by Noah Harris
“Now you’re asking too much, Country!”
“Perhaps so, if last night at The Hole in One is any indication,” Laszlo said.
“I summoned a demon to scare off those skinheads,” Richard told him. “They won’t be coming back.”
“I wish you had that demon go after the pigs,” Tyrone said. “They’re a bigger problem than a bunch of bald crackers in dumb outfits.”
Richard shrugged. “There are too many of them.”
“Those demons are horny. I don’t think they’d mind fucking the entire NYPD to death,” Tyrone said with a grin.
“Mmmm, that would be a pretty sight,” Steve said.
Richard bit his lip, thinking of what happened to that skinhead. As bad as the guy had been, he hadn’t deserved that.
“Take care with summoning demons to do your bidding, Richard,” Laszlo warned. “It always comes at a price.”
“I know,” Richard said quietly. “I know that better than anyone.”
“Perhaps from personal experience, yes. But I have made a lifelong study of these matters and I must tell you that many occultists have overstretched their powers and ended up in the demon realm for all eternity. There can be no worse fate. Now let me explain the ritual. It is at its essence a disruption of the incantations and half-completed rituals that Anton Black’s cult have been using to weaken the barrier between worlds. Since the ritual was done on this Earth as an opposing force, the damage must be repaired in the demon realm. Both of you must go together. Will you be amenable to that, young lady?”
Alison turned pale, but nodded.
“Excellent. Now I can teach you the various incantations you must use, and I can brew up the alchemical mixture myself. The ritual on the other side will be fairly straightforward. The more dangerous part of the operation will be on this plane of existence.”
“How’s that?” Adam asked, taking a sip of tea.
“As you know, there are several ritual locations the cult have been using. Some are old, like Central Park and Untermyer Park, while others are of the cult’s own making.”
“Like the one in my apartment,” Richard said.
“Yes. We have to get rid of them. You mentioned that you felt the presence of the Hooded One once in Anton Black’s apartment?”
“Yeah.”
“I suspect he has a summoning room there similar to the one at your place. Also, you mentioned that the house where you were imprisoned had a summoning chamber.”
“Yeah, but it was different,” Richard said. “It looked more like the ones you see in the movies. It had a pentagram painted on the floor with candles at all the corners.”
“A triangle too,” Georgios said. “There was a triangle in front of it.”
Laszlo rubbed his chin. “Oh dear. That’s more than a summoning room. That’s a binding room. They can summon demons and use various incantations to bind them to their will.”
“Then why do they need me?” Richard asked.
“They can use the demons for information or to run missions on the other side, but the demons cannot move beyond the pentagram unless the lines are broken. The triangle acts as a protection for the summoner, who stands inside it. So even if the demon gets out of the pentagram the wizard remains safe.”
“What about those creatures that tried to seduce Georgios?” Richard asked.
“Succubi,” Laszlo answered. “They are special entities that can partially manifest on this plane of existence, although they can do no direct harm.”
“Those witch women were demons, I knew it!” Georgios cried.
“Yes, that’s why you didn’t want them,” Richard reassured him.
“I knew it,” Georgios repeated, nodding vigorously.
“So they still needed me to get the demons out into our world. All right, so we have to destroy these rooms. How?”
“Simple physical destruction,” Laszlo said. “The lines have to be drawn in a very precise manner. One flaw is enough to ruin their magic, although it would be better to wreck the rooms completely just to be on the safe side.”
“Easy enough,” Tyrone said. “I wouldn’t mind breaking into that motherfucker Anton’s place and busting it up, but how do we break up the ones at Central Park and Untermyer Park? I didn’t see no lines there.”
Laszlo shook his head. “Those are too ancient to be destroyed. The magic is too entrenched. I’m afraid we cannot get rid of them. They have become part of the magical landscape, like Stonehenge and the Nazca Lines. It would unbalance the forces of the universe to tamper with those.”
Richard raised his hands in despair. “So we can’t stop this from happening again?”
“If you destroy the three summoning rooms you mentioned, you will destroy years of painstaking work. Plus the repair of the breach between worlds will be even harder to undo. You mentioned the Hooded One struck Anton. The demons have little patience. If Anton and his followers fail once more, they will never be able to acquire allies in the demon realm ever again.”
Richard slumped. “But you’re forgetting something. We don’t know where Cliff lives, and from what you’re saying that’s the most important summoning room of all.”
“Didn’t you look at the registration?” Alison asked.
Richard looked at her. “Huh?”
The prostitute rolled her eyes. “The registration from the car you stole. You took it from Cliff’s neighbor, right? It will have the address on it.”
Richard slapped himself on the forehead. “Geez, why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you take so many drugs it’s a miracle you remember your own name,” Steve said.
“That’s going to change,” Richard told him.
“I’ve heard that one before,” Steve said in a singsong voice.
Richard ignored him and turned back to Alison. “The car has probably been picked up by the cops already.”
“No, Country, I don’t think so,” Tyrone said. “Plenty of cars get stolen in New York every day, and the cops had their hands full with the blackout. With the jails all full of looters they must be way behind in second-rate shit like picking up abandoned vehicles. Even the gunshot through the windows won’t look out of place right now.”
Richard perked up. “Hey, you’re right. Let’s go see.”
Richard and Tyrone found the car still there, sort of. Its tires were gone and it stood on cinderblocks. Fenders, headlights, mirrors, and of course the radio had all disappeared. Someone had even removed the seats.
Richard threw his hands up. “It’s only been here a few days!”
Tyrone grinned. “New York. Gotta love it!”
The glove compartment was open and had obviously been rifled through. Papers lay all over the floor. Richard rummaged through gas station receipts and toll bridge ticket stubs until he found what he wanted—the vehicle registration.
“Alfonse Dramus, 115 Pintafore Road, Brewster Hill.”
“That’s not far north of Mt. Kisco,” Tyrone said. “We drove through there a couple of times.”
“Now we can pay those bastards a visit.”
Tyrone patted the side of the car, “And give poor Alfonse his car back.”
Richard picked up another document from the floor and waved it. “Never mind, he had theft insurance.”
“Smart man. Shall we go up there tonight guns blazing?”
“Tempting, but no. Killing the cult won’t seal the rupture between the two worlds. I’m afraid we’ll have to go through with the ritual.”
Tyrone put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t leave it long, because such a display of affection could be dangerous even in New York City. “I’m worried about this, Country. What if you get trapped on the other side? And can we really trust this Candy chick? She’s a drugged out hooker.”
“We can trust her,” Richard said. He added silently, Look at my life, am I much better than her?
They decided to take care of Anton Black’s house first, attacking it that very same night.
Before they could do so, however, they had to pay a visit to an old friend.
Paco Garcia looked much better. Thanks to the medication the Everard Fire Victims Fund had bought him, he’d gotten over a bad case of smoke inhalation and had returned to work. His body had filled out, and his face had lost its wan pallor. As they sat in a cafe in his barrio drinking strong coffee while boisterous men at the surrounding tables smoked smuggled Cuban cigars and played Dominos, they caught up on old times.
“Glad to see you two patched things up,” Paco said. “And that trip to Missouri sounds like quite an adventure. I think it’s a great idea that you want to go to the Bronx, Richard. It would give you as much insight into Tyrone’s life as Tyrone got seeing where you’re from.”
“Yeah, well, sightseeing in the hood is gonna have to wait until another time. We were wondering if you could introduce us to that queer gang that patrols this neighborhood.”
“You mean the ‘Latin Lovers—Chicano Killers’? Why do you want to meet them?”
“We have some business we’d like to propose to them,” Richard said.
Paco looked at them suspiciously. Richard hurried to continue.
“It’s for protecting the community. Some gay bashers have been harassing us. We don’t want to hurt them, just scare them.”
Richard felt bad hiding the truth from this kind man, but he knew Paco wouldn’t believe the actual truth. Besides, too many people knew about this mess already.
“You on the level with me?” Paco said.
“We only want to smash up the place. No violence,” Richard said.
Well, no violence if there’s no one at home.
Richard was banking on Anton being at Cliff’s house. If he wasn’t, this plan was going to get even riskier.
Paco thought for a moment, and then said, “All right. Intimidating gay bashers is what those chulos do. I’ll introduce you.”
Richard let Tyrone handle the negotiations. With a little bit of free weed and the promise that the gang could keep most of what they found in Anton Black’s apartment, that evening they met with six hefty Chicano thugs who looked like they wanted to tear someone apart and eat them alive.
“So what did you tell them?” Richard whispered to his boyfriend when they showed up.
“I told them Anton sent the skinheads to attack The Hole in One.”
“Good enough. Now how are we going to get into his brownstone?”
“Leave that to the professionals.”
They waited until after midnight, and then sent Alison to ring Anton’s buzzer. They figured Anton wouldn’t open the door to anyone who wasn’t white. They watched from across the street as the prostitute rang the bell several times. After a long wait, she crossed the street to rejoin them.
“He’s not home unless he’s dead drunk or high as a kite,” she said.
“He’s not the type,” Richard replied. He turned to the gang members. “Let’s get going. You sure you guys can get in quietly?”
“Leave it to us, hombre. You stay here and watch the magic.”
As Richard, Tyrone, and Alison stayed in the shadow of an oak tree, the six Chicanos went across the street, moving as swift and silent as a group of cats. When they got to the other side, they blended into the shadows of the brownstone, hiding behind bushes or inside the covered doorway. Only one stayed in view. He gripped the bricks and began to climb.
Each movement was precise, with no effort wasted. A handhold, a foothold, a lifting of the body to grab the next hold…the ascent reminded Richard of the progression of pieces across a chessboard, all according to a set pattern and all moving towards a single goal.
That goal was Anton’s window, set on the uppermost story and left open in the muggy New York night.
The gang member grabbed the sill, hauled himself inside, and disappeared as quietly as he had climbed.
“Damn, that’s better than I’ve ever seen,” Tyrone said. “He’ll come down in a minute and unlock the front door.”
Just as they were about to cross the street, an older white man dressed in a polo shirt and bell bottom slacks came down the sidewalk on their side. It was odd to see someone like that out so late, and it wasn’t until he drew closer that they noticed a tiny little dog on a leash in front of him.
The dog stopped, stared at the brownstone, and started yapping.
“Shit, no bite but the bark’s bad enough,” Tyrone whispered.
The gang members were smart enough to stay hidden, but the dog walker peered at the building, obviously suspicious.
“I’ll handle this,” Alison said.
She strutted out into the street. For the evening she wore flat shoes, a mini-skirt, and a tank top, much more practical than her usual outfits, but revealing enough.
“Hey baby, wanna party?” she called out to him.
“Um, no,” the dog walker took a few steps away from her and stared again at the brownstone across the street. The dog kept yapping.
“Oh, but you’re cute. C’mon, mister. Buy me a drink and I’ll give you a blow job.”
“Now you go away before I call the authorities, young lady. I’m in the Neighborhood Watch!”
Alison turned up the volume. “Oh, you’re the Neighborhood Watch guy, eh? Well, Neighborhood Watch guy, where’s my money for that blow job I gave you?”
“Quiet! Get out of here,” the dog walker whispered.
“Why should I be quiet?” she shouted. “Will your wife hear? Do you live on this street? You shouldn’t pick up hookers on your own street, you boob. Now give me my money!”
The dog walker fumbled for his wallet, threw some money at her, and ran off back down the street. The dog stopped yapping as it pumped its little legs as fast as they could go in an attempt to keep up with its owner. It wasn’t enough, and the dog ended up nearly getting dragged along the pavement as the man beat a hasty retreat.
Tyrone and Richard walked out of the shadows and joined her as she picked up the last of the bills.
“You know, ma’am,” Tyrone said, “I have to readjust my thinking. Women can be damn useful sometimes.”
Just then, the front door of the building opened. The gang member who had climbed the wall motioned for them to come inside. His buddies appeared from their hiding places and hurried through the door without a sound. Richard and his friends followed.
They clambered up the stairwell, Richard in the lead. He had borrowed Adam’s pistol, a long-barreled .38 revolver which he gripped, ready to fight. He had rid himself of any remaining illusions or pity. If any of the cult members popped out of the shadows, he’d gun them down. Resealing the breach between realms was a good first step, but the world wouldn’t be safe until all the members of the cult had been eliminated.
They came to the familiar door, now hanging slightly ajar. They filed in and closed it quietly behind them, as Richard moved to switch on the light.
A hand stopped him.
“Wait a sec,” the gang member said.
He moved through the house, dimly lit by the streetlights outside, and drew all the curtains. Then he came back through the house, turning on all the lights.
“¡Madre de Dios! Look at all this shit, man!”
The gang fanned out, grabbing the stereo, the TV, and the microwave, as well as some fine prints on the wall. They admired the many nude male photos that Anton had taken and made a separate stack for them.
“These go in our clubhouse,” one said, rubbing the front of his jeans.
Richard had a quick look through them to make sure none were of him, and then led them to the photo studio.
“You can have those posters, but any other prints or rolls of film are mine,” Richard said.
“Yeah, we remember, hombre. Whoa!”
The gang members’ eyes lit up when they saw all of Anton Black’s expensive photography equipment. They grabbed it and moved off to plunder the bedroom. Tyrone and Alison threw the prints and rolls of film into a garbage bag.
�
��We’ll burn these later,” Richard told them.
“Right, time to get down to business, Country.”
“Wait.” Richard scoured the apartment for any more prints or film he could find. There was so much of it that he had to fetch some more garbage bags from the kitchen to hold it all. He didn’t want to leave anything behind. He didn’t want any trace of these photos left, except for what had already been published. He was going to wipe out as much of this part of his life as he could.
The next step was to take as many of Anton’s occult books and paraphernalia as possible. Richard, Tyrone, and Alison had all brought large knapsacks, and they hurriedly filled them with the oldest and most-valuable looking tomes. They also grabbed chalices, medallions, a brass candelabra covered in Latin script, and a ceremonial dagger.
Once they’d stuffed their knapsacks with all they could carry, Richard led them back to the photo studio, the room now stripped bare. He stopped and focused, blocking out the sound of the ransacking still going on in other parts of the apartment. He felt a hot breeze on his skin that did not come from one of the windows, and a whiff of brimstone. As he continued to concentrate, faint lines began to glimmer on the walls, floor, and ceiling.
Richard blinked his eyes hard and stepped out into the hallway, breaking the connection.
“Yeah, it’s what we thought,” he told his boyfriend.
Tyrone produced two claw hammers from his knapsack. “Let’s get to work, Country.”
While Alison hauled all their loot to the front hallway, Richard and Tyrone started bashing at the walls with the claw part of their hammers, gouging deep lines into the plaster.
One of the gang members rushed in. “What the fuck are you doing? The whole neighborhood will hear!”
“We’re doing what we came to do,” Richard said, scraping off a section of paint as long as his arm. Tyrone started working on the floor.
The gang member looked at them like they were insane. “You want to fuck shit up, why not bust his furniture or something? Why are you busting up an empty room?”
“Do your work and we’ll do ours,” Richard said.