Absolute Proof

by Peter James

  As abruptly as it started, the tingling stopped.

  ‘Maybe the world needs a wake-up call, that’s what I’m thinking, before the Second Coming can happen,’ Delaney said. ‘Something no one can mistake. That no scientist can explain away. Something that defies the laws of physics of the universe.’

  Ross frowned, remembering where he had heard just these words before. The Bishop of Monmouth, Benedict Carmichael. He had said the same thing.

  ‘You mean a miracle? Like parting the Red Sea?’ Ross said.

  ‘A miracle the whole world will see and can’t deny.’

  Ross could see a steely determination in Delaney’s eyes. A force. An immense cauldron of power behind the darkness of his pupils within pupils, within pupils. It both awed and scared him. ‘What – what do you have in mind?’

  ‘You’ll know when it happens. The whole world will know. It is foretold in the Bible, in Genesis 9, when God said, “Here is the sign of the Covenant I make between myself and you and every living creature with you for all generations.”’

  ‘But how will you communicate its significance to a largely sceptical and hostile world?’

  Delaney raised his hands. ‘That’s where I need your help, you see. This is where you come in, why you were chosen.’ He nodded at Ross’s phone on the table. ‘The recording you’re making on that phone gadget – the gadget that the head of the US Patent Office never figured would be invented – you’re gonna need it one day soon. On that day, you’ll be able to play it to all the Doubting Thomases.’

  Ross felt a flush of embarrassment that he hadn’t asked Delaney’s permission to record him. How had he known it was recording? Had he seen him switch it on as he’d approached?

  Delaney went on. ‘It’s written also in Matthew 24: “The sun will be darkened, the moon will lose its brightness, the stars will fall from the sky and the powers of heaven will be shaken. And then the Sign of the Son of Man will appear in heaven.”’

  Delaney fell silent and sat nodding for some moments before he spoke again, with a faraway gaze in his eyes. ‘Soon, after I’m recalled, that will happen. You have the ear of the media. You’ve got the recording, Mr Hunter. You’ll have absolute proof.’ He drained his glass and stood up. ‘Guess I gotta get to work. And keep you safe for as long as is needed.’

  Ross stared at him. He was still struggling to get his head round any of this. ‘Where – where will this sign appear?’ There were a million questions he still had to ask him.

  ‘Everywhere, at exactly the same moment, in every country in every time zone. There is not a soul in the world, not a single living creature, who will not have the ability to see it.’

  Ross picked up his phone. ‘Can I get a picture of you?’

  Delaney looked hesitant. ‘OK.’

  He posed for a couple of shots.

  Then Ross asked, ‘How can I contact you? Do you have a card? Email?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have cards. I don’t have email, not any more. I’m here most evenings, pretty much every day except Sundays. You can reach me here for as long as I’m around. But that won’t be for much longer.’

  As Delaney turned away, Ross surreptitiously pulled out his handkerchief, picked up the whiskey tumbler with it and slipped it into his pocket. When he was back in England, the lab might be able to get Delaney’s DNA off it, he thought. Then he stopped the recording and checked it. At the next table along he heard Delaney’s voice.

  ‘Take a card, sir, any card. That’s right, don’t let me see it, though. Now write your name on the back with this pen.’

  Ross sat for several minutes, finishing his beer which he had barely touched during the encounter, deeply shaken and reflecting. Trying to figure out what had just happened. Was Delaney like Harry Cook; were they a crazy double act?

  There was laughter at the next table. Delaney was holding a small hammer and brought it down hard on an ice cube.

  The forerunner to the Second Coming?

  He watched Delaney pull a folded playing card from out of the remains of the ice cube. He unfolded the card and held it up. Ross could see writing on the back.

  ‘This your card, sir? This your writing?’

  Ross heard a shout of amazement.

  129

  Monday, 20 March

  A few minutes later, Ross paid the tab, left a tip and walked in a daze towards the door. As he opened it, with difficultly, he felt a blast of wind. It was blowing a hooley, almost a full-scale gale, which had risen whilst he was in the bar.

  It was dark outside now, with spots of rain, and the street was busy with traffic. He took a moment to get his bearings. There was a mini-mart directly opposite him, and a cafe next to it. He needed to cross the four-lane road, make a left, then a right two blocks north of Melrose, which would take him to where his car was parked. He pulled his phone from his pocket, impatient to tell Sally what had just happened, waiting for the lights to change. He began to text her, telling her he was on the way as he stepped out into the road.

  Then, when he was halfway across, still focused on his phone screen, he heard the roar of an engine. Saw the bright, blazing headlights of a massive SUV bearing down at high speed.

  Coming straight at him.

  Not going to stop at the crossing.

  He froze.

  Closing on him.

  The lights getting bigger. Brighter.

  Time suddenly seemed to slow right down.

  What should he do? Run across? Run back? He looked over his shoulder. And saw Mike Delaney standing on the sidewalk outside the Fairfax Lounge door.

  A split second later, Delaney was racing towards him, his arms reaching out, his feet barely seeming to touch the ground, almost as if he were on a zip wire.

  The roar of the SUV was deafening. The lights blinding him.

  He heard a woman scream.

  Then, before Delaney’s hands touched him, from nowhere he felt a massive force hurtling him sideways. Propelling him across the street like he was riding a cushion of air. Slamming him against the wall of the mini-mart, with a jolt that winded him, that felt like he had broken every bone in his body.

  All the while, as if in slow motion, he saw the SUV strike Delaney full-on. The old man was catapulted through the air and landed in a crumpled heap, twenty yards along the street.

  The vehicle carried on, still accelerating, and within seconds all that was visible were its tail lights.

  More screams.

  People ran towards the old man. Ross, as if in a dream, stumbled towards him, too. A pool of dark blood was spreading out on the surface of the road from his head. He lay still.

  ‘Did you see that?’ a man said.

  ‘He didn’t stop!’ said another.

  ‘Call an ambulance!’ someone else yelled.

  Ross just stood still. In a total, horrified daze.

  130

  Monday, 20 March

  ‘What’s with this ridiculous traffic?’ Ainsley Bloor peered angrily out through the darkened glass of the limousine’s rear window. They hadn’t moved for several minutes. He could see a Mobil gas station opposite, surrounded by lurid hoardings. The limousine crept forward. He stared at the bright signs. PLANET HOLLYWOOD. AMOEBA RECORDS. STARBUCKS. WHISKEY A GO GO.

  ‘Can’t we get off this bloody road?’ he said to the driver.

  The man at the wheel, who had no neck and looked like he was hewn from a block of granite, flicked his wrist over and the face of his gold watch glinted under the neon glare of a store sign. ‘Eight o’clock, Monday. Don’t know the problem, something going on for sure, but this is LA, you can’t ever predict the traffic. Sunset’s normally a good route this hour.’

  ‘Yep, well it’s not such a good route now, is it? How much further?’

  ‘Without this traffic, five, maybe ten minutes.’

  ‘Can’t we get off this road?’

  ‘Thought you folk wanted to see the sights.’

  ‘What?’ Bloor turned to Julius Helmsl
ey, seated beside him in the rear of the vehicle, who was engrossed in his emails on his phone. ‘Did you tell him we wanted to see the sights, Julius?’

  Helmsley shook his head.

  Bloor addressed the driver. ‘Look, we are not here to see the bloody sights, OK? We want the fastest route you can do to the Fairfax Lounge.’

  ‘Wasn’t the message I got,’ the driver said. ‘Message came through from my office that you guys wanted a little tour on the way.’

  ‘Well it’s not what we want.’ Bloor looked at his own watch. ‘It’s been forty minutes since we left the hotel – actually forty-five. Just get us there as fast as you can.’

  ‘It’s really a dump that place, the Fairfax Lounge. You sure you wanna go there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Trust me, smart folk like you, staying in a fancy hotel, you don’t want to be in a rat-hole like that. There’s a lot of better bars to visit. I can take you—’

  ‘Just take us to the goddam Fairfax Lounge, and step on it!’ Bloor said, his voice rising in pitch.

  Seconds later the limousine made a hard right into a side street, the driver accelerating furiously, squealing the tyres and throwing Bloor against his door. Helmsley’s phone flew out of his hands and he had to grope around on the floor to retrieve it. The next moment he was slammed against his door as the car made an equally violent left turn.

  ‘Were you a getaway driver or something in a former life?’ Bloor said, attempting humour.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ came the deadpan reply.

  Minutes later they made a more sedate right at a stop light, into a four-lane street lined on both sides with stores, cheap restaurants and takeaway places. Cursing, the driver braked hard as all the traffic in front of them slowed, approaching another junction. ‘Doesn’t look like it’s our lucky day.’

  Bloor and Helmsley peered ahead at the blaze of strobing blue and red lights. A police cruiser was parked sideways across the entrance to the next section of the road, roof lights blazing. Yellow and black DO NOT CROSS tape behind it, sealing off the road, was flapping in the wind. Two cops on scene-guard duty stood in front of it. A short distance behind them sat a big, square ambulance, emergency lights also blazing, along with several more official vehicles. They heard the wail of an approaching siren.

  ‘Where’s the Fairfax Lounge?’ Bloor demanded.

  ‘Dead ahead, half a block on the left,’ the driver said.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘We ain’t getting any closer, tell you that.’

  ‘I’ll go and find out.’ Bloor opened the door and hurried, almost bent double against the wind, over to one of the cops.

  ‘Officer,’ he said. ‘I need to get to the Fairfax Lounge.’

  ‘The where?’

  Bloor could see its illuminated sign, just fifty yards or so along. Almost in front of the bar was a white sedan with the word CORONER written on the door, and next to the car was a white van with a bar of flashing lights on the roof. On the front door were the markings LOS ANGELES COUNTY CORONER and the legend LAW AND SCIENCE SERVING THE COMMUNITY.

  He started to have a very bad feeling he could not explain. ‘The Fairfax Lounge, officer – sir – it’s just there,’ he said. ‘Can I go through?’

  The cop looked at him and simply shook his head.

  ‘How – how long – do you think – how long before I can get through?’

  ‘Sir, there’s been a fatality. I don’t know more than that. I don’t know how long.’

  At that moment another cop, this one stocky and muscular, came out of the Fairfax Lounge’s door and strode up to them with a swagger, like he owned the sidewalk. He and the scene guard were clearly buddies.

  ‘Gonna be here a while,’ he said, quietly, to him.

  ‘What’s the update?’ asked the scene guard.

  ‘Hit and run. Lot of confusion, the usual. Assholes taking pictures on their phones. Got a couple of good witnesses say the old guy was trying to save a younger guy’s life. Pushed him clear. Sounds like the SUV driver was drunk or high on some shit. He came barrelling down out of nowhere, didn’t stop, just carried on. Hopefully we’ll pick up his plates from CCTV outside one of these stores.’

  ‘Any ID on the victim?’

  ‘Seems like his name’s Mike Delaney – one of the bartenders in the Fairfax Lounge came out, took a look at him. Works in there, some kind of resident magician.’

  ‘Too bad his magic wasn’t working tonight,’ the scene guard said.

  ‘Excuse me, did you say Mike Delaney?’ Bloor interrupted.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said the cop who’d delivered the news.

  Bloor felt as if his whole insides were plunging down a lift shaft.

  ‘Mike Delaney?’ he said again.

  Neither cop replied.

  ‘I – I was on my way – to see him. I – I’ve got to see him.’

  ‘You’re not going to find him too talkative, sir,’ said the one who carried the news.

  ‘No – you don’t understand – I – I have to see him – I just – could you let me through, just for a few minutes?’ His voice was desperate.

  ‘I don’t think you heard me right, sir. He’s dead. There’s nothing here for you.’

  ‘Where – where will – where will they take him?’

  ‘Are you a relative of the deceased, sir?’ the scene guard asked.

  ‘Yes – well – yes – my – my cousin,’ he lied, thinking on his feet. ‘I’ve flown from the UK to meet with him. Family reunion. My long-lost cousin – we only recently got connected again. This has been a big emotional journey for me. Where will they take his body?’

  ‘Downtown, Department of the Medical Examiner. Mortuary there. Not a great place for a family reunion.’

  Bloor grimaced. ‘There’s only one mortuary he’d be taken to?’

  Very sarcastically, the scene guard said, ‘Look, pal, it’s not like hotels, right? When you’re dead you don’t get to choose your overnight accommodation. OK?’

  ‘You don’t understand – like – like – just who he is – might be.’

  ‘I understand fine,’ the other cop said. ‘I think it’s best if you leave now, sir, we need to keep this road clear.’

  ‘No – no – please, you don’t know!’

  ‘No one will know for sure until formal identification, sir.’

  ‘Where will that happen? At the Department of the Medical Examiner?’ Bloor checked. ‘The mortuary there, right?’

  Both cops looked at him. The scene guard gave a single nod.

  ‘Do you have the address?’

  ‘You’ll find it in the Good Hotels Guide,’ the scene guard said.

  His colleague smirked.

  Bloor stared at them. They did not understand. Did not get it. They had no idea who it was lying dead and broken, just yards behind their smug faces.

  But as he walked back to the waiting limousine, it dawned on him this might not be a disaster at all. It could be a golden opportunity.

  A plan began forming in his mind.

  As he climbed back into the limousine he said to the driver, ‘Change of location. Can you take us downtown, to the Department of the Medical Examiner?’

  ‘North Mission Road.’

  ‘That’s where it is?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Could we go there, please.’

  ‘Good choice. I’d spend an evening there over the Fairfax Lounge any day.’

  131

  Monday, 20 March

  Shortly after 10 p.m., Ross and Sally were seated in the bar area of a cool Asian fusion restaurant she had been recommended. She was sipping a margarita; Ross had already downed a double Scotch and was now holding a large draught beer in his shaking hand. Music was playing. Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’.

  An assortment of dim sum lay in front of them, although Ross had no appetite. His whole body ached and several of his ribs hurt, but he barely noticed. Part of him wanted to tell Sally everything, have her listen to t
he recording, word by word. But he was struggling to know where to begin and he was still guarded.

  ‘Hello!’ she said, waving a hand across his face. ‘Hello, are you with me?’

  He looked at her with a start. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m –’

  Somewhere else, he knew. Spaced out. Trying to make some sense. Sense of Imogen being here in LA. Sense of the fact someone had just tried to kill him. Sense of who he could really trust.

  ‘Tell me what happened tonight right from the start, Ross,’ she said. ‘Seriously, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘Maybe I have.’

  ‘The Holy Ghost?’

  He smiled, thinly. ‘I guess – I don’t know – I’m trying to remember the sequence. Of what happened. It was incredible, Sally. I – it was like – I can’t describe it. Something – otherworldly. I know that everything I’m going to tell you will sound crazy.’

  ‘Try me.’

  She managed to grip a dumpling with her chopsticks and raised it a few inches, but it slipped free and dropped back into the basket.

  ‘The Chinese mash them up first then scoop them into their mouths,’ he said, helpfully.

  ‘Very elegant,’ she said. ‘So?’ She picked up the dumpling with her fingers, dropped it on her plate, then began mashing it up. ‘Forgive me, I’m ravenous, but I’m dying to know. So what did actually happen – I mean, what do you think happened after you left the Fairfax Lounge?’

  ‘I started crossing the road, focusing on texting you, to arrange to meet.’

  ‘Not smart,’ she said with a reproachful smile. ‘Crossing the road and texting – you have a death wish?’

  ‘I was on a crossing – the lights were in my favour.’

  ‘Yep, well I’d rather you were a few minutes late here than early in the hereafter!’

  He grinned. ‘Very apposite.’

  ‘I’m good at apposite.’

  ‘Anyhow, I was part-way across then this SUV thing just appeared from nowhere, coming at me like a bat out of hell. I heard the roar of its engine, saw headlights. It was like someone was driving at me, deliberately. I froze, just rooted to the spot. I honestly thought I was a goner. I didn’t have anywhere to go. Then something – I don’t know how to describe it other than mystical – happened.’