“And where is here?”
“Like I said,” says Nelson, waving the gun, “the particulars don’t matter.”
Lev looks over toward Miracolina again. Her eyes are half-open, but she’s still not entirely conscious. “Let her go,” he says. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”
Nelson smiles. “How noble of you—thinking of the girl before yourself. Who says chivalry is dead?”
“What do you want?” Lev asks, his head aching too much to dance around the point. “I can’t get you your job back, and it’s not my fault Connor tranqed you, so what do you want from me?”
“Actually,” says Nelson, “it is your fault. If you weren’t being used as a human shield, none of us would be here today.”
Lev realizes how true that is. Had he not inadvertently taken Nelson’s bullet meant for Connor, then both of them would have been unwound on schedule.
“So, shall we play?” Nelson asks.
Lev swallows, and his throat feels like it’s coated with wood shavings. “What’s the game?”
“Russian roulette! My clip is loaded with five tranq bullets and one nickel-plated lead shell with an explosive tip. I can’t recall in what position I put Mr. Bad Bullet—I was too busy talking to you to notice. I will ask you questions, and if I don’t like an answer, I shoot.”
“This game could last for days if I keep going unconscious.”
“Or it could be over very quickly.”
Lev takes a deep breath and tries not to show any more fear than he has to. “Sounds exciting. I’m in.”
“Well, it’s not quite the thrill of clapping, but I’ll try to keep you from getting bored.” He takes the safety off the weapon. “Question one. Is your friend Connor still alive?”
Lev suspected he might ask this, so he does his best to lie as honestly as he can. “I’ve heard the rumors too,” he says, “but I’m out of that loop. He was taken away, bloody and unconscious, from Happy Jack, and I was arrested. Beyond that, I have no idea.”
Nelson smiles at him, then says, “Wrong answer,” and swings the gun toward Miracolina.
“No!”
Nelson fires without hesitation. Miracolina arches her back as she’s hit, releasing a semiconscious gasp, then falls silent. Lev’s heart feels like it’s about to explode, until he sees the tiny telltale tranq flag sticking out of her shirt.
Nelson stands and shakes his head at Lev. “I’d better like your next answer.” Then he leaves, closing the door.
53 - Nelson
Nelson decides to give Lev plenty of time to think about it. In the meantime, he sits in an adjoining room of the cottage, researching the leads he already has. Not that many. He has tagged nearly a dozen AWOLs, letting them think they’ve escaped from him. Some are still on the streets not far from where he originally captured them. Others are at harvest camps, having been caught by the Juvies. One appears to be in Argentina, although he suspects the kid was caught by another parts pirate and unwound on the black market, which means only his tagged part went to South America. There are two signals pinging from Arizona at the site of an old defunct air force base. This he finds the most curious. He heard talk of some sort of AWOL sanctuary in the Southwest when he was still with the Juvies, but details were sketchy, and he hadn’t had high enough security clearance to learn any more about it, or interest at the time to care. In any case, Arizona is too far away for him to jump to any conclusions. Unless, of course, his little clapper boy places Connor there.
The tranq bullets Nelson loaded in his pistol are the mildest kind, with the shortest half-life. When he returns about two hours later, he lingers outside the door, listening. The girl is awake but groggy, and Lev is all about apologizing for getting her involved in this. No talk of Connor or any potential AWOL hideouts.
Nelson kicks open the door for effect, then sits calmly in the chair between them, brandishing his pistol, just in case there’s any question about his intentions.
“Are we ready?” Nelson says. “Five bullets left. A twenty percent chance that the next one is lethal.”
Lev avoids eye contact with him, struggling to keep his breathing under control. As he already knows the surprise ending of the game, Nelson aims the gun at the girl even before asking the question.
“You think I’m afraid to die, but I’m not,” the girl says. However, the warble in her voice says otherwise.
“Please,” Lev begs. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I believe I do,” Nelson cheerfully tells him. He clears his throat. “Round two. The question is . . . Where is the Akron AWOL hiding? You have three seconds before the buzzer.”
“Please don’t,” Lev pleads again.
“One!”