Don't Look Down

Chapter 11

When they were out of earshot, Lucy held up the cable. "I've been over this cable twenty times since it came off Bryce. Aside from Nash's blood, there's nothing wrong with it. And yet, we almost lost Bryce."

Karen shook her head. "It wasn't the cable. The rope broke."

"The rope?" Lucy let the cable drop to her side, confused. "What rope?"

Karen tried to look bored and just looked tense. "There's a rope at the end of the cable, because rope gives and cable doesn't, so-"

"Where's the rope?" Lucy said, not giving a damn about stunt theory. She wrestled with the cable until she could hold up both ends. "No rope. Where is it?"

Karen looked surprised. "It should be tied on there," she said, pointing to the end that hadn't been hooked to Bryce. "Somebody probably threw it away or it fell out somewhere." She shrugged again. "It broke. It happens."

"Does it now?" Lucy crossed her arms. "You'd think if it happened, they'd find a better way. After they'd dropped, oh, say, half a dozen people like eggs on the pavement, you'd think they'd say, 'You know, the thing about this kind of rope is, it breaks' And then they wouldn't use it anymore."

Karen watched her, stony-faced.

Lucy leaned forward. "Listen to me. I am not your enemy, but I am your boss. You are on my team, and you answer to me, and you are going to tell me right now what the hell happened up there."

Karen shrugged. "The bolt on the front of the right skid gave way when Bryce put his weight on it. Then the rope that holds the cable to the tie-down in the copter broke. Wilder grabbed it and Nash grabbed the cable and the two of them held Bryce off the ground until I could get him down."

Lucy narrowed her eyes. "Was Wilder responsible?"

Karen shrugged again. "I don't know. I just fly the bird."

"Why was Bryce on the skid?"

"He wanted it," Karen said bitterly. "He said he'd shut down the shoot for a week if he didn't get to do it. Wilder and Nash both tried to talk him out of it."

"Wilder did?"

Karen nodded.

"Hell,' Lucy said, knowing they'd been stuck. But Connor should have stopped the stunt. Which meant that finishing the movie on Finnegan's schedule was more important than keeping Bryce safe. Big money, she thought. He'd sacrifice damn near anybody for a great payday. She looked around to see if he'd left and saw him talking to Doc, Stephanie standing close behind.

Karen watched them, too, her face flushed.

"I don't know what this is, Karen," Lucy said, and watched Karen flinch as she said her name, making it personal, "but whoever's behind it, he's not on your side. The sabotage shows you that. Who else is going to catch hell for a defective copter except the pilot who checked it out?"

Karen looked startled for a second, as if she hadn't thought of that, which rattled Lucy more than anything else. Karen was following Connor blindly.

"Whatever it is," Lucy said, "get out now.'

Karen stared back at her, unblinking, and Lucy sighed. "Get ready to try it again. And double-check the skid bolts when the copter gets here. I do not want to see Captain Wilder do what Bryce just did."

Karen nodded and went back to the set, and Lucy followed her out into the sunlight, where Wilder waited, staring out at the swamp, his face as impassive as ever. Probably looking for Moot to wrestle.

He's a monosyllabic, deadpan, tight-assed military man, she thought. But he did not sabotage that stunt. In fact, if he'd been the one on the skid…

In her mind, she saw him falling from the copter, smashing onto the pavement, bones cracking, blood spattering-

And he was going up there again, to fall out of the damn thing on purpose.

"Jesus," she said and went toward him just as the sound of an inbound helicopter echoed over the set once more. Wilder looked up and then headed toward the landing spot near where the gravel road met the highway.

Lucy picked up speed to catch him, reaching him only when he slowed as the helicopter came in for a landing. She stepped in front of him to stop him before they got in earshot of the crew. "Listen, you don't have to do this. You don't have to be a hero. We-" She stopped when he grinned at her. "What? I'm serious here."

"Oh," he said. "Sorry. Thought it was a movie quote. That 'you don't have to be a hero' thing."

"Movie quote," Lucy said. "At a time like this, you're thinking movie quotes."

"Well, it's from High Noon."

"Wonderful. High Noon." Lucy took a deep breath. "And now, returning to reality, we can do without this shot. We-"

"No, you can't." He looked up at the chopper, probably checking for loose bolts. "That part of the script I did read."

"Great." She swallowed. "Fine time you picked to get literate."

"I liked the action parts. The love stuff made me sleepy." He smiled at her, and her heart picked up speed.

"We can fake it," she told him. "Have them edit the stuff we've got so it looks okay. Or just cut the scene. The hell with Finnegan, this movie is not worth dying for."

"I never fake it," he said, looking into her eyes. "And nobody's going to die." Then he looked past her, his face blank again, and she turned and saw Connor waiting for him as the helicopter landed, heavy leather gloves on over his bandages and Doc standing beside him looking miserable.

"What the hell?" Lucy strode toward him. "What are you doing here?" She glared at Doc. "You were supposed to take him to the ER."

"They take too long." Connor put his arm around her, dangling a gloved hand by her chin, but his eyes were on Wilder, who had followed her over. "Don't get mad, Lucy, love, you know I hate hospitals."

Wilder looked at them both, his eyes impassive.

Great, she thought. A macho stare-off.

"Besides," Connor said, "I have a stunt to finish."

"Oh, no," Lucy said, louder than she'd meant to, and Connor pulled his arm away. "You're hurt. If something else happens up there, you'll rip your hands up again." And you won't save Wilder. She turned to Doc. "You're going up in the helicopter with Wilder."

"Lucy-" Connor said, holding the gloves up.

"You're not going up there," Lucy said to him. "That's final." He stared at her for a moment, fury in his eyes, and she said, "Don't clench your hands."

He turned and walked away, not looking back.

"Don't screw this up, Rambo," she said, not looking at Wilder.

"That was my plan. Not screwing up."

"Funny." Lucy headed for video village, catching Doc's arm as she went, pulling him backward with her. "I do not want anything bad to happen to Captain Wilder."

Doc trotted backward faster to keep up with her. "Okay, Lucy."

"And I am counting on you to make sure that it doesn't."

"Okay, Lucy."

"Because if it does…" Lucy stopped and he overshot her, stepping forward to meet her again, his round face full of dread behind his glasses. "Your ass is mine. Two things had to go wrong up there for that last stunt to fail. A third thing on this one, and I'm getting a new stunt team."

Doc looked wounded. "Lucy, we-"

"Know more than you're saying," Lucy said. "I don't know what's going on with you guys, but nobody gets hurt again. Understand?"

"Yes," 'Doc said. "Nobody was supposed to get hurt."

Lucy grabbed his arm again. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Doc said, sheet white now. "I wouldn't hurt anybody, Lucy. You know that."

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Doc stopped and tried again. "What I meant was that, on a good stunt, nobody ever gets hurt."

Lucy narrowed her eyes. "Whatever you guys are doing, it's over. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Lucy," Doc said.

"Good," Lucy said, not believing him for a moment. "Tell the others. And make damn sure that Wilder lands in one piece and walks away when this is done."

"He will." Doc's face was sober with sincerity. "He will, Lucy, I swear."

Lucy nodded. "Okay." She jerked her head toward the helicopter. "Showtime."

Doc nodded and ran, and Lucy turned to see Wilder by the copter, watching them both.

If I were a decent human being, I wouldn't let either one of you go up

there, she thought, and stared at him a moment too long, reading the look on his face as sympathy for her. He shook his head and gave her a thumbs-up and climbed into the copter, and she thought, Oh, hell, and cared too much, which was stupid, she didn't care at all. The macho asshole had a Rambo complex, testosterone poisoning, thought he was immortal, never say die…

Don't die, she thought and sat down behind the monitors, her throat tight.

Wilder watched Lucy go back to the monitors, trying not to think about the way she walked. He was on a mission and she was part of it. You did not think that the mission had a great ass. You also did not notice that the mission seemed to care a lot whether you lived or died. And you definitely didn't like it that she did.

The mission, he thought and looked away to see the maintenance pilot climb out of the copter and bend his head close to Karen's, the two of them doing pilot talk. The blades were whooping by overhead very slowly, on idle, the engine purring so deeply that he couldn't hear what they were saying. Hurry up, Wilder thought, looking at the sky. The light was going fast and Lucy needed the shot. Several takes of the shot unless he didn't use the cable. He headed for the helicopter. Wilder climbed into the right front seat, the better to hear Karen and the test pilot, but Bryce came up and leaned in.

"Hey, man. Thanks once more."

Wilder nodded, trying to overhear the conversation beside him. Then the maintenance pilot walked away and he gave up and concentrated on the stunt and what Lucy needed.

"I mean it, man," Bryce said.

"No problem. It's my job." The smart thing would be to do the stunt without the cable.

"That's twice you saved my butt," Bryce said. "I know it's your job, but that was really…"

Wilder looked up and thought he saw tears forming in Bryce's eyes.

Even taking into consideration that Bryce was an actor, it was disconcerting. "Hey, you're my wingman."

"Oh, man," Bryce said, really tearing up. "J.T., you're just-"

"Gotta get to work," Wilder said fast, and Bryce nodded and backed off, frowning like a man and giving him a thumbs-up.

"You bet," he said. "Roger that."

Oh, Christ, Wilder thought, and then Nash came up, blocking Bryce, and Wilder stiffened. Nash thrust the MP-5 stunt gun at him harder than necessary. "I checked it, but you can double-check if you want."

"I trust you," Wilder said, and Nash nodded, fury in his eyes, and walked off.

As soon as Nash's back was turned, Wilder checked the gun. It was all right, the cable would be okay this time, and if they were going to move as slowly as they'd moved before, go in as low…

He could do it without the cable, easy. Lucy had three cameras doing coverage. If he didn't use the cable, they could probably get it all in one shot. He looked at the sky again. They'd have to do it in one shot if they wanted the light. Plus, he wanted to spend as little time as possible in the air when there was potentially a person with a big gun somewhere around.

Doc climbed into the back, his face grim, carrying a kit bag. He pulled out the cable, a new rope, and a body harness.

Wilder shook his head. "Forget it."

Doc blinked in confusion. "Forget what?"

"No harness. No wire. We're doing this thing in one shot. I'll shoot from the skid and do the jump."

Doc's jaw dropped. "B-but Lucy-"

Wilder didn't give him a chance. "The cable didn't do Bryce much good. We don't have enough daylight to do this a couple of times. And I need a fucking beer. So, one shot. Roger that?"

Doc snapped his mouth shut. "Lucy's going to be pissed."

"Lucy is already pissed," Wilder said, liking the way "Lucy" sounded when he said it. "She'll get over it. And she'll get the shot she needs. Anything else?"

Doc looked at him for a moment and then reached into his pocket. He pulled out a large bronze coin, slightly bigger than a silver dollar. "Coin check."

Wilder nodded, knowing that was Doc's way of telling him that he had his back. He decided to leave his in his pocket. "Fuck you. I don't have mine. I owe you a drink."

"And me." Karen was in the pilot's seat. "Anyone in hand-grenade-burst radius, right?"

"And you," Wilder said. He hoped they were thirsty enough that they'd keep him alive so he could buy them the drinks. "What did the mechanic say about the bird?" Wilder asked as Doc put the coin back in his pocket.

Karen put her hands on the controls. "He said he had no clue why the skid broke, but it won't break again."

Not a smart-ass answer, but not the whole truth, either, he was pretty sure. With a slight shudder, the helicopter lifted. Wilder felt a tap on the shoulder. Doc was holding a headset, mouthing the word Lucy.

Fuck. He put the headset on.

"Everything all right?" Lucy asked.

"Roger."

"Skid okay?"

"It's still attached, right? You have a better view than me."

"Funny guy. How about the cable?"

"It's fine."

"The rope?"

"Good."

"The harness?"

"Lucy, everything's fine." He looked back at the kit bag on the floor next to Doc's feet where he assumed all the equipment was in top-notch condition. "It's all fine." She was still quiet, so he said, "Lucy?"

"Be careful," she said, and he wasn't sure what had happened but he knew she was rattled. When she spoke again, she was herself. "Listen, Rambo, if you splat on the road, our insurance premiums double."

That would serve Finnegan right, Wilder thought. "Look, I've done this a million times. Sometimes with people shooting real bullets at me. Now stop bothering me and direct the damn movie."

He didn't wait for her response, just took off the headset and tossed it over his shoulder to Doc.

The chopper was at a hover. The convertible was ahead and below, Althea in the front seat with Rick. Everything started moving, in slow motion just like before, and Wilder fought back a laugh. They think this is dangerous? Ivy coming in on a hot landing zone with green tracers punching through the night looking like they were headed right between your eyeballs, and the pilot pushing the bird to the max, full speed because he did not want to be in the area one second longer than he had to, and knowing you were going to jump right into the middle of some heavy, honest-to-God real shit while the door gunners were blazing away in the other direction, their red tracers screaming by the green ones.

Doc nodded to him, and Wilder stepped out onto the skid, finding it without looking down because it was where the goddamn skid was supposed to be. He tested it, keeping half his weight in the bird, then stood outside, one hand on the door frame, the other holding the MP-5. He flexed his legs and did a slight hop on the skid, earning a quick glance from Karen, who felt the chopper move. Wilder smiled at her. He figured she probably wanted to give him the finger but a helicopter pilot always had to keep two hands on the controls.

Down in the car, Rick turned and pointed a pistol at the chopper and for a moment Wilder felt a surge of adrenaline. Then Rick fired several times, blanks, and Wilder relaxed. He swung the MP-5 up and fired his own burst, knowing if the damn thing were loaded with real bullets, he'd just put a stitch of rounds in the bad guy from lower chest up through his head, but of course in the movie the good guy missed. Stupid good guy.

The villain fired a couple of more times and missed. Stupid bad guy

Wilder leisurely returned the fire, figuring it must look good on film, but feeling really dumb since the car and helicopter were moving at about five miles an hour. Stupid everybody.

Karen brought them even closer. Wilder dropped the MP-5 to dangle on its sling as they closed in on the car, ever so slowly. When it was twelve feet below him, he gauged the distance to the back of the car.

Stupid me, he thought and threw himself out into the air.

Lucy sat behind the monitors, her eyes glued on Wilder standing on the skid. He called me Lucy.

It was no big deal. Except he looked really good on that skid. Nobody would believe he was Bryce, his body was different, stronger, relaxed. He's not afraid, she thought. Must jump out of helicopters all the time. His girlfriend must not sleep at night. Maybe he didn't have a girlfriend. Not that it mattered. She shook her head and thought, Concentrate, you dummy, and Daisy yelled over the rotor noise, "What's wrong?"

"Macho dumb-ass," she yelled back, keeping her eyes on Wilder.

He called me Lucy.

It was such a stupid little thing, that he'd called her Lucy on the headphones. Not Armstrong. Which should have made no difference, everybody called her Lucy, it was nothing-

He swung the gun and fired at the car with efficient grace and then as Karen brought the chopper lower, he dropped the gun and fell, just as planned except-

"No cable." Lucy rose up as he hit the trunk of the car, as he slid down the old Cadillac's trunk and landed on the roadway, rolling as Rick fired more blanks at him with enthusiasm, and Lucy shoved past Daisy and Pepper and ran toward him.

"Cut," Gloom yelled from behind her, and the Cadillac stopped, and Wilder got to his feet, wincing a little as Althea screamed, "J.T.? Are you all right?"

"Where's the cable?" Lucy went breathless as she reached him. "What happened? How-"

"Stop yelling," he said as he brushed himself off and then waved to Althea. "Nothing went wrong. I didn't use the cable."

Lucy stopped, her heart racing. "What do you mean, you didn't use the cable?"

"We were losing the light," Wilder said, as if what he'd done was perfectly rational. "This way, we got it all in one take."

"You didn't use the cable," Lucy said.

"I saved you blade time." Wilder frowned at her. "What's the problem?"

Well, I thought somebody had tried to kill you, you dumb-ass, only it turns out your worst enemy is you.

"Besides," Wilder said, with a smile, "it's Miller time."

Lucy turned and walked back to the monitors so he wouldn't see her shake, but after a couple of steps she thought, Oh, no, and walked back to him and slugged him as hard as she could on the shoulder.

"Ouch," Wilder said, putting his hand up.

"You didn't use the fucking cable," Lucy yelled. "What are you, a moron? You could have been killed!"

"Oh, come on." Wilder looked insulted. "I know what I'm doing. We moved any slower, I'd have fallen asleep up there."

" 'I know what I'm doing,' " Lucy mimicked. "Somebody's tried to kill you twice, but you know what you're doing. I don't think so."

She walked away and then went back toward him. He stood his ground but he looked wary, hands out at his sides.

She kept going until she was in his face, but he didn't step back. "You scared the hell out of me," she said, her voice low. "I thought you were hurt. When I didn't see that cable, I thought-"

She broke off, torn between rage and relief, and she saw his face soften.

"Lucy, I was trying to help-"

"No," Lucy said, going for rage. "You were doing it your way. If you wanted to help me, you'd have asked me first."

"Well, hell, I'm sorry then," he said, sounding mad, and she got closer.

"When we were in the swamp looking for Pepper," she said, so furious she was almost spitting, "I thought it would be best to call for her, I really wanted to call for her, it killed me not to call for her, but I didn't because you were the one who knew best there. You knew the swamp, you were the expert. So, you think you know more about making movies than I do, hotshot?"

"I might know more about falling out of helicopters than you do," Wilder said, exasperated.

"This is a movie, not a mission. You the expert on that or am I? Or do you always have to be the boss, even when you don't know what the hell the consequences are?"

"No," he said, his face closing down. "But-"

"You did the same thing Bryce did," she said and watched him wince. "You were so sure you were right, so screw the experts. I've got a spy on this set, Wilder, and so far today he's seen my direction ignored completely twice. Bryce is an idiot, but you're not. So, thanks a lot."

She turned and walked off and he said, "I'm sorry," sounding like he meant it.

She stopped and went back, hearing Althea giggle behind her, too upset to care that she was making a fool of herself, that it was worse because he was still calling her Lucy. "Are you all right?" she said when she was close again. "Did you get hurt?"

"Only when you punched me." He felt his shoulder. "I didn't see that one coming."

"Oh, but you saw the ground coming," Lucy said, mad all over again. "So all you had to do was brace yourself and bounce, I suppose."

"It's hard to miss the ground," Wilder said. "As they used to say in Airborne School, you can always count on gravity."

"Rot and die," Lucy said and went back to the monitors.

On the way, Doc intercepted her. "Lucy, I swear to God, he refused the harness and safety cable."

"I know, Doc," Lucy said, not stopping.

Doc stopped and fell behind, and Lucy sat down behind the monitors, still wanting to kill somebody.

"So how was it for you?" Daisy asked, while Pepper looked at her, her eyes huge.

"Completely unsatisfactory." Lucy settled into her seat, trying not to look at Wilder, now talking to Doc without any visible concern.

"Are you mad at J.T.?" Pepper said.

"Oh, yeah."

"Don't fire him," Pepper said, looking stricken. "He has to come to my party."

"He'll be there." Lucy stood up and called to the set, "Okay, let's do it again."

The entire set froze, and Wilder looked up, startled.

Lucy let the seconds tick by, and then said, "Kidding. We got it."

The crew relaxed and laughed, and Wilder grinned at her, and she sat back, shaking her head at him. Dumb-ass.

Then she realized Stephanie was looking at her with a great deal of interest. "What?"

Stephanie smiled. "Nothing," she said, and walked away toward Nash.

"I don't like it when she looks like that," Daisy said, watching her saunter off.

"I don't care what she looks like." Lucy took a deep breath, trying to get her balance. It took a lot out of a woman to be furious, terrified, and sort of turned on at the same time. I'm going to have to kill him. Because otherwise-

Stephanie opened the car door for Nash, and Nash looked back once at Lucy, his face dark with pain. Then he got in, and Stephanie smiled over at her, triumphant.

Him, you can have, Lucy thought.

Then she looked at J.T., on the edge of the set with a jubilant Bryce, infuriating and patronizing and too damn dumb to use a cable. Him, you can't, she thought, and went back to work.

Wilder walked away from Bryce and the people still sucking up to him and stood on the edge of the berm, staring out over the swamp in the fading light. Now that he had time to think, what he was thinking wasn't good. Lucy said somebody had tried to kill him twice. He wasn't sure he was buying that, but when he put the bar fight together with the broken skid and Finnegan and the Russian mob… He sighed and took out his cell phone.

Four rings, then: "Swamp Rat Airlines. You call, we haul."

"Hey, Swamp Rat. It's J.T."

"Shüüit, boy. How's it hanging? Any more helicopters break?"

"I want to talk to you. Not on the phone."

"Figured you would. Meet me at Maraschino's. I'll show you my investments."

"The strip club in the shopping mall?" Wilder asked, although he knew that was exactly the kind of place where LaFavre would want to meet. The place probably had a seat with LaFavre's name on it. "See you there in fifteen."

"Roger that."

Wilder waved to Lucy, who missed it, deep in conversation with Gloom at the monitors, and then went down the dirt road to his Jeep and cranked it. As he drove toward the strip club, he mulled over what he knew and came up with not much of anything.

There were a lot of cars parked in front of Maraschino's. Wilder drove around the lot and combat parked, front end facing out, underneath an old oak tree. He didn't see LaFavre's car so he went over to the front door. Glass, spray-painted black with little clear streaks, which Wilder assumed were fingernail marks made by guys getting dragged out by bouncers. Class)'.

Wilder pulled open the door and almost walked right into a burly man who filled most of the narrow entranceway. " Ten bucks." The man's bare arms bulged with muscles festooned with tattoos.

Wilder pulled out the bill and handed it over, but the man didn't move. "You packing?" He held up a metal detector.

Not a good sign, Wilder thought. "Yeah."

Tattoo Man frowned. "What are you carrying? Let me see."

This was a major pain in the ass, Wilder thought as he drew out the Clock. Then he pulled off his belt with the garrote in it. Then the dagger strapped to his left calf. Tattoo Man eyed the growing pile of weaponry with a raised eyebrow. "Expecting trouble?"

"It seems to follow me around," Wilder said.

"Sure that's the way it works?"

Wilder had to smile at that.

"You can leave all that with me or take it back to your car, but you are not going inside with any of it."

Well, he'd already paid his ten bucks. Shit. "I'll put it in my car," Wilder said, gathering the weapons and reversing course. "I'll be back."

"I'm sure you will be."

Going out the glass door, he bumped into LaFavre, still wearing his aviator glasses even though the sun had set a while ago. Schtick. Every pilot Wilder had ever met had some sort of schtick.

"It's nighttime, Swamp Rat," Wilder said, indicating the sunglasses.

"Working on my night vision." LaFavre gestured at the collection of weapons. "Figure one of the girls will attack you for your body?"

Been known to happen, Wilder thought. "Putting it back in the Jeep. Wait for me here."

Wilder went to the Jeep and secured the gear in his footlocker, then he rejoined LaFavre, who was chatting with Tattoo Man, obviously on a first-name basis. Wilder was subjected to the wand and then they were nodded into the club, thumping music making the floor vibrate under their feet.

Wilder followed LaFavre, who wove a path through the tables, stopping every now and then to greet someone. A skimpily dressed waitress sashayed up to LaFavre and draped her free arm around his waist, the other one balancing a tray holding several bottles of beer.

LaFavre gave her a peck on the cheek. "Candy, meet J.T. J.T., Candy. She's sweet."

"I'm sure she is," Wilder said. "Pleased to meet you, Candy."

Candy was a hard-looking twenty-five, and she eyed him up and down, establishing his net worth and finding him wanting, one of the reasons Wilder was not a big fan of strip clubs: They weren't about sex and fun, they were about money. Candy slid her arm from LaFavre and went in search of better prey.

"Got to dress better, my friend, if you want some attention."

Wilder stared at LaFavre, astounded. The aviator wore his beat-up leather flight jacket, faded ripped jeans, and alligator-skin boots that had seen better years, and his head was topped with his battered World War II-era flight cap.

"The jacket," LaFavre said. "Means I get flight pay. The girls know that stuff. A lot more than jump pay."

Wilder nodded as they took a table next to the stage. LaFavre crooked two fingers and another waitress zoomed by, depositing two bottles of Bud without even a "Hey, how's it going."

"That be Chantelle. She doesn't like me," LaFavre said, nodding toward the waitress's back as she sped away.

"I can't imagine why." Wilder raised his bottle. "To those who didn't come back."

LaFavre clinked bottles. "Amen, brother."

Wilder shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his back to the club door.

"What do you want to talk about?" LaFavre asked as his sunglasses focused on a girl who came out from behind the curtain and shimmied up the gleaming stainless-steel pole twelve feet to the ceiling. Using only her thigh muscles. Wilder had to admit he was impressed.

"I'm doing temporary work for the Agency."

LaFavre stopped looking at the dancer, lowered his sunglasses, and shot Wilder a look of unabashed pity. "Fuck."

"You said it."

"Here? Stateside?"

Wilder nodded. "Yeah, I know. This is most definitely a cover-your-ass gig by the Agency. I-and the Army-take the fall if this blows up since the Agency technically can't operate stateside."

"Technically you and the Army can't operate stateside, either," LaFavre pointed out as he slid the glasses up and put his attention back on the stage, where the girl was now upside down on the pole, gravity having no effect on her attributes. "Can you tell me the gig?"

Technically I can't, Wilder knew, since LaFavre didn't have, as they said in the parlance, "a need to know," even though he did have a top-secret clearance. But they'd already gone through the ritual of agreeing that this operation was a clusterfuck of responsibility and deniability without coming right out and saying it. The kid, Crawford, was probably doing his best, but he was still just a kid.

Wilder nodded. "The CIA thinks some money is being laundered via the movie. The backer is some shady moneyman that a lot of the alphabet soups are interested in. Name's Finnegan. He owes some Russian mob guy named Letsky and-"

"Wait a sec." LaFavre shook his head, but he was still looking at the stage. "What was that name? A Russian?"

"Simon Letsky." Wilder had a feeling LaFavre didn't have much blood left in his brain at the moment and he wished they had met somewhere where his friend could focus on the problem more closely.

LaFavre whistled, either at the information or the girl, who was now slowly sliding down the pole while simultaneously removing her top. "That's some deep shit. Letsky's bad, real bad. I've seen his name more than once on the daily intel sheets. He's worth billions. Arms dealer. And he's got ties to bad people. People who've shot at you."

Wilder processed that. He'd been shot at by Taliban in Afghanistan, insurgents in Iraq, and Al-Qaeda operatives in other places he wasn't supposed to have been.

"How can I help you?" LaFavre asked, leaning forward in the seat to get a better angle on the girl.

"I might need backup."

The song thudded to a halt and LaFavre sighed and leaned back in his chair, finally sparing Wilder a glance. "Man. This is the United States. Not the 'Stan. Not that I don't appreciate you saving my butt there, but…"

"I know." Wilder waited, hoping LaFavre would give him an answer before the next dancer completely wiped his brain clean.

LaFavre rubbed his chin. "We keep a Little Bird gunship and a Night-hawk on ten-minute alert all the time now. Both armed. But the order to put those in the air over the good ole U-S of A has to come from someone more mighty than thou."

Wilder didn't say anything, letting LaFavre wrestle with his official duty and his sense of honor. The music cranked and a new girl began crawling across the stage, taking LaFavre's attention.

"Well, my friend, since Finnegan and Letsky are sort of terrorists, I guess it is part of this here global war on terrorism," LaFavre finally said. "But don't call me about a paper cut or anything. Better be some real shit, with real danger, to real people."

Wilder felt relieved. "Thanks."

"Anything else?" LaFavre asked, as he smiled at the girl and twirled a ten-dollar bill.

Wilder shook his head. "Nope. Got a parry to get to."

"Ah, yes." LaFavre reached in his pocket and pulled out a small package, without taking his eyes off the girl. "Present this with my compliments to the young lady."

Wilder took it. "Okay," he said, confused.

"How do I get hold of you?" LaFavre said, and then the girl spun onto her back, legs spread wide, and clamped them down on LaFavre's head, just like the pole, as he slid the bill under the side of her G-string.

"Call one-eight-hundred-clusterfuck," Wilder said, not sure LaFavre could hear.

"That bad?" The voice was muffled.

"Could be worse," Wilder said as he remembered Lucy. "You got my Satphone number. Use that."

The girl undamped and moved on to her next victim. "I got it," LaFavre said, looking a little dazed, his aviator glasses askew on his face.

A voice cut through the thumping music: "Hey, asshole."

Wilder twisted his head and blinked at the five-foot-tall, abnormally big-busted, red-haired fireball who was glaring at LaFavre, now straightening his sunglasses. How the hell does she keep from tipping over? Wilder wondered.

"Ahh, Ginny baby," LaFavre said in his deepest accent, matching it with a smile Wilder envied. Now that was a reassuring smile.

But it didn't work. "Don't 'Ginny baby' me, you shit," the tiny girl said, leaning forward, apparently not caring that her massive breasts fell out of her sheer robe. Post-Althea, Wilder was not impressed. He was more concerned that the tattooed bouncer was edging closer, trying to listen in.

LaFavre dug into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. "I got a dime here and-"

"You owe me five dimes," Ginny countered. "I told you not to come by if you didn't have it all."

"A down payment," LaFavre said.

Ginny went past Wilder as if he weren't there and shoved her breasts into LaFavre's face. "You wanted them, you pay for them. That was the deal."

Wilder was puzzled for a second, then the lightbulb went on as Ginny smashed LaFavre's face into her cleavage. "That's your last touch until you pay in full," Ginny said, relieving LaFavre of the roll of money.

She bounced off, Tattoo Man edged back, and Wilder stared at LaFavre, who seemed pretty happy about handing a thousand dollars to a woman who had just called him an asshole.

LaFavre smiled. "She's something, is she not?"

Althea would have had LaFavre's life savings in ten minutes, Wilder thought, as he nodded in what he hoped was lecherous agreement. He tried to find the right word. "Unbelievable." That seemed to cover it.

"Worth every cent," LaFavre went on. "I look on them as an investment in her future." He pointed. Ginny took the stage, and within a minute was doing things that made Wilder reconsider-perhaps Ginny could teach Althea a thing or two. The music pounded behind her and Wilder caught a snatch of the lyric: "In these shoes?" Shoes. He thought of Lucy in those red boots up there on stage. Wonder Woman. Now that he'd pay money to see.

LaFavre leaned over as Ginny writhed along the edge of the stage, gathering money in her G-string from the slack-jawed men lining it. When she got to LaFavre he slid a twenty among the sweat-soaked greenbacks already stuffed there. "Do the pole, baby," LaFavre begged.

Ginny gave LaFavre a look that reminded Wilder of some of the ones that had been directed at him lately. "There's no money on the pole, dumb shit."

Excellent logic, Wilder thought, and also time for him to be going. He stood up and shook LaFavre's hand. "Thanks. I owe you."

LaFavre's eyes were on Ginny and his investments, now moving away. "Well, we are all supposed to be on the same side, but if this blows up, I never talked to you, I don't know you, and I disavow that you were even born."

"Good to know you got my back," Wilder said, knowing LaFavre wasn't hearing anything anymore.

If the terrorists ever hired Ginny, the free world was screwed.