“Fuck no. I’m sellin’ myself down the river. Like the old days. I like the sound of New Orleans. I might not even finish school. Nothin’ for me here. Gettin’ beat up every week’s gonna spoil my boyish good looks.”
“You are pretty. Not like other boys. I think that’s what draws me to you. There is a sensitivity I don’t see in other guys. You’re real and I’m damned sorry to hear what that man did to you. What did he do?”
Sol smiled, still smoking the cigarette. “I’ve blocked that away someplace safe in the back of my mind. Let’s just say he used me like his little whore, broke me like a stallion.”
Sophia gasped, hands over her mouth.
Solomon left home later that week. Every day, he wished he had taken Sophia up on her offer to stay with her. Life would have been much easier. But, then again, would it have?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE HOUSE LOOKED LONELY, and so empty. Then again, there were no memories to go along with the place—a dry, cool spot to sleep in the stormy Florida heat, nothing more. Robert Lopez finished packing, placing the last of his neatly folded dress shirts on top of a stuffed suitcase. He looked around to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind. Then he sat for a few minutes and pondered his options. Cracking open his one remaining beer from the fridge, he took a long swig and opened up his Allegiant Air phone app. Confirming the date, he checked to see if his flight to Niagara Falls from Punta Gorda was on schedule. He smiled, seeing no delays. The flight left in five hours—plenty of time to complete what needed to be done. His plan was to lay low for a time. He’d rented a small house just over the Canadian border in a small town called Niagara-on-the-Lake, close to the States but anonymous.
He carried his laptops out to the car first. Then he came back for his two suitcases, throwing them into the trunk. Within minutes, he was headed inland toward I-75. He didn’t notice the black BMW following at a distance.
He would assume a new identity. His handlers were experts at creating and supplying the necessities to make Robert Lopez disappear and Charlie Fernandez appear with a new passport, driver’s license, bank accounts, all well established.
First, he needed to sell the Audi. He’d spoken to a dealership in North Ft. Myers, who seemed willing to pay twenty grand. Pretty light in his estimation, but he didn’t have the luxury of shopping it around. He pulled off the highway and after a few short jogs he found the used car dealership, just east of Highway 41. Parking at the side of the dealership building, he did not pay attention to the black BMW pulling into the 7-Eleven across the street.
Robert opened the glass door to the modest showroom for their high-end vehicles. His Audi would be on the low scale of what they sold here, which was why he chose to deal with them. He agreed to their price if they paid in cash. They’d make a tidy profit and Robert would be done with the car.
In no time, an anxious salesman greeted him. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes, I’m to meet with Albert. We have an appointment.”
“Hang on, he’s in his office.”
Robert looked at a vintage Mercedes convertible coup, shined to perfection, as he waited. How he admired that car. Sadly, he could never own one like it. He needed the anonymity of the much more common Audi—nice, but something that blended in. Within a few minutes a man in his fifties, balding, impeccably dressed, made his way through the showroom toward him.
The salesman, who Robert assumed to be Albert, addressed him. “Let me guess. You’re Mr. Lopez, with the Audi?”
Robert shook his hand. “Robert Lopez, and yes, you are correct.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a look at the vehicle before I pay you. Albert Henderson’s my full name.”
“That’s to be expected, Mr. Henderson. You won’t find a blemish, and she runs like a charm.” He followed Henderson out the door.
If not for Henderson exiting first, Robert’s next step would have been to his death. Two men stood beside the door. The tall, blond man put a silenced Beretta to Henderson’s head, pulled the trigger, and blew his brains out the opposite side of his skull, splattering the sidewalk. The corpse fell to the ground with a heavy thump.
Robert, being well trained in his line of work, didn’t waste a second. He planted the knuckles of his right hand deep in the windpipe of the young attacker, who went to the ground, gasping for air. The second man, tall and husky, aimed his pistol at Robert and fired. The bullet entered Robert’s thigh and he lost control of his leg. Dropping to the ground, he was unable to defend himself from the kick to the head. That was the last he remembered.
****
“Bastard!” Boris tried to yank his nephew to his feet, but Leo was dead weight. His windpipe had been crushed. His face was already turning blue, his eyes staring up at Boris as he passed from the world of the living.
“Fuck!”
Boris picked up Leo’s gun, stuffing it in his pocket, and then used all of his strength to put the young man’s body over his shoulder. As calmly as possible under the circumstances, he crossed the street and dumped the body into the BMW’s trunk. He started up the car and pulled next to the dealership. Using his immense strength, Boris stuffed Robert in with his nephew’s body. While Boris knew his sister would not be happy with him, more importantly neither would Eli.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JACK WOKE THE NEXT morning to a raging headache, like nothing he’d experienced in a long time. Maybe ever. He stumbled from his bed to the kitchen, noting Josh was sleeping on the living room couch. He’d been a little harsh with him and Janie. They only wanted what was best and he knew it. He blamed his quick anger on how events were unfolding. He wanted more than anything to be able to take care of the work in front of him without all of the paranormal innuendo being flung around. He found it tremendously irritating, and a waste of time and brain matter.
He drank a tall glass of water along with a couple of extra-strength Tylenol. He couldn’t remember drinking much, and in fact wasn’t a big drinker anymore. Pot didn’t usually give him a headache. Some sort of malaise appeared to be slowly taking over his body. It wasn’t just his head; he felt it in his joints, achy everywhere. Could it be the flu?
When his cell phone rang, he looked at the number. Gramps. Jack made note of the time: 6:46 AM. Too damned early for the old man to be calling. “Good morning, Gramps.”
“Jackson!”
“A bit early, Gramps, don’t ya think? Lucky I got this damned headache. Couldn’t sleep. Any other day I’d be calling you out on waking me up. Wassup?”
“Wassup?”
“What’s up,” Jack corrected his vernacular and couldn’t help but smile.
“Oh. Couldn’t wait to call. I had a vivid dream last night, you know. That’s my way.”
“Okay, dream walker, I get it.” I just can’t get away from this shit!
“I could see a black fog, creeping out of the great swamp. It formed into a man, a man who carried a long, wicked knife. He stabbed you, and you couldn’t feel it, but there was something left in you. I called because I couldn’t fully make sense of the augury. I needed to hear your voice, to make sure you were okay.”
“Fine for the time being, Gramps. If it makes you feel any better, Josh is here to protect me from the bogeyman,” he chuckled.
“Don’t mock me, Jackson!”
Jack heard the anger in the old man’s voice and backed off. “I will say, this case I’ve been on is proving to be more difficult than I first imagined.”
“How so?”
Jack took the time to tell Gramps about their client, Robert, and the Russians.
“Child pornography. In my books, that’s worse than the Devil Spawn. There’s something about a child’s innocence. It can be so easily taken, and the people who do are truly monsters stealing from them and changing the kids’ lives forever. I hope you get them, Jackson.”
“Me too, and I agree. Oh yeah, I forgot, I wanted to tell you about the palm reader who contacted me. Lolita’s her na
me.”
“Palm reader?”
“Yes. She called me out of the blue. She said—oh, shit.” The correlation hit him like a slap to the face.
“Exactly. You know my favorite saying is that there are no coincidences. She mentioned the Devil Spawn as well, didn’t she?”
“Well, not in so many words.”
“Did she or didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Lolita. I’ve heard of this person, though I know her by another name, whispered to me in my dreams. I would like to meet her.”
“If I hear from her again, I’ll mention that to her. I’ll give her your number.”
“Numbers won’t be necessary.”
“Oh, come on, Gramps. Don’t give me that bullshit.”
“No problem, Jackson. Then I won’t. Is Josh staying with you?”
“Yep. Passed out on the couch. I don’t know how much help he would be if we get into a tight spot. High as a kite all day.”
“Now, Josh I will call.”
“Passed out pretty good from last night. I’d wait a bit.”
“I want you to promise something to me. Call me once a day for the next little bit. 8:30 AM, every day. You must do this for your grandfather. I have a premonition . . . something bad is going to happen. And you, Grandson, are a magnet for bad things. Bad people. If you don’t call me, I’ll know something is wrong. Besides, I might be able to help. I’m getting a little bit bored in my old age. There are only so many snook and tarpon to be caught.”
“Now, that’s the best idea you’ve had all morning. You still have that old flats boat—the one we used when we were kids. You could get into any tight spot with that old beauty.”
“I do. You have a good eye. I dropped a sixty-horse Yamaha on the back last year.”
“That old Evinrude had seen its day twenty years ago.”
“I got stuck out in Florida Bay. Charlie Turner rescued me. I decided to scrap nostalgia for safety and practicality. Look, you get this case put to bed and we’ll go to one of the old hunt camps for a week. The tarpon will be thick as cockroaches in a month.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow like you asked.”
After Jack hung up, he questioned his reason for agreeing to the calls. He didn’t believe in hocus-pocus, but the coincidences were piling up too quickly, even for his liking.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NATHANIEL PORTMAN, BETTER KNOWN as Gramps to his family and Seminole brotherhood, fell back into the stiff wooden chair beside his meager dining room table, sighing deeply. He sipped his coffee.
Jackson worried him. He’d known from before Jack’s birth that the boy carried the spirit-talker bloodline, as had Jackson’s mother before her death. It wasn’t just the blood. It was a genetic imprint that allowed the Portmans access to the netherworld—the ability to talk to spirits and have visions from both the future and the past. It wasn’t considered strange 200 or 2,000 years ago. It was still a power shared by members of indigenous tribes, usually a shaman or a chief. It was something to be proud of, to be revered. Jack’s total denial of his power and lack of desire to understand the events surrounding him frustrated the old man; yet, he understood it. He’d been the same way in his own youth, albeit not to the same degree. He hadn’t ventured out like Jackson did, seeing what else the world had to offer.
Jack’s mother had been the same in the beginning. She too fought her native abilities. Nattily finished community college in her early twenties. Within a week of her graduation, she’d received an offer to work for a large insurance company and moved to Chicago.
Nattily married Stanley Walker, an ex-jock insurance executive, who possessed good physical genes but also, unfortunately, a penchant for boozing and violence. Nattily spent the next several years living in fear. Stanley, that narcissistic man, wanted to blame his problems on those who surrounded him, never himself. At times the man could be wonderful, but the dark side lurked omnipresent. Nattily and Stanley birthed a son in the third year of their marriage: Jackson Nathaniel Walker.
Shortly after Jackson’s birth, Nattily saw no choice but to leave the abusive relationship, and escaped to her roots in the Florida Everglades. Gramps was only too happy to take them in and help raise the boy. During that time, Nattily came to grips with her latent talent. Sometimes that was the way with the occult. Gramps smiled, remembering one of the many conversations he’d enjoyed with his daughter.
Nattily and Gramps had taken Jack and his two cousins, Nate and Josh, to a hunt camp that could only be reached by canoe or kayak. They sat one night beside a fire, the children asleep in one of the crude Chickee cottages adorning the small island. The no-see-ums and mosquitoes were thick, but Gramps burned candles made from an old Native recipe, staving off the worst of them. The night was calm and hot, its silence interrupted only by the odd water fowl whooping, or the swish of a sly gator slipping off the bank after its prey.
Gramps loved his Coors Light, the one vice from the modern world he insisted be brought along. He handed one to Nattily, who accepted. She peeled back the tab and stared at her father, a smile turning up her pretty mouth.
“What is it, Nat?”
“I’m glad I came back, even though I felt there was little choice at the time, and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
“Really?” Gramps feared she would regret the move back home.
“No, I am.” She took another sip of her beer. “You know . . . I hated this place. I couldn’t wait to leave. It seemed like a ticket to salvation when I left for Chicago. Shark Valley, when I look back at what I was feeling, seemed worse than a small town. There’s not much here, you have to admit.”
Gramps smiled. “It’s a big world out there, but it’s no different from this place. Bigger city, bigger problems. More money, bigger houses, bigger bills—more headaches. We make lots of money now that we control the gambling. Still, I don’t need more than what we have right here. I believe we have something special here, something no one else has. We live in the biggest state park in the United States of America. Our people fought wars to protect our claim to the land. I don’t ever want you to feel you have to stay here now that you’ve come back. Though I will admit it warms my heart and has given me a new lease on life since your return.”
“I do see that, and I won’t, when or if the time ever comes. For the time being, it’ll keep Jackson out of trouble. I can’t tell you how thankful I am for you taking both of us in.”
Gramps shook his head. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am for both of you coming back. I am fearful of the day you might leave, perhaps when Jack leaves. You know I love the boy like my own.”
“I know you do.”
“He bears the same ability as you and I. I know in the past you’ve looked upon it as perhaps a curse, something nostalgic, something old and indigenous. Do you still have the dreams?”
“I do, Daddy. I’ve learned not to fear them anymore.”
“There was a time when you would have been revered within the tribe for your ability. Little Jack is already telling me about his dreams. They are simple tales. He dreamed about the big snook he caught today. He looked the fish right in the eye. He knew where to find the old girl. I was with him when he caught it. He stared it right in the eye and put her back in the water. He said there existed an understanding between them. I thought it cute.”
“I remember being the same way when I was little. I used to tell you about my dreams.”
“Yes, you did. Do you recall the talks you had with your father about them?”
“Vaguely.”
“I don’t want to frighten you. One day, my daughter, you will need to carry on our family line. You will become chief. We don’t really call it that anymore, but your people will look up to you for guidance, like they do me. Likewise, they will look to Jack.” He stopped to take a cold sip of his favorite beer. “You know the boy is destined to do great things for his people. I’ve seen it. But he will attract trouble.”
“I cou
ld have told you that just looking the little bugger in the eyes,” she smiled.
“He does have that look, I have to admit it. But in the end, it will be for the best . . . at least, I hope so.”
Nattily turned to her father. “I would like to learn.”
Gramps smiled. “We can do that. I mean, I can help you.”
“What about Mom?”
“She’s lost interest in me and is still shacked up in North Miami.”
“I can’t believe she hasn’t taken the time to see her grandson. And me.” A tear welled in her eye. For the first time since his daughter returned, she showed sadness.
“Your mother is a different type. She can be selfish. Needy. I have no wish for a person like that in my life. When she truly misses all of us, she can come back, though I’ve seen that she never will. She drives fancy cars, eats in expensive restaurants. She sees herself as being lucky.”
Nattily shook her head, trying to smile. “I think we’re the lucky ones. As we both said tonight, can’t think of a place on earth I’d rather be at this moment.”
Gramps woke from his stupor, the memory of his daughter briefly bringing a smile to his face, only to be replaced by unpleasant thoughts revolving around her violent death.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE HOUSE SMELLED LIKE burnt toast. The smoke alarm sat on the kitchen table with the battery next to it. The house looked a mess, empty beer cans strewn across every available surface along with empty boxes from the Sandbar Pizza Place. The three Js—Janie, Josh and Jack—sat around the table in the lanai, enjoying their coffee and sharing an Entenmann’s cream cheese danish, the only reasonable thing left to eat besides burnt toast. A scowling sky and accompanying stiff breeze off Estero Bay made it necessary for the three of them to wear what hoodies Jack could round up from the floor of his cupboard.
The Palm Reader Page 9