Page 45 of Savagely Yours
“Oh, gosh. Good night, Dez.”
He hurried from the apartment.
I gave it a moment before leaving myself, taking the stairs down to the first floor. On the way, I passed a couple of Class Fours who greeted me with a ready salute, and I further leaned into the power the black uniform bestowed. The only people allowed to question me were the generals. Everyone else was designated to follow my orders, and I wondered what they would have done if someone like Giorgio Pozza had shown up at the camp.
“Die,” I said to myself. “They would have died.”
Instead of the main path, I rerouted to a service hallway that ran closer to the perimeter and was primarily designated for supply runners and repair crews. That path took me directly to the camp’s outskirts, away from the more densely populated zones.
Next, I cut through an underground utility tunnel, which wasn’t part of my original plan. With how important it was to the operations at Totten, I’d assumed it would have been either heavily guarded or surveilled. However, LaSalle let me know that it was officially decommissioned once a new infrastructure grid was constructed. Then, with extra manpower being funneled toward the breach zone, it was even more desolate. How he knew what he knew, I didn’t know, but had he beenuntrustworthy, I didn’t care about putting my life in his hands to save Larke’s.
I exited the tunnel and walked until the Sanitation building came into view, shadowed and looming and deceptively picturesque from the outside. As Sanitation was both necessary and a hazard, the area was fenced off, and two guards were stationed out front overnight. However, it wasn’t clear whether their presence was to prevent people from entering or leaving.
I walked up to the front door, prepared for them to ask me to state my business. Instead, they scanned my uniform, saluted, stepped aside, and tossed offers of help at my back as I entered. Usually, a Class One entering any building after-hours wasn’t a good sign.
Four steps took me down into the lobby.
A young woman with light brown hair manned a check-in desk in the middle. A row of empty metal chairs faced the desk, with a tower of buckets stacked beside the last chair in the row. Cleaning supplies covered every corner of the room, from mops and brooms to rags and handheld brushes.
Though packed, it was tidy and clean.
They didn’t use the harsh fluorescent lights that came with the building. Instead, flickering candles lit up the lobby, along with lamps running on battery power. The air smelled of disinfectant with a hint of wet fabric. What might have been walls of peeling paint were covered by scavenged artwork and decor. What the other buildings considered cast-offs, they’d turned into something that felt more homely than my place.
“Good evening,” I greeted.
“Good, eve—” She looked up. “Uh…evening. Good evening, sir. How can I help you today?”
“I’m looking for Larke Tapley, and I won’t be signing in. I also need you to keep any information about my visit tonight off the books. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.” She pointed to a nearby hallway. “And Larke is in 104, Bed A, in room one.”
“Bed A in room one? How many beds are there per room?”
“Three rooms, four beds in each room.”
I chewed away my rage. “Okay. I’ll also need a copy of her schedule from this week.”
Another woman entered the lobby from the hallway. Whereas the desk clerk screamed, “Fresh out of graduate school,” this woman carried more of a “mother hen” vibe. Sprigs of gray curls peeked from the front of her hair scarf, and her nightgown brushed her ankles, the gown partially concealed by a lightweight gray robe.
“I can help with that, sir,” the woman said. “I’m Ana Cordero. I’m in charge of the girls here in Sanitation. I hear you are asking about my little songbird?”
I started to smile, but then I remembered my role. “Ana, I need a copy of Larke’s duties from this week, along with her routes.”
“Is something the matter?”
“I need those copies, and I need them tonight.”
“Leigh, please get him whatever information he needs,” Ana instructed the girl at the desk.
“Your name is Leigh?” I asked.
The younger woman nodded. “Yes, sir. I should have introduced myself earlier. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
I started to wave off the apology but reminded myself, one more time, of the role I was supposed to be playing. “LaSalle says he’s working on it,” I said. “He told me to pass along the message.”
“Oh! Oh, thank you. It’s about a critical cleaning issue. But let me get Larke’s information for you.”
She hurried off.
