Will the old man dig deeper, perhaps relying on his intuition? When Walker took on the Church of Set, the affront required a retort; Satanists loved to harbor a grudge, and Nathaniel Portman would know this. It might be easier to take out Portman first. The old man was smarter than Walker. Mason didn’t need Walker getting any more advice from higher-ups, if it could be helped, and if Portman headed for Ft. Myers, there was no doubt that he would go to Walker’s house. Mason arrived a half hour after Portman, in time to see the Native man escorted out of the house with a large black woman. Who is she?
There must have been a visible aura around Mason—as he passed the house, the eyes of Portman and the female were drawn to him, meeting his stare. She pointed at the car but he didn’t rush to escape. They could prove nothing. He went around a bend and turned into a driveway. A Mercedes left the house; he assumed it to be Portman’s car and followed at a distance.
****
Gramps looked at Lolita. “Can I drop you off at your home?”
Lolita rubbed her hands together. “You kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Like I said, your grandson’s fate is tied with mine. Besides, you look as if you might need some company. I’m so sorry about your other grandchild. Perhaps it’s his death I saw the other night. But I don’t feel a pull toward him; there is no connection, not like with you and Jackson.”
“I think your intuition is correct. I should call Jackson.” Before he could pull out his cell, the old man folded over onto the steering wheel, a low sob coming from deep within his soul.
Lolita placed a hand on his shoulder. “Gramps, I can feel your pain. And I’m so sorry!”
Gramps raised his eyes, focusing back on the road, his heart broken. Josh and Jackson were all who remained of his family. He’d been worried about Jackson, never giving a second thought to the safety of his other grandson. He felt a heavy weight upon his shoulders, like a sack of bricks.
“He was a good young man.”
Lolita looked at him. “I never met him, but I can tell by your emotion it must be so.”
Gramps nodded. “Thank you. Where to, Lolita? I think I need some time on my own.”
She understood, and gave him directions to her home.
****
Lolita waved to the old Indian as he pulled away.
She wanted to put the pieces together to see if she could glean more information. Josh had been shot from one direction and they’d all anticipated the bullet coming from the other. Portman sent Joshua to look out for Jackson. Now the protector is dead. Why didn’t I foresee any of this happening? Then again, the spirit world spoke in riddles, and reality was even more obscure.
She didn’t know why she did it, but she hesitated and glanced again at the Mercedes moving away down the road. Then she saw it: the same car that passed Jackson Walker’s house a short time ago. The driver looked at her, their eyes meeting. There could be no denying the dark-haired driver recognized her, as she recognized him. Without warning, dread overwhelmed her—darkness, like she’d never felt before. The car sped away, hot to follow Nathaniel Portman. She would have called him, but Lolita didn’t have Nathaniel’s cell number.
“Damn!” she said out loud.
****
Gramps pulled away from Lolita’s and dialed Jack. Jack picked up on the fifth ring, feeding the old man’s irritation.
“Gramps, what’s up?”
“Jackson, I told you I would only call if it’s important. When you see my name on the phone, you pick up, got it?”
“Whoa, Gramps, it wasn’t clicking into the hands-free. I’m driving and had to fish it out of my pocket. I apologize for the—”
Gramps cut Jack off. “Josh has been murdered!”
A prolonged silence allowed both men to bear the horror.
“What?” Jack could only ask.
“Your premonition appears to be correct. His body was fished out of the canal. Well, what’s left. The fish have eaten most of it.”
“Is this information firsthand, Gramps?”
“Saw his remains with my own eyes and I’m heading to the police station to make a statement. When his body arrives at the city morgue, we must make a formal identification.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Gramps! Is the psychic still with you?”
“No. I just dropped her off at home.”
“Good. Stay away from her. I’ve got a bad feeling about that one.”
“I can take care of myself, Jackson.” Gramps heard his grandson hyperventilating. “Pull off the road now, until you can get a grip. Is Janie with you? We don’t need anything happening to you; you’re all I’ve got.”
“Yes. She’s with me.”
“Let her drive. Meet me at the sheriff’s office on Ben Hearn.”
Jack hung up.
Gramps was grief ridden. Driving became difficult as tears blinded him. He needed to pull over for a few minutes before he caused an accident. Turning into one of the thousand strip malls dominating the Tamiami Trail, he parked under the shade of a tree. He took a deep breath and flexed his hands across the steering wheel.
As he got a grip on the situation, someone tapped on the driver’s side window. The man standing there motioned for him to roll it down. Something told Gramps it was a mistake to do so; still, he might be parked in someone’s space. He lowered the window.
A man with strangely familiar features leaned in as if to tell him something. Instead of words, he stuck a .45 Magnum under Nathaniel’s chin. “Portman!” he stated with a French accent like they knew each other.
Gramps nodded. The shock of realizing who the person . . . might be? must be? hit the old man like lightning.
“I want you to step out of the car slowly. Then I want you to get into the passenger side of the white Toyota sitting just over there.”
Gramps turned his head, nodding again as he spotted the car. “Mason, right?”
“Very good of you to remember. I think we met briefly, several years ago.”
“It wasn’t exactly a meeting. You were getting thrown in jail.”
“True enough!” He smiled and almost sang, “Ah, but that was then and this is now, Mr. Portman. Please hand over your keys and get into the car. And here.” He handed Gramps two plastic ties. “Place this around your ankles and pull it tight. Then I want you to make a loop with the other one and place your hands through it.”
Gramps walked to the car and followed directions. Once the loop was around his wrists, Mason quickly slid into the car, taking the end of the tie and pulling the bond tight.
Mason returned to the Mercedes, placed the keys on the roof and mumbled, “Someone might be kind and steal this.” Chuckling, he returned to his vehicle and slipped behind the wheel. Mason placed the gun on his lap and pulled out of the lot to head south.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
LOLITA CURSED. JACKSON’S CELL seemed perpetually busy. She tossed her phone on the coffee table in the reception area and vowed to try again in ten minutes and every ten minutes until she got to him. Leaving the reception area, she entered her personal quarters, consisting of a kitchen, bedroom and semi-finished basement.
In her bedroom, Lolita removed the wig she usually wore when she worked at home. She slipped off her jewelry, several rings and necklaces adorning her rather large frame. Her heartbeat slowed and melancholy came over her. Lolita worried she might become prone to depression. Still, this heartache was different. It seemed like decades had passed since she last felt so sorry for another human being. Many of her clients came to her with their day-to-day troubles, and she gladly took their money, proclaiming to see fates for them via palmistry or the tarot. Seldom did she get involved in another’s future. Yes, she warned them, but they lived in their own futures, responsible for their own lives.
Things were different with Gramps and Jackson Walker. She had sought them out in order to deflect something evil, which might be happening to them and her. Somehow, they were tied together. Could I have been wrong? Was it the death
of the other grandson, Joshua, I foresaw? No, she could not say that emphatically.
She planned to give Jack Walker a little more time before she called again. Undoubtedly, he would be grieving and not answer. She returned to her parlor with a cup of tea, where she lit a few candles and pulled out the tarot.
Deciding to lay out a simple four-card spread to see if it might shed light on the events of the past days, Lolita shuffled her personal deck, which had never been touched by another living soul, and set the tea down to cool. Sometimes, she wondered if the dead might be presetting her deck considering the way the stories often unfolded right before her eyes. Tears fell on her large hands, folded on the table, waiting to shuffle the cards again. She wiped her eyes and tried again. No. The deck felt cold. She shuffled again and again until she sensed it was time to lay out her four-card display. All four were placed in a row, facedown.
The first card represented the past. It turned up as a Jack: The Fool.
She sighed, realizing the card in her hand still felt cold. It related to Walker, Gramps, or one of their adversaries. Lolita thought about them and said aloud, “They are unconventional risk-takers!” She would need to look at the other cards to determine the meaning of the Fool rising in her deck to represent the past.
The second card represented the present. It turned up as the Ace of Spades: Death.
Okay, the Death card in most cases was not to be taken literally. In this reading, she sensed it warranted its literal meaning of death, even though it could also indicate a new beginning, or even a transformation.
The third card represented the hidden meaning. A Seven of Swords: Open Battle.
They were not finished yet. The death of Joshua did not necessarily culminate the warlike events.
The fourth card represented the outcome. The Queen of Cups: Female Psychic.
Lolita tried to blow her fear out between her teeth. She read the entire story in the cards and knew she would be involved in the outcome. Lolita’s lack of confidence became clear, but she did not doubt herself anymore. Packing up the cards, she headed back to the kitchen to make a nice sandwich.
On her way through the reception area, she heard a loud rap rap rap on her front door. Through the beveled glass she saw at least two figures standing on the front porch. She quickly retrieved her wig. The knocking continued. “I’m coming!” she hollered loud enough to be heard through the door.
Taking a few seconds to preen in front of the mirror, Lolita made sure that her wig was on straight. When she opened the door, a shock of adrenalin surged through her veins. There were three men: two were correctional officers from the county, the other a deputy from the Lee County Sheriff’s Department.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Lolita asked in her smallest voice.
Recognizing one of them as her parole officer, she knew her goose was cooked. Since she had been cleared several years back of the requirement to report, Lolita didn’t immediately recognize the man. He’d aged and now wore glasses. She sure knew his voice when he asked for her by name. “Solomon Brown?”
She nodded slowly.
“You are being arrested for violation of your parole. Though you are no longer required to report, you still have restrictions. You were photographed entering a strip club in Tampa and we are certain you purchased pornography from the establishment. You were strictly forbidden from entering any place for the purchase of such goods. We have a warrant to search the premises.”
The deputy produced handcuffs and snapped them across Solomon’s wrists. “Ma’am—Mr. Brown, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say might be used against you in a court of law.”
Solomon’s head dropped; he had not removed the newest entertainment from his computer. It would be an understatement to say things had gone from bad to worse, and he wondered why he did not read it in the cards. Or did I?
“Can you give me one moment, please?”
The deputy shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t do that.”
“I know my rights. I’m allowed one phone call, correct?”
He cocked his head. “That right comes after you’re booked at the station.”
“Will you allow me to write down one phone number from my cell?”
He looked at the parole officer, who nodded. “Okay.”
“It’s on the table over there. You can watch so you know I’m speaking the truth.” Solomon wrote Jackson Walker’s number on a scrap of paper and tucked it into one of his pockets.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
JACK DIDN’T NEED JANIE to drive, the fact being she looked even more physically shaken than he did. He pressed his foot nearly to the floorboard, pushing the Jeep over 100 mph and swerving around slower traffic, playing roulette with the hope that the state troopers were not playing hide-and-seek along the trees in the median.
He had not been in such a foul mood for five years, since he discovered he’d been played by Sarah Courtney and framed for killing an innocent older couple up in Clewiston, on the shore of Lake Okeechobee.
There was no denying the truth. His cousin’s death was his fault. He’d seen the warning signs. If he was honest, they virtually hit him over the head. Gramps and the psychic tried to tell him, but Jack never faced that he was dealing with powerful and dangerous people. Perhaps he was apathetic like everyone kept telling him. Why do I have this personal vendetta against anything paranormal? Why not let those who believe in it knock themselves out? Why couldn’t I just go along with them?
“Dammit!” he yelled, smacking the wheel, jolting Janie out of her stupor. As though she’d been following his inner conversation, he blurted out, “Do you believe in all this shit?”
“What? You mean Josh being murdered?”
“No. I believe that’s real. Too fucking real. It’s the psychic stuff with Gramps and Lolita.”
Janie rubbed her eyes, trying to ponder his question. “You’re gonna get a ticket.”
Jack pulled back off the accelerator.
She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Jack. You have to deal with the reality of what’s going on in front of your eyes sometimes. This psychic stuff goes counter to what we’ve learned in university, where you’re asked to question and not take events or things at face value. Maybe that’s why children see things for what they are a lot better than adults. They love to dream about fantastical things: witches, wizards and warlocks. Little ones don’t question; they believe what they see. They are molded by their older peers, who try to protect them from disappointment and danger.
“If we were to look at the present situation and what happened five years ago the same way a child would look at it? We would probably be able to deal with it much more effectively. Because it’s happening and we . . . you refuse to accept it. Maybe you need to give into the possibility that strange events are more than just coincidence. Let’s face it—taking the empirical approach isn’t doing you any good. Your cousin is dead. If you’d taken this more seriously, he might have been with us the other night. Like your grandfather wanted.”
Jack flushed. “You? Now you’re fucking blaming me? Don’t you think I feel bad enough as it is? I’m crushed. If there was a bridge high enough, I’d be thinking about jumping.”
“Whoa, partner. I’m trying to help, and this is no time for a pity party. I’m on the Jackson Walker team; don’t even go there. I liked Josh. A lot. Believe me, this has shaken me to the core. All I’m saying, let’s try to go along with your gramps, give the psychic woman Lolita’s words some credence. See what happens, because the alternative isn’t working. Why not embrace the eagle like you did when you were younger? You said it used to help you catch fish. Is that right?”
Jack sighed. “Yep, the eagle’s never wrong.”
“So why did you stop believing?”
Jack turned off the highway at Daniels Parkway. “It’s simple. I felt ashamed being a Native Indian. I wanted to go places. I wanted to rise to be a football star. I wanted out of the small
town. I blocked off my past and now I’m being tossed back into it. I’m resisting. Maybe I’m not ready to come back.”
Janie smiled for the first time since they’d heard the news about Josh. “Face it, you are a Native. You are special. You can’t change what’s in your blood, Jack. I think you have a gift, and I wish you would use it. At least try for a time. If you won’t do it for yourself, would you at least do it for those who love you? Do it for me?”
Jack grinned. “Are you saying you love me?”
Janie sighed and simply said, “Yes, I do.”
When he looked away, she said, “I feel like I need to protect you. Actually, everyone who loves you seems to feel the same. Why is that, Jack? Maybe it’s because we have to protect you from yourself? There you have it.”
“Okay. I’ll try.”
“There’s a start.”
“I’ll give into the spiritual side until we get through this. Deal?” He extended his hand. She held on for a few moments. “So, what do we do now?”
“Since we’re accepting the mumbo jumbo, can you call up Peter and ask him to check into Mason Matye? Let’s see if the bastard actually did escape from prison. Let’s hope we can rule out that option.”
“That’s a better start.”
“Then we have to make a statement at the sheriff’s department. We’re meeting Gramps there. It would be good to touch base with the old guy. I’ve been harsh with him over all this.”
“Remember, Jack, Gramps believes in it all and lives his life by it. He probably takes what you say to heart. I think you’re upsetting him. Still, he’s smart and understands your apathy. He’s a patient man.”
“True enough.” He pressed his hand to his head. Janie noticed the motion.
“You okay?”
“Actually, no. I haven’t been okay for a couple of days now. My guts are ready to come up and I’ve been getting these waves of head pain, like getting stabbed in the right temple. I just felt one there. It’s super painful. Unbearable, actually. They’re coming closer together.”
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