Anarchy of the Mice

Chapter Seventy-Three

Durwood did a short whistle so Sue-Ann could find him. Her long ears twitched. She tried turning too fast and crumpled. Didn't fall, though. She recovered and fixed on him for a command.

Durwood gave one—a squint, a half-twist of his right ring finger—but it took effort. Fury consumed him. Fury at Leathersby, fury at what Rivard had wrought upon this world. And now fury at his partner.

It didn't surprise him Quaid had taken a roll in the hay with Fabienne Rivard. He'd been too quiet afterward in Davos. Quiet wasn't Quaid Rafferty's normal mode.

No—what stuck in Durwood's craw was that bit about his working with Fabienne "more than Mr. Oak-Jones is aware." (The Frenchwoman's accent made his own name sounded like some froofy appetizer.)

This comment called all manner of things into question. Had Quaid been playing both sides on that space laser gig? She'd mentioned Bucharest so Durwood figured the cryptocurrency mission hadn't been square either.

What about this, the Anarchy? Had Quaid played a role in the early phases? Awful suspicious how well the kernel zapped government data in the States. Quaid had more contacts than you could shake a stick at—had he used them to help Fabienne spread her evil software?

Could've even been working to keep the Blind Mice out of jail.

The heiress was wrapped halfway around him now, waiting for Quaid to say whether he'd join up.

Quaid looked over her jet-black hair at Durwood. His eyes looked watery. Probably dust from the limestone.

"Nope," he said. "I want no part of this. You'll have to kill me too."

Leathersby smiled that oaf smile of his, started caressing the barrel of his Webley.

Fabienne said, right at Quaid's neck, "As you wish." Then drove her knee into his giblets.

Quaid doubled over. Fabienne waited for the purple to pass from his face, then commanded him to join the others. He followed her finger to the overhang.

Durwood saw Sue-Ann out the corner of his eye.

The coonhound nosed into his canvas bag and sniffed. Came back up with a black rectangular device in her teeth.

Everybody had their eyes on limping Quaid. Sue-Ann used him for cover, moving in shadow, using his body to break the hostiles line-of-sight.

She carried the rectangular device loose—and a good thing. The breed was known for its soft mouth. Sue's was soft as any.

Leathersby helped Quaid along with a roundhouse kick. "Move along, tosser. Ain't got all day here."

Durwood whispered to the others, "Plug your ears."

Finally Sue-Ann, gasping with effort, reached him and presented the device.

Leathersby was busy taunting Quaid. Durwood held one thumb in his left ear, tight. Knowing he'd need the other to initiate the device, he chipped limestone from the wall and jammed a jagged piece in his right ear.

The piece was too big. He turned it until he found a smaller side that fit. He wedged it in. A warm trickle of blood started down his cheek. He pushed until the rock touched his eardrum inside.

He took a last look around. Besides Quaid, who was still enduring Leathersby, the others had done as he'd said and plugged their ears.

This wouldn't go well for Quaid. A black, vengeful part of Durwood relished this.

The device's button sat flush to the casing on top. The button and casing were both slick with Sue's slobber. Durwood didn't mind slobber. He poised a finger over the button. His scalp felt like it was taking a rubber swim cap.

He pressed the button, and the world got loud.

—

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