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He recognizes their voices right away: Fretwell, the lackluster one, and Hennessey, the one-eared ringleader with prep-school affectations. He was only in their company once, but those voices are burned into his auditory memory enough to make him fill with an angry chill. Lev opens his eyes, and lets his disgust and horror play out on his face, because it serves him to do so.
“I do believe this actually is Levi Calder,” says Hennessey, leaning in to examine him.
“It’s Garrity!” Lev grunts.
“Call yourself whatever you want,” Hennessey says with an antagonistic grin, “but to the world, you’ll always be Levi Calder, the tithe-turned-clapper.”
Lev spits in his face because he’s close enough, and because it gives Lev great satisfaction to do so—and to his surprise, Una steps in and smashes Lev across the face with a brutal backhanded slap that nearly spins his head around.
“Show respect to your new owners,” Una says bitterly. He responds by spitting at her, too.
Una steps forward as if to hit him again, but Hennessey grabs her. “Enough,” he says. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to damage the merchandise?”
Una backs off, setting down her flashlight on the rusty filing cabinet, painting the space in harsh oblique shadow. She looks away just enough to give Lev a wink that the two men can’t see. Lev just scowls at her, because that’s something they can see. The slap, Lev knows, was key to their illusion, even if it felt painfully real. He wonders if, on any level, Una took some satisfaction from it.
Now it’s Fretwell’s turn to taunt. He moves in closer. “We never shoulda let you go that first time,” he says. “Of course, that was before you were a clapper. You were nobody then.”
“And he’s nobody now,” says Hennessey, then he turns to Una. “We’ll give you five thousand for him, and not a penny more.”
Una is outraged, and Lev is, to say the least, insulted.
“Are you kidding me?” Una shouts. “He’s got to be worth at least ten times that!”
Hennessey crosses his arms. “Oh, please! Don’t be obtuse. The boy’s organs are damaged from the explosive solution—his growth is stunted, and he’s probably sterile. We are purveyors in flesh, sweetie. His flesh has no intrinsic value.”
Lev suppresses the urge to argue. His organs aren’t perfect, but they do the job, and no, he won’t grow, but the doctors never said anything about him being sterile. How dare they? But arguing for his own value won’t help things.
“I’m not stupid,” says Una. “There are collectors who would pay top dollar for a piece of the clapper who didn’t clap.”
Lev looks at them all with absolute disdain. “So I’m a collectible?”
“Not you, your parts!” says Fretwell, and laughs.
Hennessey throws a nasty glance in Fretwell’s direction—a nonverbal chastising for getting in the way of his negotiation.
“Perhaps, and perhaps not,” Hennessey says. “But collectors are fickle. Who’s to say what they’re willing to pay for.” Then he grabs Lev by the chin, turning his head to the left and right, looking him over like a horse he’s about to buy. “Seventy-five hundred cash. Final offer. If you don’t like it, try to sell him yourself.”
Una looks at the two men, suitably disgusted, then says, “Fine.”
Hennessey gestures to Fretwell. “Cut him loose.” Fretwell pulls out a knife and bends down to cut the tie on Lev’s right hand, while Hennessey pulls out his billfold. The instant Lev’s hand is free, he reaches behind him, grabbing a handheld tranq dart, and jabs it in Fretwell’s neck.
“Holy freaking mother of—” And Fretwell collapses unconscious before completing the thought.
Una, with lightning speed, has already grabbed her rifle and has it trained on Hennessey’s face. “One move,” she says. “Go on, give me a reason.”
But Hennessey is quick-thinking. He hurls the wad of money in Una’s face and bolts. The distraction is just enough to give him a full second head start. The bills drop from her face and she aims her rifle.
“Una, no!”
She fires but misses, blowing a hole in the front door of the container just as Hennessey escapes.
“Damn it!” She races after him, and Lev tries to race after her—only to realize in a most painful way that his left hand is still secured to the wall.
“Una!”
But she’s gone, and he must resort to searching for Fretwell’s knife that lies somewhere in the shadows.
12 • Una
