Chapter 26

<<Come to the dark side, Darth Vader,>> Gumps tweets.

Yeah, we have bacon, #darkside, Heckleena replies.

On Saturday nights, Ottawa’s Byward Market fills with trolling university students, government employee hipsters, and tourists desperate for something to do in the city that fun forgot. Nestled within the bars, clubs, specialty shops, and the few surviving thrift stores that are actually cool is Peter’s loft apartment. The location is unexpected for an old dude, but I’m learning to never assume.

Since Peter’s ability to cook holds great power over me and I want to even the playing field, I’ve slammed back two Beaver Tails. Beaver Tails are required eating for all tourists and U.S. Presidents, consisting of a flat, deep-fried donut slathered in anything from Nutella to maple butter. I made a sandwich of those two flavors. So much sugar runs through my veins that Dr. Hansom would likely find another reason to keep me in hospital.

I ring the buzzer to Peter’s loft and he answers.

“Hello? Who is it?”

I roll my eyes.

“Yes, I’m looking for a former secret agent who takes advantage of vulnerable women?”

A pause and then the door clicks. “Not funny.”

Funny is a matter of perspective. I push in and shake my head at the full suit of armor gracing the bottom of the stairwell. Peter appears at the top of the stairs, which is equipped with a chairlift.

“Your mother made the first move,” he says.

I bite back a retort.

The smell of frying bacon and garlic reach me. I’m both glad I filled my belly with dough and disturbed that I’m already growing hungry again. I don’t recommend the technique, but Acute Stress Disorder did take off a few pounds.

Peter waves away his challenge. “You have every right to be suspicious; come on up and we’ll talk about it.”

The day’s work has me sore and my legs ache as I mount the steps. For once though, I’m not burned, broken, or bruised.

“Wine?” he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. “Sorry, no, of course not.”

He’s flustered. My hands stay in my pockets as if I have been told not to touch anything.

The loft occupies the entire floor. A massive, white shag rug covers hardwood. A huge TV screen occupies one wall and a stone fireplace another. Sculptures from all manner of cultures litter pedestals, tables, and corners. Rich tapestries drape the floor-to-ceiling windows, which offer a street view from a circular dining room table.

“Your own Camelot,” I say, sliding into a deep leather couch before a fire. Above the mantel is the head of a moose. “Very male.”

“Secret agents aren’t very marriageable,” he says, just standing, fidgeting between the living area and a big kitchen.

“Is that why they retire?” I ask. “Are retired agents marriageable?”

“Do you want me to lie to you?”

“Tonight’s about the truth, isn’t it?”

“Then, yes. They are. I am.”

He wants to be my father.

“My mom doesn’t know you’re still working the case,” I say.

Peter steps behind the kitchen’s black granite countertop and pushes the bacon burning in the pan around. Over his head, pots and pans hang like swords.

“No, she doesn’t,” he replies.

This is the card I have to work with. If my mom knew he had involved me in his old case, she’d kick him to the door. I know it and he does too.

“Is that why you’re with her? Because of the case?”

I’ve never seen him move so fast. Ever, not even battling Fenwick. He’s around the kitchen island and on his knees before me, my hands clamped between his.

“No, no. Please, no. Why would you say such a thing?” he asks, his voice tight.

“You have no idea how deep this goes,” I respond, repeating what he’d said to me when I was working for the police.

“Well, now you do, I suppose,” he replies. “But not that. I’d do anything for your mother, but you have to understand, I was so close.” He clenches his eyes shut for a moment at the word so like it gives him physical pain.

To be fair, I’d watched him sit day after day at her bedside; it made sense. Aside from the initial contact, their relationship had nothing to do with the case. In fact, the case would have been a barrier.

“If I tell her you involved me, she’ll leave you,” I say.

He presses both his palms into his eyeballs and then runs them across his temples and through his hair. “The investigation. It’s like an addiction. It’s under my skin.”

“You used me like you used my father.”

“Not without protection.”

So the armor’s real. At least he believes it to be.

Beneath the desperation in his eyes is the belief that he is right. He doesn’t want to lose my mom, but he would not have changed what he did.

“I also see so much potential in you, Janus. I wanted to be your mentor. I still can be.”

“You were the spammer, the one who guided me to Darkslinger.”

His head had been hanging down as if expecting another blow, but with that it snaps up.

“No, actually, you found Darkslinger all by yourself,” he says.

How is that possible? I mean, what are the chances that some arbitrary spammer responded with the very site Peter meant to take down?

I shrug. It doesn’t matter. I have more than enough ammunition to beat-Pete. I move in for the kill.

“And you sent my father to his death.”

He shifts so that he’s sitting beside me; the bacon smokes on the burner.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he says. “I didn’t know what happened.”

“You mean you do now?”

“Only a suspicion.” He’s hesitant again.

“Of what?”

“It’s premature.”

“My father’s death was premature; I’ve stood over his grave.”

Only the spitting bacon fills the silence. A shout from the street.

Peter’s face has drained of color. The next time he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.

“You what?” Peter manages.

“A man didn’t like me snooping around the old Assured Destruction customers. He sort of kidnapped me, dragged me to some farm, and into the forest.”

“Jan.” He presses his palms to his forehead. “That was really unsafe.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. I was terrified.”

“So, he is dead.” And Peter slumps into the couch as if he’d held out hope.

“I can’t let them keep getting away with it,” I say. “The firebombing. My dad.”

He jerks forward. “It’s too dangerous. You have to let it go.”

“It’s too dangerous not to.”

He frowns, tapping at his big teeth. “What did you do after you were kidnapped?”

“I went to the police.”

He’s shaking his head as if I should grasp something. “The police?”

The smoke detector starts bleeping. I scream and look around, heart racing, palms spontaneously sweating.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says as he jumps up and throws the bacon pan into the sink. Water sizzles as greasy steam billows against the ceiling like smoke. I’m still shaking, annoyed that I can’t control my response to a smoke alarm. From the sink, Peter continues: “The police were in on the wiretapping as well.”

And I see where he’s headed. That someone in the police precinct is a mole for Bitchain. After I left, Williams could have talked to anyone within the department. I remember Peter objecting to leaving the credit card investigation to the police. He’s suspected them for some time.

I lie back into the couch, trying to think. My mouth is dry with fear. If I can’t trust the police, who can I trust?

Back from the kitchen, Peter’s big teeth gleam.

“I want to stop them,” I say, and it’s time to draw Peter into my scheme.

Peter grimaces as if wrestling with something.

“I feel like this is Star Wars,” I add. “My dad is Darth Vader, and I’m Luke going up against the Death Star.”

“Does that make me your Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re Jabba the Hut or something. Maybe that bounty hunter. Or that creature in the trash compactor.”

He snorts, but I’m not kidding.

“Here’s the deal,” I say. My leg’s jiggling again and I wonder if this is what mania looks like. “I won’t tell my mom if you’ll help me stop the bastards who bombed Assured Destruction and killed my father.”

He shakes his head.

“They left a chain outside the door,” I say. “I know it was them.”

“No, Jan.” His voice rises and I freeze. “I want you to stop everything to do with Darkslinger. You are not to visit these old customers and you’re sure as hell not going to pursue any investigation into Bitchain.”

I’m not expecting this. And I’m none too pleased by his tone of voice.

“And why not?” I ask.

“You’re not behind a computer anymore. They’ve seen you now. You’re on their radar and you don’t want to end up like your father.”

At the mention of my father, my eyes blur with tears and I run a sleeve across them. “I don’t care. They don’t know Lolz; they know Janus Rose.”

His expression softens again.

“I can’t do that to you. Or to your mom,” he says. “I should never have included you and I’m sorry.”

“That email is sent. And in it you were saying I had a chance of infiltrating Darkslinger, but you really meant Bitchain.” It’s my voice rising now and I’m annoyed by how squeaky it sounds.

“No. I won’t.”

“Even if that costs you your relationship?”

I watch the pistons firing behind his eyes.

“Yes, even then.”

He really does love my mom. I regroup and let the silence extend between us. When I think I can speak without my voice breaking, I ask: “Why’d you rejoin Darkslinger as CrowBar? Why show your face again?”

He cocks his head as if trying to figure out the end result of this new line of questioning. I think he sees it because he grins appreciatively.

“I’m guessing it was to keep an eye on me. To help me,” I say for him.

“You’d make a good agent,” he says. “You’re good at seeing people’s vulnerabilities. Exploiting them. Do you know how we evaluate a good recruit?”

I don’t care. All I care about is that I’m pushing buttons, but he continues: “It’s called MICE. The first letter stands for whether the potential recruit needs money.”

“My money is on CrowBar helping me, if only to keep me out of trouble,” I say.

I’m like an investigative reporter. How do you fight corruption? Evidence. Lolz is going undercover.

“And that’s the C,” he says. “Coercion. And you also have the I on me. That stands for ideology. We share the same ideology. I want these guys as badly as you do.”

“What’s the E then?” I ask, interested, despite myself.

“Ego. That’s where your challenge is.”

“Like you don’t have an ego?” I laugh. “You’ve used me ever since I got in with the police force.”

He stares down at his stocking feet. “I did, but I was wrong and I realize it. I can’t let you put yourself in more danger.”

And I understand. Someone with a big ego doesn’t admit mistakes. Peter’s problem, though, is that he doesn’t realize how big the stakes are. I now know what meeting Sw1ftM3rcy was talking about. The same meeting my dad tried to crash. It’s time for me to get a seat at the table, and I can only think of one way to regain my street cred. One reason for Sw1ftM3rcy to award me my links rather than expunge me.

“You’re going to let me call you out on Darkslinger,” I say. “When they see that Lolz has outed a spook, and none other than the great silver hat CrowBar, they’ll elevate me to elite and I’ll be on the inside.”

His fingers clench into fists, and then it’s as if all of him wilts. Peter gives me the same expression my mother had when she agreed to tell me about my dad.

“All right,” he says. “But promise me you’ll give me until tomorrow to prepare a few safety measures.”

“I promise,” I say and grin when he reaches into the oven to pull out a rack of lamb.

I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a meal more.