“Hey, Ricky, what you running? An escort service?”
“Hippie boys, little children, and my, oh my… How are you this fine day, Miss Valentine.”
Ricky and Valentine grunted greetings, shared a look with each other that I took to be that they had just inherited a load of trouble.
“We have to get Deets out of here.” Valentine the Cat Woman hiked up her bra strap and smoothed her skirt, checked the buttons on her blouse.
Ricky took a drag from the joint, turned back to me. “How’d you do that with the dog and my goddamn shoulder? What happened, man?”
Valentine picked up Thomas, rested him on her hip. “Never mind that now, Ricky. Get him home or whatever. I’ve seen people hunting today. Did you, yourself, have any good reason to try to kill him in broad daylight? This ghetto’s going to burn again tonight. The cops have been circling all day.”
Ricky eyed me. “They sending in supermen after us or what? You an alien or robot or something?”
My laugh came out as a demented giggle having a nervous breakdown. “No, no, one more potato and I would’ve been down for the count.”
The three dope smokers wedged themselves in a circle around me that pulsed with anger.
“What’s going on? Why the concern over this white asshole? Killing? Robots? Potatoes? What’s this crazy shit?”
Something dangerous lingered on the edge of my mind, something I wasn’t recognizing because of the distractions of the last few minutes. But it wasn’t the threatening stance of the men in the alley.
“Hey, fuckface, you got any money?”
And goddamn it, for the second time in about ten minutes, third time in ten days, somebody pulled a knife on me.
“Bus fare.”
Ricky’s warning was solemn. “You don’t want to do that, Jackman. Dude will mess you up bad.”
Jackman guffawed.
With a quiet shake of his head, Ricky signaled to Jackman that he was about to make a serious mistake.
“Fuck’s a hippie wimp.” Jackman growled low in his throat.
“Fuck’s a supernatural demon or angel with some kind of space gun.”
“What you tripping on?”
Ricky tensed his wiry frame. The three alley-men’s muscles rippled, grew in bulk.
Valentine poked a finger at the singed hole in Ricky’s shirt. “You see this, dumb-ass. Ricky made the same mistake you’re about to make. This white man blasted him off his feet just by pointing his finger at him.”
“Ha, ha. Oh, girl, how much of a fool do you think I am?”
Ricky unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it open to reveal a red welt on his shoulder. “Hurts like hell. Dude aimed his finger at me and, man, practically broke my shoulder.”
“What do they call that? Jujitsu? Shit, man, there’s four of us brothers here.”
I raised my hand. “Wait, listen.”
The monster black Cadillac turned sharply into the alley, gunned its engines, and laid a patch of black rubber as Sheoblask floored the petal.
I waved my arms, motioning for everyone to scatter. “Run, get out. He doesn’t care who he kills.”
Jackman froze in disbelief.
I dug my hand behind Valentine’s belt, scooped Thomas from her with my other arm, and pulled them into Mother Abel’s yard. Valentine stumbled from the sudden yanking, but I managed to drag her with me and stuff ourselves in a tight corner behind the back stairs.
The Cadillac ripped up the yard’s fence slats, then dug a deep tire path through the dirt and grass as Sheoblask aimed its behemoth front grille in my direction. He swerved back onto the asphalt, wire and wood dragging behind the car. Jackman finally scrambled, evading the vehicle, but his feet became entangled by the broken fence parts, and he fell. He lay still for a heartbeat, sprawled on the ground. Then his body shot away from us, his face slammed the macadam, and, unable to free himself from the wire, he scraped along on his stomach, pulled by the accelerating car.
Ricky had pinned himself against a garage door along with the other two men, but he leaped out to give chase as Jackman scrabbled at the road leaving a trail of speckled blood and screams.
Handing Thomas to Valentine, I vaulted from my hiding place and yelled, “Sheoblask. If you’ve got something to ask me, just ask. Stop now and face me, you evil—”
The red missile taillights brightened as the car braked.
Ricky caught up with Jackman and wrenched him free.
Sheoblask stepped from the monster vehicle and pointed at me. “I am not interviewing you. I am not guessing about ghosts or analyzing dream-walkers as Steel would. I am tearing your world apart until the truth that hides within you reveals itself to me. The smell of your fear means nothing to me, nor does it matter that every act of violence drags you closer like a magnet to the tunnel collapse. It is the call of your healing or fighting magic, the strength you show in adversity, that I track. For that is when your secret God touches this world.”
“What’s with injuring and killing innocents?” I gestured towards Ricky leaning over the moaning Jackman.
“I am a destroyer. Is their another option for me to choose from? Who else would be sent to shut down the tunnels the rebellious Pan has chosen to do his mischief in? It has been proven already that you are the one to attempt to undo my mission, but with the destruction of the first tunnel, another entity has manifested itself, unknown even to the gods. It uses you. Sooner or later the pain I cause will wrench from you whoever hides within you.”
Shadow Creature.
Sheoblask looked at Jackman, then back at me with a wicked gleam, ironically challenging me to mend his torn-up body. If I did, he would be able to read further into my connection with my healing tutor. Revealing Shadow Creature didn’t seem to be my decision to make. But Jackman looked a wreck. I had to trust that Shadow Creature knew what it was doing.
Valentine was gasping, “Dear Lord, oh dear Lord.” Thomas whimpered about a scratch on his leg. Ricky backed away from the confrontation, leaving Jackman laying in the alley.
The two other guys were muttering between themselves hesitantly.
“What the hell’s this bullshit?”
“Fucker don’t look human.”
Approaching Jackman, I had no confidence in being able to call upon the healing power. It had always manifested on its own or Shadow Creature instructed me how and when to use it. I knelt by Jackman, yelled at Valentine to call an ambulance. Lips trembling, she disappeared into Abel’s house with Thomas.
The left side of Jackman’s jaw was ripped to the bone, his teeth looked splintered, and the tip of his nose had been shredded. His shirt was torn away, revealing a raw, bleeding chest. One shoeless foot lay so twisted it appeared to be reversed.
I looked at my hand, stained by dog blood, and touched his shoulder. He exhaled a weak puff of air. Who would I pray to for help? Was Sheoblask right? Was Shadow Creature a secret god? I pictured the black dog laying wounded in Abel’s doorway and heard the shadow voice telling me it was my turn to shine. A blue light surged deep within me. My fingers, as if on their own accord, began tracing the winged-dog power symbol over Jackman’s face. His eyes fluttered open, and the end of his nose cleared itself of blood as the skin rearranged itself back to health.
Sheoblask laughed and hefted himself back into the Cadillac. He gunned the engine, sending a cloud of black fumes into my face. Hacking and coughing, I noticed too late that the reverse lights had come on. I didn’t have time to do anything but duck as he rammed the car backwards at me. The bumper hit my shoulder, then I was under the chassis, a hot pipe searing my palm and fingers as I tried to push myself to safety. Writhing and twisting, I flattened myself.
The vehicle surged forward. Sheoblask laughed as he proclaimed, “I could do you in right now, but the wars between gods are not always about killing. Ha, dog magic.”
&nbs
p; Gunfire exploded.
I rolled away, trying to haul Jackman with me into a nearby yard. A series of ragged holes appeared in the caddie’s rear trunk as bullets ripped through the metal. One of Jackman’s buddies was waving a revolver wildly, cursing and crying, squeezing the trigger repeatedly.
The scream of an ambulance sounded nearby as Sheoblask roared out onto the avenue. Behind me, Mother Abel’s wheelchair came crashing down her steps with Valentine struggling hard to control the descent. By the time she reached the supine Jackman and myself, a crowd of about thirty people had gathered at the entrance to the alley. Ricky was yelling about how I had healed Jackman’s nose, and Mother Abel began hollering even louder, “He can heal a dog but not a black man. It don’t take no holy miracle to wipe some blood off an African’s nose.”
Mother Abel’s a lunatic. Sheoblask is a sadistic demi-god. And I think the Shadow Creature set me on a different path today. Witnesses—when had there ever been witnesses?
The crowd’s confused babble offered varied opinions of what had just transpired. About a dozen of the throng seemed to believe I had injured Jackman while another group listened to Ricky’s version of events. Rumors of a dog being brought back to life around the corner a few minutes ago sprinkled the conversations spreading along the sidewalk and spilling into the street. Passersby stopped and gawked, the curious came running, and the crowd grew.
I lay propped up against a fence next to Jackman, my hand afire with pain, judging my chances to just stroll away in the opposite direction without drawing attention.
The ambulance crew sat in their van until a police cruiser pulled up behind it. I could hear the squawk box rogering a call for backup and alerting a riot control squad. The police ignored Valentine, Ricky, and myself, focusing on the crowd while the medics strapped Jackman onto a stretcher.
I was thinking of hitching a ride with the ambulance and getting my burned hand looked at when Valentine began hauling me to my feet and yelling at Ricky to get his uncle’s car.
“We bugging out?” Ricky responded.
“Do you want to keep trying to explain that thing in the Cadillac? Or do you want to help get this man to somewhere he can fill us in what it is just happened?”
“You sure he’s even human?” He flicked his thumb in my direction.
“Right now, I think he’s the good guy. And what I’m sure is, this block’s going to blow tonight. I’d rather have my son and myself with someone who can heal wounds than with the people inflicting them.”
“I don’t know. His enemy looked like he could rip us in two. That guy was huge. Did you see his teeth? Man, they were like razors.”
“Ricky, you be damned. You’re the one who got us all into this mess. The man helped my baby on that bus, and you pull a knife. Why, for God’s sake? Look around at the results of your behavior.”
I guess Ricky chose to follow her because of guilt. I, on the other hand, quickly balanced the idea of facing the bureaucracy of the hospital and cops versus the soft press of Valentine’s tits as she put her arm around me to help me up. I fell into step beside her and little Thomas.
The four of us cut between buildings, escaping Mother Abel’s condemnations of false prophets and serpents posing as saviors. Her voice faded amidst the cacophony of the expanding throng and the sirens zeroing in on the gathering flashpoint.
On the ride to my apartment above Mandrake’s Folly, my right hand became too painful to move my fingers. Blisters had blossomed, clear liquid bubbled up from a red, raw palm. Valentine pulled Thomas into a tight hug and began to sing.
“Hush, little baby, not a word,
Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird”
The lullaby was sung as a soft promise that didn’t belong to me, but I closed my eyes and let her voice sooth the searing agony of my hand. Sometimes her song was no more than a whisper, other times hints of a husky timbre rose from a deep sweet place and surrounded us all. She was confident, the melody rolling out a protective cocoon that made me want to curl up in a safe place where I could cry away my troubles.
Couldn’t I hide with you for a night and listen for the mockingbird’s song? Why are you running away with me? Don’t you know—didn’t I tell you—that no one is safe around me? Would you believe me if I told you that I’m on a mission in a war between gods? Would it frighten you to know I’m guided by a shadow? That you could turn to sing to me, and I could be gone—crawling or flying or drowning in some god’s tunnel-dream?
Valentine never once looked up from her boy.
“Even if that diamond ring don’t shine,
Mama’s gonna love you ‘til the end of time”
The chaos of the doorway fight, the alley confrontation, sirens, and Mother Abel’s hellfire accusations faded with Valentine’s bittersweet words of diamonds and quieting babies and promises that lasted throughout eternity.
The song encircled me with memories of family and tugged at my failings that led to the improbable search for Sam and our child, but it also blessed me with a vision of Teresa and me listening to birds twitter as we lay entwined in a mossy nest in the Poconos.
The ache in my hand transferred to my heart as I wondered what happened to lost promises at the end of time.
Chapter 30
When I, along with Valentine, little Thomas, and Ricky stepped into my apartment, Ray was standing at a camera set up on a tripod in the main room. Two women sat, half-naked, on the couch. They both had their blouses unbuttoned, wore tiny patches of bikini underwear, but no bras. They were laughing, tits bouncing, nipples peeking, while they smoked a joint.
Ricky’s eyes blew open at the sight of them, and after a quick assessment of Ray and his camera, told the women not to hog the reefer and sauntered over to where they sat, introducing himself.
“Ray?” My eyebrows shot up, questioning him for the sake of Valentine and Thomas.
“Hey, Deets, I needed a room for a few hours. Didn’t think you’d mind. This is Dabbie Do It and Bubbly Hoo Hoo. Actresses. I’ll make a few bucks, give you a cut for the use of the room.
Valentine’s eyes withered me, accusing me of being exactly the demon Mother Abel proclaimed me to be.
Chapter 31
Valentine and Thomas stayed the night, then another, eventually settling in. Ricky and Ray became good friends.
“What do you mean he’s queer? He’s always with the foxiest chicks,” Ricky would whine incredulously.
Valentine nursed my hand with ice, juice from some cactus-type plant Ray said healed burns, and an antibiotic cream. She slept on the single bed with Thomas. Ricky, when he was around, slept on the couch, and I, on a cot that sometimes collapsed when I rolled over. Ricky seemed to have forgotten that he once tried to knife me. He also showed no signs of remembering the healing of the dog or the chaos of the alley behind Mother Abel’s. He came in one evening, dressed in a ruffled shirt and brand-new bell bottoms, said he had picked up a role in a film with Bubbly and Dabbie. Valentine worried about money, brought back news of her neighborhood’s protests and turmoil whenever she went out, and though I thought she wouldn’t return, she did. I bought Thomas some toys, clothes, and his own mattress, telling Valentine not to worry, that I made good money, and would take care of food and daily needs.
I couldn’t draw and didn’t feel like taping up flyers one-handed, so I sat around smoking grass, thinking about Sheoblask’s and Steel’s quasi-murder attempts. The way I saw it, Shadow Creature played a large part in my survival, probably with behind-the-scenes maneuvering and maybe being the source of the dream energies that aided me. Why was it helping me? For whatever reason, my guess was Shadow Creature probably had the clearest picture, of all involved, into the dangers my life had become. Odd, how the gods needed to probe me for insight and drew blanks concerning the existence of Shadow Creature. Who were Pan’s enemies, the consortium of gods Sheoblask answered to?
And were there others like me, mortals caught in the crossfire of a divine melee?
So my mind spun with gods and demons while my hand felt painful and useless. Ricky became involved in the neighborhood’s nightlife, and with every day that passed, Valentine seemed to ignore and avoid me more and more. Ricky said I was stupid. “Can’t you see? She’s taunting you for it. Woman’s going to give you shit until you show her who’s the man.”
But I thought her pride was damaged, that she believed I paid for everything because I expected her to fuck me in return, and she felt trapped.
Mandrake started to complain about strange phone calls he was getting about God and that white boy healer with the long hair and beard. People babbled about dogs and somebody’s scraped-up nose and wanted to know if the woman on the flyer was an angel. I brushed him off, but soon he was overwhelmed with the phone ringing and people telling him they or their mother or pet were sick or dying, and they needed that blessed man’s healing hands. One person wanted her husband raised from the dead and praised God until Mandrake, with an important art collector waiting for him, became exasperated and unsympathetically told her she was nuts and hung up.
Mandrake had realized early on that the flyer asking for info about Sam was how people were getting the gallery’s number. He asked me again about the religious hysteria, and I mentioned offhand to him that at times I helped heal people. Or dogs.
He burst out laughing, told me to cut the con.
“Artists. Someday I’d like to meet a sane one. Why don’t you cure your own hand and get back to drawing?”
Valentine returned from a visit to her old neighborhood and told me the story was going around that when Jackman had arrived at the hospital, they couldn’t find anything wrong with him.
“Is it true? Did you talk to him?”
“No, but there was rioting a few nights ago, and that store next to Mother Abel’s was burned super bad and not a flame touched her house. The word’s out that her digs were spared because of the miracle of Jackman and the hound.”
Miracles (The Remarkable Adventures of Deets Parker Book 3) Page 18