Chapter 16 - Beyond the Pale

Gage set about putting his first aid kit back together, mentally making a list of things that were missing. He had not needed it often in the past two years. When he returned to the kitchen, Katya was grinding coffee.

"I thought you drank tea," he said.

"College corrupted me," she replied, not looking at him.

"Katya, I..."

"I hope you like Indian food. I may have ordered more than we need. They said it would take half an hour to arrive, but that's probably what they always say." She was opening and closing drawers.

"I need to talk to you." Gage tried again. She had moved on to the cabinets.

"I can't find coffee filters. Where do you keep them?" She still had not looked at him.

He reached past her, took a reusable filter from the dish strainer, and handed it to her. She took it and finished making coffee in silence. He leaned against the counter next to the refrigerator, waiting. She finally turned around but did not meet his eyes.

"You have questions," he stated.

She just nodded.

"You are hesitating to ask them, though." He paused, giving her a chance to speak. She said nothing. He sighed.

"Are you afraid of me, Katya?" He did not want the answer.

"I should be," she replied slowly. "What happened tonight isn't normal."

"Not even for me," he offered.

"Everything is swirling around in my head. I don't even know what to ask first."

"Start anywhere. I'll tell you what I can." As little as that is.

"Who is she?" She gestured towards the ceiling.

"She is a friend of mine and a student of Nicky's." Simple answers were safest.

"What happened to her?"

"She was attacked in the park. She called Nicky and Nicky called me."

"Okay. And you didn't take her to the hospital because...?" Her anger was building with each non-answer.

"Because she did not want us to." The fact that he was not lying did not make Gage feel any better.

"Oh, well, that makes it all right then." She rolled her eyes.

"It is complicated."

"Criminal enterprises tend to get that way." Her tone was biting.

Gage's hands clenched the edge of the counter.

"What did you say?" His words came out half whisper, half growl.

"Law abiding people don't bring home seriously injured people to tend them on their kitchen tables," she said. "Criminals do that. Regularly. At least I have your assurances that this doesn't happen all the time with you. That's something."

He didn't remember her being so sarcastic.

"How would you know what criminals do, regularly or otherwise?"

"Because I spent almost every summer growing up surrounded by people who were doing things their governments didn't approve of. People who couldn't go to the hospital because they were in the wrong militia or from the wrong tribe or followed the wrong religion."

Gage stared at her as if she were a total stranger. She is.

"What did you think we were doing when we did missionary work? Handing out bibles?" she snapped.

"I didn't..."

"Care? Pay attention? Want to know? I'm going to go with answer D, all of the above." She shook her head. "No, it was enough that you paid for it. That's what Dad said." She could not hide the bitterness.

"Want to know what else I spent my childhood doing? Praying for you. Every night. Lighting candles for you on Sunday. After years and years of this, I finally asked Dad why he was so worried about you."

"What did he say?" Gage tensed in anticipation of her answer.

"He said that people do terrible things in war and that we should pray so that you could find forgiveness. And maybe find God. He didn't seem too convinced you would."

"Be forgiven or find God?" He tried not to smile.

"Find God. Dad had faith that even you could be forgiven. But he worried about you all the time. And when he didn't think I could hear, he talked to Mom about how you constantly put yourself in danger. About how you couldn't let go of the things you had learned in the war. I could never figure out what he meant. You seemed so normal."

"I am as normal as the next person."

"Normal people do not have multiple security systems! Normal people don't keep guns in every room!" she yelled. "Normal people don't insist that their grown nieces have to call them every night so they're sure nothing bad has happened."

"No, they don't," he barked. "Normal people answer the door when salesmen come, and then normal people buy guns after they have been robbed – or worse. And normal people ask themselves 'what could I have done differently?' when their loved ones end up missing." Normal people answer the door when their neighbors knock and end up violated and dead in their own beds. He shook his head. There were some things no one should know.

"If my wanting to know you are safe is not normal, I am fine with that."

"My safety is not the point," she huffed.

"It is for me," he said quietly.

"Oh, no, you don't." She glared at him. "You do not get to derail this conversation with the caring uncle shtick. I have had enough of being jerked around because people cared or were trying to protect me. For once in my life, I want to know what is going on."

"No."

"No?" she sputtered. "Just no?"

"No. You do not want to know what is going on. And you should not know. What you need to know is that I did not hurt Deira." Tonight.

"So she has a name."

"I am trying to help her. She did not want to go to hospital, so I decided to get her to safety and see how badly she was hurt. If I had thought she needed to see a doctor, I would have taken her to one. And then I could look forward to an argument with her about what a bastard I am instead of having it with you." He looked at her levelly. "I have done nothing criminal." Tonight.

"I believed you when you said you didn't cause her injuries," She conceded. "But I'll be damned if I believe there is nothing strange about this whole business."

"Strange I will grant you. This is not how I live, Katya. This is not what I do."

The truth of the words hit him. This was nothing like what he normally did, which might explain why nothing was going smoothly. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. She poured two cups of coffee and handed him one.

"Speaking of how we live, what brings you home on a Thursday night? I did not expect you." He hesitated. "You are always welcome. I was just curious."

"I know I'm welcome," she said. "This was sort of an emergency. The landlord must have gotten some sort of notice or something because we found out this morning that our apartment is being sprayed and we needed to get out for a couple of days. I don't have any classes tomorrow, so I had the time to make the trip down here."

"Such perfect timing," he murmured.

"Sorry I didn't check with you to see if you were going to be bringing home any battered women tonight," she returned, dryly.

"It was not on my calendar." He smiled at her. For a wonder, she smiled back.

"You should go check on... Deira, was it?"

"Yes." He headed for the stairs.

"This conversation isn't over," she called after him.

"Yes," he called back, "it is." She was right, of course, but he was not going to let her think so. At least checking on Deira gave him time to think.

Deira had curled up again, protecting her stomach and chest without realizing it. He could see the bruises purpling at the edges of the bandage Katya had applied to her ribs. The bruise on her jaw was also darkening. Most of the damage was bruises. If the old man had been right about the two men attacking Deira, the fact that she was not in worse shape was a testament to her improved skills. She had survived. But she did not win. That was a problem.

He would have to make sure she did not face a similar situation again. Contrary to her belief, he had never intended to let her get near Cavuto's men. Taking them out from a distance was a far better plan. He would have to consider whether or not Deira should set up explosives. He was not sure if she would be up to it. The time table might have to be altered.

He knew he was stalling. He did not want to go back to the kitchen and resume arguing with Katya. He wanted to climb into the bed and watch over Deira. Fool. He woke her up instead. She asked for water, and he held her up while she drank. He gave her a muscle relaxant and a pain killer, but nothing that would knock her out. The ease with which she had awoken told him she was unlikely to have a concussion, but it was better to be safe. He covered her up again and went back downstairs.

The smell of the food made him realize how hungry he was. Katya was already at the table.

"Sorry I didn't wait. I was getting sort of dizzy." She looked genuinely apologetic. She had always had good manners.

"No problem." He joined her. For a few moments, they ate in silence.

"How is she?" Katya asked.

"Not as bad as she might have been. I gave her something for the pain. I will continue to wake her throughout the night, though I doubt she will thank me for it."

"She may later. It would be better if she could see a doctor. I can do basic stuff but I wouldn't know if she had internal bleeding."

"I will see if I can convince her to go to the doctor. She is," he paused, "stubborn about certain things."

"Well, try, okay?" she pleaded. He nodded.

"You learned how to do all that doing missionary work?" Gage asked.

"Most of it. When you're in the jungle and the nearest hospital is 50 kilometers away and you're fairly sure they'd kill you instead of treating you, it helps to know how to see to things yourself. I paid attention when other people were doing it and later took a couple courses in emergency medicine." She looked at him. "But I am not a doctor. Or a nurse."

"You showed more skill than many medics I encountered." He stopped suddenly, looking away from her.

"Dad used to do that," she noted.

"Do what?" It was safer to pretend he did not know what she meant.

"Stop talking whenever he got close to saying something about the war."

"It is not something I like to remember." His jaw tightened.

She nodded. "I don't blame you. He wouldn't talk about it, either."

But he would take his wife and child into war zones on behalf of his God. Gage closed his eyes.

His brother had turned out more like Gage than he had known. Karol had combined the desire for righteous action with the need for massive adrenaline rushes. If the rush was born of fear and anger, it would be better. It would come close. Gage had found nothing righteous about the war, no matter how many nationalist slogans they had drilled into him. Maybe believing them had made it easier for Karol to live with himself. With the war behind him, religion would have filled that void, but it was the adrenaline he craved or he would not have done such dangerous work.

Apparently, their need for adrenaline spikes was not as easily shaken as the drug addiction had been. He almost laughed. The addiction had not been easy to shake by any standard. There were times when he tasted the metallic edge at the back of his mouth, felt the desire to use so strongly that his muscles quivered. The urge to feel that alive again was hard to resist, but he had managed. So far. It would always be a struggle.

"He did that, too." She said quietly.

"What?" Gage opened his eyes.

"Went away for a few seconds." She could not hide the sadness in her voice. It was reflected in the way she looked at him. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"My memories are not your fault, Katya. They are not anyone's fault." No one who still lives. "They just are."

"I know." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. She was trying not to cry.

"I miss him, too," Gage said softly.

"I know you do. I miss them both." She gave him a sad smile. "You want to hear something funny?"

Gage nodded.

"Dad told me to look after you if anything happened to him. He said you would be like Pinocchio without his cricket."

"He did not think too much of himself, your father." Gage laughed. It was better than focusing on his loss.

"Not too much," she snorted.

"I don't think I've made a very good cricket," she admitted.

"You would be surprised. Should I start calling you cricket? I like that," he teased.

"Don't you dare."

He knew the détente could not last. She refilled their coffee cups and sat across from him, folding her hands around her cup. Just like Deira, that first night. He shook off the image.

"Maybe I should be a better cricket. If tonight is any indication, you aren't doing so well in the conscience department."

"I told you I had nothing to do with that, except for picking her up when she called for help," Gage stated calmly.

"I was actually referring to the fact that Nicky was holding a gun when I saw her through the security camera. And the fact that you had a loaded gun in a kitchen drawer. I found it when I was looking for a knife." She kept her voice even.

"This is not the best neighborhood. Many people keep guns for protection. It does not mean anything." He shrugged.

"Uh huh." She raised an eyebrow. "Remember how I told you that I listened when Dad thought I couldn't hear him? He used to go off on how he was worried about whether or not you were paying for our summer trips with 'honest money.' Why would he do that if there wasn't the possibility that there was dishonest money funding them?"

"I could not tell you." Gage sipped his coffee. It tasted bitter.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm not stupid." She scowled. "I figure you were into something he didn't approve of. I know it wouldn't be drugs because, believe me, I got enough lectures from both of you growing up. I figured it was either gambling or smuggling. But something you were doing pissed him off or he wouldn't have raised the roof about it when he thought I was sleeping."

"I did not need to break the law in order to pay for the trips. Your father was involved in my business, which is both successful and legal. He knew where the money came from. If you enjoy boredom, you can look at my tax records for the past ten years and see for yourself."

"I'll pass. But I still don't believe that all your money comes through legitimate business. It makes me wonder if my college education is the result of nefarious deeds." She raised her eyebrows.

"When I was younger, I may have done some deals that skirted import laws," he said lightly. "But that has not happened in many years. And I would point out that your college education is largely a result of you earning scholarships. If this wicked fiction amuses you, by all means keep it, but the money I provide for your expenses is, and has always been, clean."

"I doubt you would tell me if it wasn't." The anger had gone out of her voice.

"Possibly not. But that is not an issue."

"Good to know." She yawned. "This coffee is doing me no good. It was a long trip down here." She didn't mention the evening's events.

"I'm going to go to my room, figure out what clothes I'm taking back with me, and go to bed," she said.

They both stood. She started to clear the table but he stopped her, motioning towards the stairs. She handed him her coffee cup and went to her room. He had just finished putting away the last of the leftovers when she called down the stairs.

"Uncle Charlie? Where's the silk shirt you gave me for my birthday?"

He cursed silently. It was in the downstairs closet, still in plastic from the cleaners.

"We will find it in the morning. Get some rest." He relaxed when she agreed.

A few minutes later, he heard her door close. He washed the dishes and went upstairs to watch over Deira.