This story originally appeared in the Grendel Press anthology The Devil Who Loves Me.
The charming little deli just off Palm Springs’ main strip was transplanted directly from the 1960s: white stucco embellished in shades of mint and candyfloss. Not at all the kind of place one would expect to hire a mercenary. Even under the shade of the patio awning, the air was so hot it seared Victor Keane’s lungs.
“Is the idea to lay low and blend in?” Corinne dropped into a plastic patio chair across from him. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re the only guy within ten miles under the age of a hundred.”
“This is where people go to retire,” Victor replied. “I’m retired.”
“You’re thirty-four. Men your age don’t retire. They’re just unemployed.”
Corinne didn’t order anything; after years of observation, Victor had determined she subsisted entirely on mineral water, air, and spite. She drew a tablet from her shoulder bag and stabbed at its screen with fingers like spiders’ legs. “What do you know about Cameron Spalding?”
“Not much.”
Corinne slid the tablet across the table. She’d always possessed a sense of the theatric that lent itself well to manila folders and grainy photo printouts, severely undercut by the relentless march of technology. On the screen was a photo of a middle-aged man with an air of carefully cultivated dishevelment: Cameron Spalding, American citizen, 47 years old. Net worth somewhere in the billions.
“Tech guy?” Victor guessed.
“On the financial side. Brought his trust fund in on a few ventures that paid off big.” Corinne propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Spalding’s getting weird. Last year, he bought an acreage out in the Rockies and started hiring armed guards. Stayed pretty quiet until recently.”
She was waiting for Victor to ask what happened. He didn’t, just to annoy her.
Corinne huffed, and continued: “A van full of civilians on a camping trip went missing a few weeks ago. Once someone got around to tracking the GPS, it turned up at the edge of Spalding’s little mountain fortress.”
“Why are you talking to me about it?”
“Spalding has friends in D.C.,” Corinne said. “Those friends are pretty reluctant to call the cops on their nice, wealthy, all-American pal Cameron Spalding. Meanwhile, it turns out one of the missing civilians is Skylar Cantrell.”
“As in Cantrell Energy?”
“Yep. Emmett Cantrell is very motivated to get his granddaughter back.”
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