The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels

by Travis Luedke

  The country club was in full swing, members dining on the elevated patio under sun umbrellas or gathering on the rounded drive. Freshly waxed golf carts whirred past me in a tiny parade. I skipped the front doors and walked down a grassy slope to the side of the building, looking for a service entrance. A kid in a short-order cook’s hat leaned against the stucco wall beside an unlabeled door, smoking a cigarette and occasionally glancing at his plastic wristwatch. He gave a start when I walked up, and I held up a calming hand.

  “Relax,” I said, “I’m not here to bust you for the smoke. Want to make an easy fifty bucks?”

  “Is it illegal?”

  “Not at all. I’m just doing a favor for a buddy, and I need a little help.”

  I told him what I wanted, and he talked me up to seventy-five. I peeled four twenties from my wallet and told him to keep the change. He let me in through the service entrance, walking me through the back of the Palmer Lounge. A lonely janitor pushed a buffer across the floor in the darkened room.

  The kid pointed the way. “Go up the hall, and out on your right. Pull up around back and wait for me to give the signal. If you get caught, I don’t know you, all right?”

  “Know who? I was never here.”

  I walked briskly down a service hallway, eyes forward, gait strong. The key to walking around places where you’re not supposed to be is to look like you’re too important to be interrupted. Most people are non-confrontational by nature, and if you give them a good reason not to challenge you, they won’t. I pushed through another pair of doors and found myself on the edge of a secluded, fenced parking lot for the club’s golf carts. Numbered keys dangled from a corkboard next to the door. I helped myself.

  My stolen cart hummed along the path. I paused within eyesight of the back doors, where small knots of golfers waited for their partners and checked their bags before heading out onto the rolling lawns. The course was gorgeous, a sculpted landscape in vivid green contrasting with the russet mountains in the distance, but I kept my eyes on the people.

  Last summer I’d taken on a corporate job, ferreting out an embezzler at a local bank. It was more private-eye work than sorcery, and I’d caught the culprit with the help of a handy little audio bug about the size of my thumbnail. Not quite legal, but I found a company in England happy to sell them so long as you sent a statement on letterhead attesting that you were a police officer. I dipped into my tote bag and pulled out the bug along with a stick of Juicy Fruit. A few seconds later, the tiny marvel was securely affixed to the underside of the cart’s dashboard with a glob of freshly chewed gum, out of sight and ready to work.

  My new friend, minus his short-order hat, led a foursome to the edge of the path. He squinted, hand over his eyes, spotted me and gave an emphatic wave. I stepped on the gas, then froze.

  The portly, curly-haired man standing next to the kid must have been Sheldon. He looked like his brother, minus the dye job and the bodybuilder’s physique. With him was a woman in her late forties, refined like an old-time stage actress, and a gangly man who looked like a hundred and fifty pounds of nervous energy. Rounding out the foursome was Meadow Brand, Carmichael-Sterling’s other resident magician. She’d recognize me the second she saw me.

  I jumped out of the cart and waved emphatically to a passing caddy. “You! You! Hurry, there’s no time!”

  He paused, bewildered, gesturing to a side door. “But I have to—”

  “No! No time! Mr. Kaufman needs his cart now! Come on, come on, get on, here you go, just drive it right up there.” I hustled him into the cart. “There you go, quickly now, he’s a great tipper, go go go!”

  I watched with relief as the cart puttered up the lane, right on schedule. Heading back inside, bag on my shoulder, I hunted for an employee restroom.

  An empty stall wasn’t the most dignified listening post, but all I needed was a locking door and a quiet space. The bug’s receiver was a squat chunk of plastic about the size of a television remote, a Cold War relic with a jack for a set of headphones. A burst of static worried me, but I fiddled with the knobs until distant, scratchy voices echoed over the line.

  “—Holt’s dead, my brother fucked up, we all know that,” said a man’s voice. Had to have been Sheldon. “The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” said a woman’s voice, not Meadow’s. She was beyond calm. Icy. Ethereal, like nothing could lay a finger on her. “This saves us the trouble of disposing of him ourselves, and it will take at least a week to reopen the investigations on his desk. Our work will be done by then. It won’t matter.”

  The other man spoke up. “Can you guarantee that? Can you guarantee that? The risks we’re taking—”

  “You haven’t risked a goddamn thing, you little pansy,” Meadow Brand snapped. “We’ve all done our parts except for you. When’s it going to be, huh? You have a new excuse for us?”

  “Tomorrow night. I had to get my wife out of town, okay? She’s going to Rio for a week. I’ve arranged everything. It’s Amber. It has to be Amber—she’s the only one who qualifies.”

  “Why don’t you just kill your wife?” Sheldon asked. His casual tone chilled my blood.

  “I don’t love my wife,” the other man said, and a chorus of laughter spiked the needle on the receiver.

  I blinked, one hand cupped over my ear. What the hell are you people up to?

  23.

  “Be strong,” the calm woman said, “and remember, if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth doing. I chose the three of you because you have the drive and the courage to accomplish this great work. We do this not because we can, but because we must, for the good of—”

  “I don’t want to interrupt the pep rally,” Meadow said, “but can we talk about the four-hundred-pound gorilla in the room? How the fuck did our succubus get free, and is it going to come after us? I don’t like loose ends.”

  The other woman sighed loud enough to crackle over the receiver. “I assume Sheldon’s brother was seduced by foolish promises. ‘Release me and I’ll grant you power and wealth,’ that sort of thing.”

  “He was a halfwit,” Sheldon muttered. “And what am I going to do with the trap he gave me? He totally botched the ritual; there’s not even an entire soul in there.”

  “We don’t need it anyway,” Meadow said, “unless Tony here wusses out. Again.”

  The calm woman said, “We’ll keep it. Just in case.”

  The golf cart’s engine sputtered. Heavy canvas bags slid against metal.

  “Why are you being so mean to me?” Tony’s voice grew softer as he got out of the cart, walking away from the bug.

  “‘Why are you being so meaaaan to me?’” Meadow mock-whined. “When you put on your big boy pants and step up to the plate like the rest of us, I’ll start taking you seriously. You get the respect you earn.”

  “Enough,” the other woman said. “Both of you. Tonight is crucial. I called our friend as soon as my plane landed. He’s covering his end of this business, but that won’t mean a thing if we aren’t working in perfect harmony.”

  Perfect harmony? I thought. Oh, that’s just an invitation for somebody to mess with you. I think I’ll accept.

  “Can we talk about the construction permits, please?” Tony said, his voice fading. “If we have to revise these blueprints, I need to know before next week.”

  I only heard a few more words as the foursome walked away from the cart, off to play a round of golf on a bright and sunny day. I didn’t feel the sunshine. Something was wrong here, seriously wrong, and it made Stacy’s murder look like a drop in the bucket. I bagged up my kit and left the bathroom.

  I figured I could loiter in the parking lot out front and shadow one of them when they left. With my car parked well outside Red Rock’s gates, though, I wouldn’t get very far. Another trip to the Carmichael-Sterling office, if I handled it right, might yield a home address or more information about the other two players. An Internet search wouldn’t hurt, either
. Options riffled through my mind like poker cards as I walked through the lobby toward the exit, discarding hand after losing hand.

  “Oh, caddy,” called a voice behind me.

  Caitlin rested a golf bag against the hip of her plaid trousers, wearing a snug turquoise blouse accented by a white cap. She beckoned me over with a smile.

  “You’ll do. Carry my bag?”

  I raised an eyebrow, but obligingly shouldered her bag as we walked out onto the green.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I said. “I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence.”

  “No coincidences in magic, isn’t that something you people say?”

  She flagged down a golf cart and we drove out to the first hole. I searched for something pithy to say, but the best I could come up with was, “You look great.”

  “Thank you! Just a little outfit I threw together. Is the plaid too much?”

  “It’s golf,” I said. “I think the plaid’s just right.”

  “That was my thought. Do things properly or go home.”

  We got out of the cart, and she studied the curve of the green, a light breeze ruffling her curls.

  “What club should I use for this hole?” she asked.

  “I…have no idea. I don’t know how to play.”

  She grinned, sliding a six iron from the bag. “You’re a terrible caddy. How did you ever get this job?”

  “No idea. This strange woman just came up and hired me, and I couldn’t bring myself to say no.”

  “Have to watch out for those strange women,” she said, her club slicing through the air with a whistle. She struck the ball square on, sending it flying in a gentle arc toward the hole. “Hmm. Might birdie this one. So tell me what you learned today.”

  She drove the cart while I gave her a rundown of what I’d heard.

  “Their succubus?” She glowered. “Oh, they’re going to get it. So Sheldon and this Brand woman both work for Carmichael-Sterling?”

  “Right, and the other man, Tony, talked about construction permits. I’d bet all four of them are transplants from Carmichael’s home office in Seattle.”

  My phone buzzed against my leg. I took it out and glanced down. Caller unknown. Shrugging, I put it back in my pocket.

  “And they’re collecting souls,” Caitlin said. “A specific number of them. Some sort of sacrifice, perhaps.”

  “Souls that have to ‘qualify,’ so there’s definite criteria involved. The question is, why would—” I paused as my phone started buzzing again. “Excuse me.”

  I put the phone to my ear. Before I could even say hello, a thin, frightened voice rasped, “Mr. Faust?”

  “Maybe,” I said, “who’s calling?”

  “You have to help me,” he said. “Please, you have to help me, there’s no time.”

  I slumped. “Wow, did you catch me on a bad week. Look, I’m a little tied up—”

  “It’s Mr. Agnelli. He’s going to kill me.”

  “Nicky Agnelli?” I said, sitting bolt upright. Beside me, Caitlin’s eyes went hard.

  “He had me watching you, Mr. Faust, but I saw too much. I looked places I shouldn’t have and now he’s going to get rid of me—”

  “Okay. Okay, calm down. Where are you, right now?”

  “Running. I’m running,” he gasped, “but the twins are after me. Please, I’ve seen what you can do; you’re my only hope! There’s a parking garage on Lamb Boulevard. Meet me on the fifth floor, in an hour. Please, come quickly!”

  “All right,” I said, “I’ll be there.”

  I hung up.

  “Well?” Caitlin asked.

  “I think that was Nicky’s pet seer. He says Nicky’s trying to kill him, and he needs a rescue. I figure it’s a seventy-five percent chance of being a trap. Maybe eighty.”

  “Let’s go,” she said, nodding firmly. “If he’s really on the run, he could be the evidence I need to bring Nicky down for good.”

  I shook my head. “I’ll go. If it’s a trap, it’s a trap for you, not for me.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “I know the odds. Think about it. You said it yourself, this guy is just what you need. Nicky knows that too. He couldn’t come up with a better piece of bait if he tried.”

  Caitlin folded her arms. “And if it is a trap, and you walk in alone?”

  “Then I take my chances. Nicky wants to kill me because I got in his way and I hurt his pride. He’s still a businessman, though, and he won’t risk his life to wage a vendetta when he can take his time and get me weeks, months, years from now. You, on the other hand, he needs to kill or recapture because he knows you’re loose and you have a pretty good idea of who set you up. I’m not sending you into a death trap, Caitlin. I won’t do it.”

  “And I don’t want—” she paused, clenching her arms across her vest. She shook her head. “Go. But you call me, as soon as it’s over. I want to make sure that you’re…I want to hear how things went.”

  “I don’t have your number.”

  She plucked my phone from my hand and thumbed over to the contacts menu, adding herself to the roster. Cait, the new listing said.

  “Go,” she said.

  #

  I booked it back to downtown Vegas, keeping an eye on the clock. If this guy was for real and Nicky’s twin enforcers had his scent, he might already be dead. Wishing he were dead, maybe. Justine and Juliette liked to play with their food. I didn’t want to go up against those two without a lot of preparation and maybe a platoon of marines in my back pocket, but I knew I might not have a choice.

  I called Bentley as I drove, keeping one hand steady on the wheel, and left a quick message when his voicemail picked up.

  “It’s Daniel. Look, I don’t want to worry you, but you need to know I’m going to meet with somebody, and there’s no gentle way to say this. If I vanish or something happens to me, it was Nicky Agnelli. Spread the word and drop the boom on his ass. I don’t think it’s a problem—I’m sure I’ll be fine, but just in case. Just in case.”

  My one hope was that Nicky’s desire to keep the peace with Vegas’s occult underground outweighed the sting to his pride when I stole Caitlin out from under him. Tough call. I’d find out when I got there.

  The Lamb Boulevard parking garage sat half empty this time of the afternoon, the snaking aisles lined with rental cars and the occasional plate from California or Arizona. Cars grew sparser as the floors climbed higher, leaving the upper deck a decent place for a clandestine meeting. Or an execution.

  A short, balding man in an off-the-rack suit paced beside a rusted Camry, rubbing the back of his neck. I pulled up nice and slow, not wanting to spook him, while keeping a sharp eye on the scattering of cars on the roof. The Vegas skyline rose up around us, dusty and sleeping in the sun.

  I pulled into a spot about ten feet away, easing out of my car. I showed him my open hands. He pressed his back to his car, jumpy as a cornered rat.

  “Mr. Faust?”

  “That’s right,” I said, not moving any closer. “Just me. Let me guess, you’re Nicky’s seer. That’s your shtick? Remote viewing?”

  He nodded. “I was born with it. I’ve worked for Mr. Agnelli for years. It’s always been minor things, harmless, like watching local celebrities and political figures. Gathering gossip and insider business news.”

  “Not anymore, huh? What’s Nicky’s interest in Stacy Pankow’s murder? Why did he warn me away from pursuing it?”

  He shook his head. “He doesn’t care about her. But you freed that…that creature. You’re threatening his plans and worse, theirs. The people he works for.”

  “Sheldon Kaufman?”

  “He’s just another pawn!” the man snapped, ruddy faced as his eyes darted from side to side. “A few weeks ago, I started using my talent to watch Mr. Agnelli. I knew I shouldn’t, but he’s been so different lately. He’s changed. Driven, utterly consumed with his work. I wanted to know why.”

  “Slow down,” I said, “and take a dee
p breath. What’s Nicky after? What’s his end game?”

  The seer waved his hand. “Something in hell. Putting his father on some demon prince’s throne, making daddy proud of him. It’s all rubbish. It’s small time.”

  I furrowed my brow. I figured Nicky just wanted Caitlin bound and out of the way so he could make a play for Vegas. “That doesn’t sound small to me.”

  “Compared to what they want? He’s dancing on strings. And Lauren Carmichael, she’s the puppet master. Carmichael-Sterling’s CEO. You don’t understand, she’s been planning this for decades. Everything that’s happening now, it’s just one tiny piece of her grand design.”

  I thought back to my glimpse of the golf foursome. “Lady in her late forties, stylish, about this tall?”

  “That’s her,” he said, his head bobbing like a metronome. “She has the ring, the damned ring, and it’s just a tool to her. She went to India. She went to India, but it wasn’t her who came back.”

  “Breathe,” I said. “Just…breathe, okay? What ring?”

  The seer paced relentlessly, spittle flying as he raved, his agitation growing. I wasn’t sure if he was out of his mind with fear or just plain out of his mind, but I kept my distance.

  “What she’s planning, it’s monstrous. I wasn’t supposed to look. I wasn’t supposed to, but I looked. The plans for the Enclave. Not the ones they filed with the city, the real plans. I know what she’s building, what that place really is. Haven’t been able to think straight since I saw, but that’s not the…tonight! That’s why I ran, why I called you. Tonight is critical, that’s, that’s—it’s critical. You have to stop them. You have to!”

  I held up my hands, trying for a soothing tone. “Okay, okay, I will. But you need to calm down, all right? Tell me exactly what I need to stop. Focus for me.”

  “They’re going to kill a man.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a heaving wheeze. “He has what they need, the last piece of the puzzle. He’s a fence, local, I’m trying to remember his name—”

  “Think hard,” I said, my stomach muscles tightening.