gonna do about it anyway? You big-ass knob-gobbling donkey-raping—”
There was a clatter and a crunch, and the phone went dead.
I sat there, stupidly holding my own phone up to my ear and listening to a whole lot of nothing. As soon as I realized I was doing this, I folded it up and let my hand drop to the floor. I said, “Wow.”
Adrian was still there, unobtrusive in the arched doorway that led to the living area. “Is that good or bad?”
“Not sure,” I confessed. “Probably … well. It’s probably okay,” I told him, thereby telling myself.
“What happened?”
“The little shit with the big mouth got his phone taken away.”
“While he was talking to you?” He sounded worried. “Could they trace the call back to you?”
“I doubt it.” I should’ve been worried, but I wasn’t. “Domino was doing a good job of acting like a low-life street punk. It wasn’t much of a stretch, I’ll grant you, but he was working it. I don’t think anybody suspected anything except that he was an adolescent douchebag, and I don’t think the officer—or whatever he was—actually took the phone. I think he broke it. Sounded like he smashed it against a wall, or stepped on it.”
Adrian considered this, and then said, “I don’t know the little shit, but I’ll take your word for it. I guess I have to.”
Setting the phone down, I said, “There’s no reason for anyone to pick it up and try to put it back together except Domino. It won’t do him any good, but that’s all right.”
“Don’t you need some means of contacting these kids?”
I put my head in my hands and rubbed at my temples. “Yes, but I’ll just express them another phone. I keep a PO box down the street; the kids have a key and they know to check it.” The only thing that really worried me was Pepper, but if Domino didn’t see her captured anyplace, it was like I’d said—we might as well just assume that she’d holed up tighter than a turtle’s asshole. She’d come out when the trouble was gone, and she’d calm her brother down, and maybe keep him from doing anything stupid.
Credit where it was due, the boy had handled things downright admirably.
I hate to revisit my assumptions; I prefer to let them lie and fester, but one of these days—when I have nothing better to think about—I might get thinking about it and decide there’s an off chance he’s not wholly irredeemable.
Adrian said, “Okay. Well, whatever. Now what do we do?”
I picked up the phone and opened it again. “Now we arrange for another disposable phone, call the airline to confirm our tickets, and start packing for Washington, D.C.”
“Still? You’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely. And the sooner the better. They’re watching my place, man. They’re watching for me, which means they think there’s a chance that I’m still in Seattle, and they don’t know