Dexter Is Dead (Dexter 8)

“I know,” he said. “As I said, I ask a great deal.” He turned to me, and for the very first time I thought I saw genuine enthusiasm, even warmth on his face. “But think of it, brother!” he said. “What a glorious undertaking! You and me against the world, into the fray side by side, guns blazing and hearts singing!” He smiled modestly. “Or if not actual hearts—”

“Yes, I get the picture,” I said, and somehow I still failed to catch his enthusiasm. In fact, I was rather sour on the whole thing. “But you have to understand the trouble I’m already in, Brian.”

“Well, yes,” he said. “But doesn’t that just add spice?”

“It does not,” I said firmly. “What it adds is lethal uncertainty. I am very likely to be back in jail at some point.”

“But surely Frank Kraunauer—”

“Frank Kraunauer is hardly a sure thing,” I said. “He himself has said not to be too optimistic.”

“I’m sure he’s just being cautious,” he said.

“Caution is an excellent choice,” I said. “I am pursued, hounded, and even chivied by the mangy curs of justice, and you want me to go with you to wade in rivers of blood?”

“I would hope not actually in the blood,” he said with distaste.

“It’s impossible, Brian,” I said. “I can’t possibly risk it.”

“You can’t possibly avoid it,” he said.

I looked at him. He was very serious now, no fake smiles, phony sighs, or second-rate histrionics of any kind.

“Quite seriously, brother,” he said, “they have shown some skill at locating people, and they have your name.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid your choice is rather simple: Go hunting—or be hunted.”

I clenched my teeth and looked out through the windshield. In the full darkness of this night, the water of the old quarry still gleamed. But in the greater Darkness that surrounded Dexter, there was not even a single tiny pinpoint patch of brightness. Brian was quite right. Whatever I might wish, I was in this thing with him, and my only choice was exactly what he said it was: hunt or be hunted.

“Shit,” I said one last time.

Brian nodded with a nearly convincing show of sympathy. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said.

I watched the water of the quarry. It wasn’t doing anything. For that matter, neither was I. I was in a hole every bit as deep as the quarry. Only a few hours ago I had been filled with grim optimism at the prospect of being free at last—free to guarantee my continued freedom by building a case for my innocence along with Anderson’s and Robert’s guilt. I was doing something, and it was something I was good at: finding things with a computer and sniffing out assorted naughtiness. I had finally managed to move the game back to my table, where I knew the rules and the odds, and I had stupidly allowed myself to see just one tiny glimmer of light at the end of the long dark tunnel. And then with a terrible self-satisfied smirk, Life had come breezing in and blown out all the candles again.

If Raul didn’t get me, I’d be back in jail. Death or Durance, it didn’t seem to make much difference. And quite honestly, Death looked a little more likely at the moment. I couldn’t even hide properly—I was forbidden to leave town, which meant my investigation was hamstrung before I started. I couldn’t go to Mexico or L.A. to find evidence against Robert. And Brian just sat there with a stupid smile on his face when he had dropped me into this mess, and he could stroll out of town at will, even flee the country if he wanted to, leaving me behind to twiddle my thumbs and wait for the ax to fall. He could go anywhere, and—

Aha.

“Brian,” I said.

He looked at me with polite inquiry. “Yes?” he said.

“You know I need to work on my own problems,” I said.

He nodded. “You may have mentioned it.”

“If I help you with this,” I said, “will you help me?”

“Of course!” he said. Then he frowned. “Ah—what kind of help, brother?”

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“I need some answers I can only get in L.A. Maybe Mexico. But I can’t leave town,” I said. “You can.”

Brian nodded. “A trip to L.A.? A delightful town filled with kindred spirits. I’d be happy to go.” He frowned and hesitantly added, “Um, Mexico might be a little…awkward?”

I sighed. Didn’t someone once say that every stumbling block is really a stepping-stone? Whoever had said it, if I had them here right now, I would crack them on the head with their stepping-stone and put them in the quarry with Octavio.

“We’ll do what we can,” I said.