Divided States, page 24
“I know they’re in there waterboarding her,” he says. “But we can’t do anything about that right now.”
Lori punches where she thinks Boudreaux’s chin should be. She connects, but nowhere near hard enough.
“I hate you right now,” she says. “Do all men get off on hurting women, or is it just the ones in my life?”
“Lori.” She’s irate, but somehow her name coming out of Boudreaux’s mouth calms her. “You have to wait with me. It’s the only way any of us’ll make it out of here.”
Lori can’t stand getting told to stand down. But with little choice in the matter, she scoots away from Boudreaux and takes a few deep breaths.
“Thanks,” he says. “I know you think she’s dying in there. And believe me, so does she. But I don’t think this Taggart prick will kill her. Not in there, anyway. His men are younger and, from what I could see, not as depraved as their so-called sergeant. No matter how stupid and loyal, they’ll never follow through with kill orders after watching a woman get waterboarded to death.”
The logic is sound, but that doesn’t keep her from grinding her teeth, thinking about her impotence. She’s sitting on the floor next to a mop while someone else—probably another woman, albeit one whom she’s long suspected as coveting Jeremiah—is drowning, simulated or not.
If Boudreaux would just help her break down the door, Lori has the knowledge and at least some of the skill left to beat the holy hell out of Taggart and at least one of his guards before getting taken out.
“You might get three of them,” Boudreaux says.
How does he always know what I’m thinking? He can’t even read her face—unless his night vision borders on superhuman.
“That fourth one would kill you, though,” he continues. “That’s why I need you to control your impulses. I know you’ve never really been able to do that in the past. But if you don’t now, we die.”
“And how the hell would you know what I have or haven’t been able to do in the past?” It’s a legitimate question. Boudreaux’s seen her IA file and knows some of what she did to Kevin Ryan Booker. Boudreaux also knew her father, which means he understands more about her than most.
But Boudreaux can’t know everything she’s done. The Colonel would never discuss her training with anyone other than the participants. Her father’s secrecy is the reason he’s buried in Amarillo instead of locked up in Leavenworth.
“Here’s what I know,” Boudreaux says. “Your father was in command when I joined CAG. I wanted to be a shooter, but he said my file indicated I was best suited for advance force operations based on my time in the Ranger Reconnaissance Company.”
“That aptitude for intel you talked about.”
“Affirmative. But I was less enlightened as a slightly younger man and didn’t want to work in the girl squadron, so your father and I didn’t start off on the best of terms.”
Nobody was ever on good terms with the Colonel, except maybe those who shared his special brand of psychopathy. “I thought you were going to tell me something I didn’t know.”
She can’t see it, but Lori pictures Boudreaux smiling. “I was young and headstrong, so I told Colonel Young I’d only sign up for G Squadron if I was given a fast track to commanding my troop and a chance to lead the squadron.”
“Ballsy. Even for an operator.”
“I figured I had SF waiting for me. Or private security if he got me booted. Of course, your father had the last word in our negotiation.”
Sounds right. “And what was that?”
“Colonel Young said he had a daughter that he was training to be a unit Operator. She was going to be the first woman shooter, but he’d have to use her in G Squadron first, then have someone else recommend her for operator training.”
“And you were going to be that someone.”
“He said he’d get me to command sergeant major if I helped him make history. And yes, that’s how he phrased it.”
Boudreaux had once again revealed nothing.
Well, almost nothing.
The Colonel told her from the time she hit puberty that his goal was to raise the first female operator. Women had worked with the Unit as combat and service support since before her father took over command. Most were on base, but the best had been used in the field, posing as wives and girlfriends as part of covert covers and preparing the battlefield in advance of operations.
But if her father got his way, she’d be the first woman to even attempt Delta’s Operator Training Course.
She’d known all of this for more than twenty years.
Boudreaux’s existence as her future mentor and ticket into OTC was the fresh intel.
How much does he know? “Yeah, the Colonel was something else. He and my mother—”
“May she rest in peace.”
“Yeah, thanks. Anyway, they were teaching me hand-to-hand and MMA from the time I could walk. It started because I was cute, but then my”—she points to her head, then realizes that won’t do any good—“my genetics started showing. Then training got serious. And after my mother finally cracked all the way up, my father could operate without resistance.”
At this point, Boudreaux either knows who Lori is, or he thinks daddy was tough on her as a teenager.
“I know about them.”
She doesn’t say anything. Boudreaux could leave it there and she’d assume he put together the news reports about two missing soldiers found dead near Fort Bragg in North Carolina. Those facts are part of what led to Col. Wyatt Young’s discharge from the United States Army for reasons other than honorable.
But the story gleaned from those stories and other gossip on base are far from what Lori would call the truth.
“I know it took two people to bury those bodies.”
Well, of course it did. Anyone privy to the crime scene analysis would know that. If it’s true.
“I know the first operator died nearly twenty minutes after the fatal blows to the head and neck.”
Okay, so he’s also seen the medical examiner’s report.
“I know the second died much more quickly after taking a railroad spike to the neck. He bled out despite his killer’s attempts to stanch the bleeding by shoving small thumbs inside the wound, though he probably wouldn’t have survived the blunt force trauma to his head and face.”
Pretty damn close. But he’s guessing. Not only is he a little off, but there’s only one way he could know the stuff he has right.
“I know she thought someone was calling a medic, but instead he was calling me.”
No. There’s no way that’s right. But if it is… “I need you to know something.” Her voice is shaking, stomach lurching. “Look … I didn’t know … the first kid, he was alive when my father loaded him into the truck. I didn’t know he died until after the Colonel was back from burying the second guy.”
“You can’t even say their names.” Boudreaux’s voice has lost its rounded corners. “And it’s not like you could’ve forgotten them.”
Boudreaux knows a lot—much more than she could’ve ever imagined—but her father didn’t read him in all the way. He knows their manner of death, but not how they died. In this case, that’s a distinction with a hell of a difference.
“I knew those men,” Boudreaux says, his voice angry. “So now, even if it’s the only time you do it, you’re going to address them by their name when speaking of them.”
“I never knew their names. And they didn’t know mine.”
“What, did they know you by your nickname? I’m sure they didn’t tell you their real names, either. Doesn’t make things any better.”
“Screw you,” she says, her voice now matching his. “Don’t pretend you know everything about me. You have no idea what happened.”
He doesn’t speak, but Lori can hear Boudreaux work to control his breathing. “Then you better explain it.”
“Why should I? You’ve had your mind made up about Gloria Young for decades, and you started projecting that onto me since the plane ride from New Orleans. What on earth can I say now that’ll change your mind?”
“Two things.” His volume’s lowered, but Lori can’t tell if he’s any less furious with her. “First, Gloria Young has been a victim of a sadistic piece-of-shit father since I first heard her name. Second, as far as I can tell, Lori Young has been a victim quite a bit in her life, too.”
She takes umbrage with being called a victim. But, perhaps arguing semantics and feminism with a man in the middle of a monologue won’t do any good.
“But until a minute ago, I assumed you were remorseful for killing those men. Now I wonder if your memory takes up space that should’ve been reserved for empathy.”
You and me, both. Psycho father. Schizo mother. A brain that scared her way before she knew what either of those things were. Yeah, Lori’s questioned her actions before.
“Why do you think I’m a drunk and a drug addict?” It’s the first time she’s said the words, though the thought’s been infecting her for years. “You’ve wondered if I’m a monster for two minutes. I’ve wondered that my whole goddamn life.”
He scoots over to her. “If you’re asking the question, the answer is no, you’re not.” Boudreaux’s voice is back to his standard cement-mixer growl. “Their names were Dennis and Scott, and both’d just finished OTC. They were young, but they were operators. How’d you get close enough to kill them without introductions from your father?”
Lori’s the only person alive who knows those details. It won’t help her to tell Boudreaux. The weight of those memories won’t lift if they’re spoken aloud. It’ll double and leave him as heavy as Lori’s been since she was fifteen.
“My shoulders are load-bearing,” Boudreaux says. “I can handle it.”
“Okay,” she says, excited, hoping she’s not coming off as confrontational. “How do you do that? My screwed-up memory is one thing, but you’ve been reading my mind all day and it’s starting to freak me out.”
“I’m not telekinetic, I promise.” Anger may be difficult to make out in his voice, but Lori has heard the smile in his voice and has a match.
“That’s exactly what a mutant mind-reader would say, Professor X.”
Boudreaux’s laugh comes from deep in his chest. Lori would join him if she didn’t feel so terrible.
“Lori, I’ve been thinking about you and your family for a long time now. I’ve had every conversation imaginable with you, and even a few unimaginable ones since we’ve been together today.”
Yeah, but—
“And as for the weight and memories metaphor, your father used to use that one on us. I bet if you check, he did with you, too.”
Lori does, and Boudreaux’s right. He’s not as smart as he thinks, though. And if it takes hearing the rest of this to get her point across, so be it.
“We both know a woman my size can’t hope to take out someone like you without the element of surprise,” she says. “Let alone a fifteen-year-old version of me.”
“It’s happened, but yeah, you’d never want to go in on equal footing.”
“Now, me at fifteen with makeup and a dress, picture me as the Duchess Meghan, not your little cousin on her way to church. How do you think my father got his men to engage with me?”
“You don’t mean …”
“The Colonel was friendly with the bar owners near base, as one has to be when corralling knuckle-draggers like—”
“Watch it.” He’s mostly playful, with just a little bite. “I bet I’m the most well-read man you’ve ever met.”
“I wasn’t going to say you, but obviously you’ve heard that one before.” She lets him stew in embarrassment for a moment before continuing. “And I didn’t know when it might be coming, so I had to always be on guard when he sent me out to one of his favorite places. I won five barfights and broke seven pool cues before it became a problem for the owners, so my father took his game to the streets.”
Boudreaux shifts away from her. It’s less than an inch, but the chasm between them will be the Palo Duro Canyon after she’s done talking. “He made you pretend to be a hooker?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”
Just keep listening. “Anyway, the first guy …”
“Scott.”
“Scott.” She says the name, and Boudreaux’s right—there’s more meaning to the story now. More guilt. “Scott thought the Colonel had him on a solo training exercise. I was the ubiquitous bad guy’s favorite working girl, and his mission was to get out of me the location of our favorite rendezvous spots. He was then supposed to get me to set up an appointment. Scott was told to use any means necessary. He wasn’t told I was Colonel Young’s daughter, and I think you’ll agree, there’s not a ton of resemblance other than our eyes.”
Boudreaux doesn’t speak, but his breathing grows more rapid as she continues.
“I knew Scott’s playbook, but I have the best countermeasures for a man’s training that nature’s ever produced. All I had to do was tell him I was under constant surveillance, and my manager would kill me if I didn’t earn. Scott offered to fake it, but I said I was too scared and that a blowjob in the cab of his pickup would suffice.”
The shaking and nausea have returned. It’s been years since Lori’s dried out, and she’s never talked about this. She’s surprised Boudreaux isn’t holding her hair over the remaining mop bucket already.
He sounds ready to use it, too. “At fifteen? Did you even know … I mean, Colonel Young didn’t make you practice …”
“Oh God, no. I’d done all of that with boys at school already. The Colonel didn’t know it, know it, but he understood sex was part of my toolkit by then. That and my mother’s disappearance were the reason he started bringing in his men.”
“Still gross.”
Just keep listening. “So, the Colonel said I couldn’t shoot any of his guys. They didn’t have any rules, though, other than accomplishing their objective. I convinced Scott it was in his best interest to keep my pimp happy, so he drove to the parking lot of his church and I pulled it out.”
“The bodies in New Orleans.”
“My father said a man’s never more vulnerable than when his dick is out. One of the truest things he ever said. And let me tell you, for a guy who wasn’t on board at first, Scott sure got comfortable. Said if anyone asked, he was bringing me in so I could receive guidance and penance for my sins.”
“I honestly thought he was a good guy.”
“He was being manipulated. And he sure as hell didn’t deserve what came next.” Lori forces down the puke pooling in her throat. “While Scott’s eyes were closed and he was telling me about how grateful my country would be, I pulled his gun out of his center console. I couldn’t shoot him, so I settled for beating him with it. The Colonel had been watching and listening—”
“Christ almighty.”
“Yeah. So, the Colonel pulled me out of the truck while I was still working on Scott, who was still breathing. My father said he would drive him to a hospital in his truck, so I took my father’s keys and went home.”
Lori lets Boudreaux sit in silence for what feels like a full minute, likely recalling his part of the story. She’ll be happy to never hear it.
“He lied to me at first, too,” Boudreaux finally says. “Told me Scott had been an invited dinner guest and stayed for Scotch and cigars. Said he found Scott having his way with you and beat him. I think he told the truth about trying to get Scott to the hospital. Your dad called me from Scott’s pickup, and it’s hard to fake that kind of panic.”
“I think you’re right, which made it even crazier when he wanted to continue. There was one guy who survived after Scott. I stopped when he went unconscious. On my own. That’s why there was a third.”
She wants storytime to end there, but Boudreaux clears his throat. “Well, go on. I’ve wanted to know how and why you punched Dennis’s ticket for a long time now.”
“Fine. Same setup as before, only this time Dennis takes me for a long drive—so long the Colonel had to back way off. He had a tracker on me but lost visual. Dennis left the main roads at Knox Street and took his old Bronco into a clearing off to the east and followed some abandoned train tracks into the woods. We were less than a mile from a residential neighborhood to the east and the railhead to the west, but the trees were thick enough to make us feel secluded. Might’s well’ve been ten miles out in the country.”
“That location makes no tactical sense.”
Dammit. Lori wanted to spare both their ears from this detail. “So”—she takes a breath to steady herself—“when I said the setup was the same, I lied. I didn’t find out until later, but this time the Colonel wasn’t testing one of his men. He suspected Dennis shouldn’t’ve passed his psych evals and knew he’d been caught soliciting in the past.”
“It was a sting?”
“Yes, though that was a secondary objective at best. He mainly wanted to test me in a less-controlled situation. I suppose the Colonel might’ve doled out some internal punishment if Dennis had lived, but I think he’d’ve recommended a promotion. Birds of a feather and all that.”
