“You could be dead either way,” Darcy reminds me. “And that, to me at least, is a greater loss than not getting your revenge.”
This is one of the few areas where we still disagree, but we're at peace with the situation. By that I mean I'm at peace with Darcy continually trying to get me to have a more positive outlook on life, and she's at peace with wasting her time trying to achieve that. “Not revenge, Darce. Vengeance. There's a difference,” I say.
“So you've told me for the past six years. But you know I disagree.”
We walk toward my sitting area, if you can call it that. My sitting area is mostly two old, patched-up wooden chairs from the boxing gym. The accompanying “table” is nothing more than a board of plywood sitting on top of two old computer towers. Since Darcy's here, I turn on the light, which is a solar-powered LED lantern that recharges during the day from the small amount of sunlight that comes in through the only window that isn't boarded up in the warehouse. “Darcy, if you really disagreed with me that much, you'd tell Jeff. If he busted a hacker like me, he'd get a promotion for sure. At the very least, it'd get him off patrols and a detective's shield.”
“And betray my best friend?” Darcy asks, shaking her head. “No honey, me and Jeff, we got ourselves an understanding. He don't ask about what I do besides put together custom computers for people, and I've backed off my online stuff for the most part. He helps me sometimes too though, when our purposes align.”
I chuckle. “Backed off? Since Henry's been born, I barely see you on the boards anymore. Let alone see your traces around the systems.”
Darcy smirks and shrugs. “Ah, it's all good. I keep up-to-date, and besides, I make more money building kits for Tulane kids than I ever did trying to change the world one server at a time. And you know, if you really need my help, well, BlakDhal1A can always make a comeback.”
“You still worry about me though,” I say with a smile. “Why?”
“You know why, Kat. I already buried my family one time, when Katrina came through. I don't wanna bury you, too.”
“If by setting one’s heart right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he gains freedom in the Way,” I quote to Darcy, smiling softly. “The Hagakure.”
“I hate that fucking book,” she counters, then sighs. “All right Kitty-Kat, you my sister. You wanna run headlong to your doom... I'll be there to make sure you at least get a proper funeral. We'll have jazz and everything.”
I stand up, and Darcy follows. We hug at the door, and I give Darcy a bit of a smile. “Don't sweat it, Darce. Give my regards to Jeff and Henry. Someday I'd like to meet them in person.”
“I'd like that, too. Good night, Kat.”
“Goodnight, Darcy.”
Chapter 4
Jackson
I find Nathan in his workshop, where he's patiently cleaning each spring and screw of his Colt. While the military may have shifted to the Beretta 9mm, Nathan's old school, and shoots American, using the Colt 1911 as his preferred carry piece. Until today, I was able to lie enough to myself that the chromed cannon was used only for practice and defense. Dangling from the coat rack next to his workbench is a single hanger that has both his suit jacket and dress shirt. There's not a single wrinkle or crease in the whole works, and I can also make out that his tie has been draped around the hanger with equal care. He's sitting on a barstool in front of a drafting table in just his suit pants and a wife beater undershirt, intensely focused on his weaponry.
“Hello, Nathan.” His workshop is an odd comparison in contrasts. Along one wall is his gun cabinet—containing not only pistols, but larger guns and weapons. No surprise there, since you'd expect that from someone who works in private security. But across the room is a wooden rack that's devoted entirely to tea. The rack is five feet wide by two feet tall, and the entire thing is filled with canisters of loose leaf teas plus an electric hot water dispenser. I didn't even know they made that many different types of tea, and he's got them all organized by type, flavor, and country of origin. In the corner next to the tea area is his fish tank, which contains a dozen different tropical fish all swimming peacefully. I guess it's great he has hobbies beyond being a scary motherfucker, but it's just... weird, I guess.
“Hello, Mr. Jackson. Is there something I can do for you?” Nathan takes a small toothbrush from a cleaning kit and begins scrubbing the trigger area of the pistol. Periodically he pauses to dip the brush into a small bowl with some nastyass smelling solvent before resuming brushing away.
“I came to talk with you about the errand Pops is sending you on. I trust we can keep this conversation between us?”