Denzili put her gun behind her back, tucking it into her pants while Richardson placed hers inside a shoulder holster.
Denzili turned and looked at Hennigan. “Mind if I get a beer and a slice?”
“Don’t ask me. It’s their party we’re crashing.”
Denzili looked at the group and gave them a gesture that clearly meant, ‘Do you mind?’
Everyone quickly mumbled their assent for her to drink up.
“Would you like anything?” Blayne asked.
Hennigan looked around the room and said, “Do you have any wine?”
“Sure.” Blayne stood up and went into the kitchen. He pulled out two bottles and read the labels. “I have a Shiraz and a Malbec. I may have a white—”
“The Malbec will do. I love a good Argentinian Malbec. It is from Argentina, isn’t it?”
“I may not be a sommelier, but I promise my Malbecs come from Argentina, and my Shiraz is from Australia.”
“I would love to take you to this amazing Argentinian vineyard. They have the most amazing futures there. I don’t know who runs it now. I had to kill the last owner.” She looked around the room dramatically. “Not because of the wine. The wine is amazing. He was a Nazi that needed to be put down—and I mean, a real one. One of those fuckers from the Third Reich. He was in his nineties. He’d never make it to trial at his age, so I ensured he met divine judgment a little sooner than he had expected.”
There was a popping sound as the cork came out of the bottle. The men in the room jumped at that, exactly where she wanted them, disarmed by her charm and scared. She’d learned long ago from her mother, grandmother and Ms. Wilson that the nicer you were, the scarier you’d seem to people. It was that juxtaposition of the fear of death combined with a pleasant smile that put people on edge. And if you used it to your advantage, you could quickly work a room.
Blayne handed her a glass of wine. She sniffed it, swirled it in the glass. The wine had decent legs. She then tasted just enough to get a good sense of the vintage. “The bouquet is full and complex—floral hints of ripe black fruit are at the forefront, with black cherries, plums and blackberries underneath. Then you’re hit by the secondary notes of vanilla and chocolate. These are probably the byproduct of oak-barrel aging. Even a subtle touch of tobacco and leather gives it an earthy undertone. Excellent choice, Mr. Dickenson.”
Hennigan looked over at the couch, and immediately, one of the band members moved to the floor so Hennigan could sit. She strolled over and made herself comfortable before taking another sip, aware that everyone was watching her.
Blayne’s phone rang.
“Right on time,” Dr. Hennigan said to the group. “Please answer the phone. That would be Ms. Wilson calling with an update.”
Blayne pulled out his phone and said, “You’re on speakerphone.”
“Dr. Hennigan?” Ms. Wilson started. “Are you there?”
“I’m here, Ms. Wilson. As Mr. Dickenson told you, you’re heard by everyone. Everyone from Munchkin Land has joined us today.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Shall I continue?”
“Of course. Everyone here has gone over the rainbow.”
“What the fuck is she talking about?” Orr asked Ric, who was sitting next to him. Ric just shushed him.
“What information do you have for us, Ms. Wilson?”
“Well, I found out that our little roach problem here is led by a queen roach you know.” There was a pause before Ms. Wilson said, “Lizzy Cleburne.”
Hennigan took a subtle breath and forced her face to remain impassive. “Interesting,” was all she said before she sipped the Malbec. “I thought that specific roach was terminated twenty years ago.”
“That makes two of us,” Ms. Wilson agreed. “But you know how some roaches are. They just don’t stay dead, no matter how many times you step on them.”
“Anything else?” Dr. Hennigan asked.
“Yes, our intelligence about Pennington was confirmed this evening. I couldn’t make out the entire conversation, but I believe the target will be at a rally.”
“Like a pep rally?” Hennigan. She turned and looked at Blayne. “Does your school even have pep rallies?”
“We have bonfires occasionally, but not one this weekend.”
