Page 20 of The Big Fix

That perked her up a bit, and she went to shower and change.

“So,” Dante said, scowling. “The hair?”

I groaned loudly, and he left the room.

Dinner was actually nice. Dante had us walk two blocks to a small hole-in-the-wall he knew—because of course he knew all the best out-of-the-way places all over the world. The owner was thrilled to see him, seated us behind a beaded curtain in the very back of the restaurant, and didn’t ask what we wanted, just brought us glasses of ice water and strong green tea before delivering some staple dishes I knew, first yomari and then chatamari. The dumplings, or momo, were amazing as well. All of it was heavenly.

I was starving, Jing was starving, and the dal bhat disappeared quickly, as did the Newari Khaja. Dante made sure to fill our water glasses, and later, we ended the meal with chhang, a beverage prepared with fermented rice, which was served at room temperature because it was fall. Dante tried to pay, but the owner turned him down. Of course, as always when Dante insisted, arching an eyebrow, the proprietor accepted the hundred-dollar bills with a bow that Dante immediately returned.

Outside, I took a big breath, feeling better than I had in days.

“Okay,” Dante said, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Let’s go to the hangar. Gar says the doctor is ready for you.”

I didn’t ask him if he knew anything. He’d know I would want to hear the news, world-ending or not, in person.

He stepped out to the curb, and an SUV was there instantly, driven by a man I knew well, a friend. We had clashed in the past, but that was only because he’d taken his Army Intelligence training and become a contract killer. But Darius had done the same with his CIA training, so I shouldn’t have held it against him. It was probably because he’d worked directly under me, as a subordinate, whereas Darius and I had been peers.

“Chris?” I said, getting into the back seat with Jing, letting Dante take the passenger seat.

“Jared,” he greeted me.

Christopher Mancuso turned in his seat to smile at me. He looked like a beach bum or a drug dealer or an undercover DEA agent—something about his beard and mustache and the hair that hit the collar of his shirt brought those images to mind. It was the smile, though, with laugh lines crinkling around his warm hazel eyes, that always dissuaded others of danger. He looked so affable and kind.

“The hell are you doing here, Chris?”

“When was the last time you were in the field, old man?”

“Old man?” I was indignant.

Jing stifled a laugh, head down in her hand when I turned to look at her, and then I immediately returned my attention to him.

“Listen, buddy, you need backup, and what was your plan, hire out for that?”

“I have other resources,” I assured him.

“No, I know,” he agreed. “But people who actually give a shit about you and not about how green your money is might be better.”

He had me there.

“And this one with the suits,” Chris said with a roll of his eyes, motioning to Dante, “doesn’t remember that you shoot first, then see who it is.”

“Screw you, Mancuso,” Dante grumbled, and said something under his breath about Mali before yanking on his seat belt.

“Fuck you, and fuck Mali,” Chris railed at him. “One time, and that was, like, fifty years ago. What the hell?”

Jing was chuckling now.

“Fifty years ago?” I barked at him.

“Mali my ass!” Chris yelled and swerved hard away from the curb.

It was nice to have a moment of levity before I had to hear whatever the verdict was.

Half an hour later, we were back at the hangar. I made quick introductions, shook Garland’s hand and thanked him for being there, and then finally faced Dr. Lens, unable to put off the inevitable any longer.

She waited, and when I nodded, she gestured at the body, now covered with a sheet. “As you suspected, Colonel Colter, this is not Owen Moss.”

“You’re sure?” I held my breath, glancing at Jing and Arden, noting that they too weren’t breathing.