A sigh. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll consider what you’ve said.”
Rake didn’t bother holding back his snort. “Uh-huh, Blakese for ‘You’re full of shit, but I’m way too classy to tell you.’”
A laugh. “Yes.”
“So let’s talk about something we can agree on—namely, how we can get back control of our money.”
“Excellent question.” Blake’s tone brightened at once. “And it’s fortunate you chose this week to acknowledge my messages—”
Rake ground his teeth. “I woke up in another country! Without pants!”
“—because you need to understand: I have employed the nuclear option.”
Ha ha ha very funny Blake it almost sounded like you said oh my God so dizzy so very dizzy ow …
Thirty-four
“You have to tell him, or authorize me to tell him.” Delaney was on the phone in Teresa’s room, speaking in a low voice. Pure force of habit; Rake couldn’t have heard her if she’d stood on the bed and shouted.
A murmur from the other end.
“I don’t care. Step up, or I will.” A pause while she listened. “Yeah? Well, he’s talking to his brother right now. He’s about to find out all of the bad but none of the good and then you’ll be toast. Listen: He’s a good guy. Annoying and entitled as shit, but decent, and I’m sure if you— Ouch.” The snarl of static not only cut her off; it made her ears ring.
(Huh. I thought that was just an old saying.)
“No, I’m not telling you your job.” Not anymore, that was for sure. Cripes. She reminded herself that the Big Pipe Dream was going to be the Big Thing That Never Happened if she didn’t hold up her end.
“Listen. Please. You gotta authorize my follow-through. He needs to know what’s going on, not just part of what’s going on, and they’re— What?” She listened, then said, “No, I haven’t seen them around. Pretty sure they’ve decided they’re on the wrong track—which is what we both wanted, right? Now. I need to be able to go back into our room and— Of course, ‘our’ room. I didn’t think that when you took his money you actually wanted him to sleep in the park.” She listened, her unease rising every second. That was fine; it could keep her nausea company. “No, of course not. He sleeps in the hide-a-bed, and— Nuh-uh. No. That’s not what you’re paying me for.” Unfortunately. “The hell’s the matter with you? I’m going to have to— You will? Right away?” Huh. Unexpected. And it would make everything worse and then maybe—maaaaybe she’d be off the hook and everyone could go back to their Rake-free lives.
Their lives is what she meant.
Or maybe her employer would just show up and slaughter everyone. That could be okay, too.
Thirty-five
For a moment, Rake thought he’d honest-to-God faint, just swoon like a heroine in a black-and-white movie. Bad enough he’d fallen off the bed; now passing out seemed imminent. He’d been gripping his phone so hard that his fingers ached, but finally he managed to whisper, “Don’t even joke about that.”
“I would never, because I agree,” Blake said, also subdued. “It’s not a thing to joke about.”
“You didn’t. Right?” Rake heard the pleading tone but was helpless to stop it. “Blake? Come on, man, you’re winding me up. You didn’t really do that. Right? Blake? You didn’t, right?”
“Rake, our mother left me with few alternatives.”
He slapped his hand over his eyes. It was, unfortunately, the hand holding the phone. “Ow! Oh God.” His mother had cut Blake off—that alone was difficult to wrap his brain around. But she had threatened Blake with the nuclear option if he didn’t obey. So Blake … deployed the nuclear option? It made no sense! It was like using a tank to go grocery shopping: total overkill. The guy was drunk. Or nuts. Or suffering from a high fever.
“And if nothing else,” Blake was blah-blah-blahing, “it will be a way to get some answers out of Shannah Banana.”
“Who? Listen, tell the truth. I won’t be mad. It’s a good joke.” Rake managed to croak a fake laugh into the phone. That sounded natural, right? Not even a little like a duck being slowly strangled. “Really good, but you didn’t really do it, right? The nuclear option? You’ve eloped with Natalie Lame instead—”
“Lane.”
“—and this is just—” What? What other explanation could there be? “—just a weird way for you to break it to me gently.” An odd, shitty way. “It’s fine. I’m not mad. You really got me on that one, bro, good one.”
“I did, Rake.” Uh-oh. That was his brother’s determined “This is serious, you incompetent moron” tone. He never used it when he was joking. The man barely joked at all. “This is not a drill. I called her last night. She’s coming.”
“You arrogant ass,” he breathed. “You’ve killed us all!”
“The line,” Blake said, because he was just so fucking awful, “is ‘You arrogant ass, you’ve killed us.’* And, in fact, Tupelev’s arrogance did doom his crew, although technically the explosion when the torpedo impacted the hull killed them, and if not that, then the water pressure, or they drowned. Whatever the official cause of death, it was, in fact, his arrogance that doomed them all.”
Rake missed phone cords. He could be halfway to unconsciousness right now if he’d started wrapping as soon as his brother mentioned the nuclear option.
“Seek help, Blake. Not just for being stupid and crazy enough to call Nonna Tarbell…” Although that was incredibly stupid. And extremely crazy. “But just in general. You’re completely nuts.”
“Could be.” Blake was almost eerily calm, which was finally a mood Rake understood. Sometimes when you’ve pulled the switch, the relief is incredible: You’ve done the worst thing. You’ll live or die, but either way, things will change. No more suspense and dread. “But watch yourself, little brother. It’s probably genetic.”
“Great. Just keep my name out of everything. I’ll figure out my own mess on this side of the world, and you and Nonna stay over there on your side, and we’ll meet up in the middle during Christmas or something and, I dunno, shake hands or hug or something, and that’ll be fine until our birthday.” Rake shivered. “Assuming you even survive.”
“Yes, there’s every chance this will get me killed, and that’s only if I’m not dying at the bottom of a canyon.”
Huh? “Blake. Seriously. Call someone. You’ve lost it, dude.”
“Don’t call me ‘dude.’ Godere Venezia.”
Rake managed a smile, which was progress. Anything was better than free-floating dread. Messing with Blake was just a plus. “Sorry, what?”
A sigh. “It’s ‘Enjoy Venice’ in Italian.”
Sometimes he wondered if Blake was only pretending to forget Rake was octolingual. “Oh, shut up. Fucking show-off.” He heard a chuckle, and then Blake was gone.