“In my teens, they let me join the protection run once a week. We were assigned a street and had to collect protection money from the owners of the businesses. ‘Business’ is too grand a word for what these people did - struggling to make ends meet in one of the hardest periods this country has ever faced.”
Seb wondered what period Walt meant. There was no way he was any older than sixty. More likely mid-fifties, which would make him a teenager in the sixties. A teenager in the sixties who hadn’t heard of The Beatles.
“The cut we took from these shopkeepers kept them just above the breadline,” continued Walt. “I didn’t much like it, but I needed to feed myself. And—by that time—it was all I knew. Until one day I realized we were avoiding one of the businesses. Nothing special about it, just a small florist. Bernbaum Flowers. Not only did we never get any protection money, we just pretended it wasn’t there. No one ever mentioned it. One day I plucked up the courage and asked why. Manny—who headed up the protection boys—told me Sid Bernbaum was an old friend of the boss. I started to ask another question, but the look he gave me stopped me dead in my tracks. ‘We don’t talk about it, ok?’. I kept my mouth shut but I already knew I was going to find out more.”
Walt paused while he filled up both glasses. Seb looked at the bottle. It was still half full, although he was sure they must have drunk it all by now. Another mystery.
“By this time, I’d learned a few useful skills. Late one night, I picked Bernbaum’s lock so I could search the shop. Didn’t know what I was looking for, couldn’t even have put into words what drove me to do it, but I knew I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life as a middle-ranking mobster and I’d half-convinced myself this guy might know something that would help with my career progression.
“The shop was dark, warm - the thing that really got me was the smell. You ever noticed how some plants don’t release their fragrance until night? Well, this place was so heady, I could hardly breathe. I went further in, decided I’d poke around a little. Then I remember just stopping dead in the middle of the store. I’d barely questioned the compulsion that had led me there, but I suddenly started to wonder what the hell I hoped to achieve. I got cold feet, decided to leave, but it was too late.”
Walt sipped his wine, seemingly lost in his own story. The train was slowing. Seb glanced at his watch. 9:08pm. He realized he didn’t even know what day it was. He looked out of the window.
“Victorville,” said Walt. “Not much to see. But the Chicago train never stops here. I wonder what’s going on?”
As the train rounded the bend, a concrete apron in front of a rudimentary station building came into view. A few people were huddled together at one end, looking toward the oncoming train. As the rest of the platform came into view, Seb saw about a dozen armed men, FBI logos on their arms and caps, waiting for the Southwest Chief to stop. Seb froze for a moment, then jerked his head back as he recognized a tall figure looking in his direction. Westlake. How the hell had he got here?
Seb got out of his seat. A couple of nearby passengers glanced at him as he lurched to his feet, panicking.
Walt twirled the stem of the glass between manicured fingers.
“Friends of yours?” he said. Seb didn’t reply. His mind raced through the possibilities. He could go back to his cabin - but were they coming on board? He could see if any passengers were leaving and try to slip off unnoticed. He scanned the dining car: no one else was getting ready to disembark. He could get out on the other side of the tracks and make a run for it. But he could hardly do that without other passengers giving him away, and he didn’t think he would be able to stay hidden long in an unfamiliar place with trained officers searching for him. What the hell could he do?
“Sit down,” said Walt, nodding at the seat opposite.
Seb shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I can’t. Those people. I’ve done nothing wrong…but…I have to leave.”
The train had almost come to a stop. The armed figures were heading for the train doors. Seb moved toward the aisle but Walt’s hand shot out and caught him by the wrist. Seb turned.
“I can help you,” said Walt, “but you’re going to have to trust me. There’s no way you can outrun those guys. Now sit down.”
Seb hesitated - he knew Walt was right about not being able to outrun the uniforms, but he hated the idea of just sitting and waiting to be dragged off the train by the same guys who’d already killed him once today.
“Sit down,” said Walt again, “and I’ll show you some real magic.”
12
Seventeen Years Previously
St. Benet's Children’s Home, New York
Melissa didn’t show up at St. Benet's the next Monday. Or Tuesday. On Wednesday, Seb plucked up the courage to ask Sister Theresa if she had seen her.
“That beautiful red-haired girl?” said the nun. “You like her, right?”
Seb blushed to the roots of his hair. Romance was not a subject he’d ever feel comfortable discussing with someone who’d devoted herself to a life of celibacy.
“Um, I guess so, a little,” he said. Sister Theresa smiled and winked at him. She was a portly women in her fifties.
“Ah, don’t mind me teasing,” she said. “I might have sworn my life to God now, but I did have a life before coming here and taking the vows, you know.” To his embarrassment, Seb realized he’d assumed the Sisters had always been nuns.
“Aha!” said Sister Theresa. “Gotcha! You thought I was born in a habit, right?” she laughed good-naturedly. If it had been possible for Seb to blush any more, he would have done so. As it was, he just shook his head in dumb denial.
“Don’t you worry,” she said, “I’m not going to embarrass you with sordid stories of my life out in the world. I’m just saying anyone with eyes in their heads could see you’d taken a fancy to that girl. She has a lovely nature, that one. I’m sure she’ll like a nice, well-mannered, sensitive boy like you, Sebastian.”
Seb looked everywhere in an attempt to avoid the kind, interested gaze of Sister Theresa. “Um, I haven’t seen her these last couple of days, Sister. Do you know where she is?”
Sister Theresa pulled a notebook out of her pocket and consulted it briefly. “Well, looks like her shifts have been covered by another girl. And they’re finishing up this Friday, so my guess would be she won’t be back. Maybe she got sick. I’m sorry.” She patted Seb on the arm. He managed to thank her and walked off, his hands stuffed in his pockets, thinking furiously.
All weekend he had managed to avoid Jack Carnavon. The older boy would have gloated and supplied details of his ‘date’ with Melissa, whatever had actually happened. Jack had been given an evening pass that Saturday and Seb had heard him come back at midnight. Jack had stopped at the end of Seb’s bed and chuckled quietly, but Seb had feigned sleep, his mind and stomach churning. For once, Sunday Mass, instead of annoying him and provoking his innate distrust of religion, had actually calmed him and let him think through the situation with a clearer head. He decided to talk to Melissa when she came in on Monday. Tell her he had intended to ask her out, but assure her he would not be upset if she liked Jack. Although, of course, he would be. Upset and scared for her. But he hoped with every atom of his body that she would reject Jack in favor of him.
By the time he’d managed to talk to Sister Theresa on Wednesday, Jack had contrived a couple occasions to find Seb and casually mention his ‘hot date’ and how ‘quiet girls always turn out to be the horniest’. He could feel the rage building up, but wasn’t going to give in to this animal impulse. He might want to smash Jack’s lying face against a brick wall, but not acting on that desire was what was going to help him grow into the sort of man he wanted to be. Which was someone completely unlike Jack Carnavon.
Wednesday afternoon, Seb signed out of St. Benet's, saying he was headed to Ted’s Music Store. The Sisters were used to him hanging around there, talking to local musicians and were happy to let him meet others who sha
red his passion, so long as he wasn’t back late and kept up with his schoolwork and chores.
Exiting the gates, he turned right and walked toward the intersection. When he got there, he darted a quick, guilty look back at St. Benet's, then turned right again instead of left. He walked quickly toward St Catherine’s High School, feeling bad about deceiving the nuns, but his need to see Melissa was greater than his fear of committing a sin.
He timed his walk to reach the school at about the time the girls would be leaving. He watched them leave in twos and threes, wrapped up against the cold. Some were met by parents and climbed into cars, others boarded the yellow bus for their trip home. Melissa had told Seb she only lived a ten minute walk from school, so he hoped he would get a chance to see her without any adult intervention.
The rush for the gates slowed first to a trickle then stopped entirely. Seb wondered if Melissa was really sick. In his gut, he thought her absence was more likely something to do with her date with Jack, but he was scared to think through the consequences of this. He decided to wait another five minutes.
Just as he was about to give up, his patience was finally rewarded. A side door of the main building opened and Melissa came out, her hair blowing across her face as she wrapped a long scarf around her neck. She was talking to a teacher who looked concerned, reaching out and squeezing Melissa’s arm while she asked her something. Melissa just shook her head a few times in response to the questions, then smiled and turned to leave, walking toward the gates, where Seb stood leaning against an old gnarled tree. That was when he saw the black eye.
At first, Melissa wouldn’t even speak to him. Her eyes widened when she saw him step out from beside the tree, then she pulled her coat tighter around her and walked quickly away. He stood there for a moment, his mouth hanging open and his hands spread in a conciliatory gesture. Then he jogged after her.
“Melissa,” he said. “Melissa, please stop.” She said nothing, head down, her short breaths making small clouds in the cold air. Seb stopped again, wondering what to do, then ran to catch up, coming alongside her at the corner. He walked alongside her for a long couple of minutes in silence.
“Look, whatever this is about, it can’t be about me because I haven’t done or said anything to hurt you,” he said, finally. “I wouldn’t…couldn’t do that to you.” Seb found his shyness evaporating as fast as his desperation became more solid. “I really enjoyed talking to you, Melissa. I don’t talk to many people, not properly, not the way I did with you. I lie awake nights thinking about you, wondering if you’re doing the same. I was going to ask you out, it took me all week to build up the courage. Then…then he got there first and I felt sick. I’ve been worrying about you all week. Please talk to me.”
Melissa’s march slowed a little and she glanced at him. She took a deep breath and stopped. She looked straight at him. The black eye was puffy, ugly, raw. Seb winced but didn’t look away. Slowly, she unbuttoned her coat and lifted her sweater and school shirt. Seb felt his mouth dry up as he saw the smooth skin of her stomach and side, tiny fine barely-visible hairs in a thin line under her navel. Then she pulled the clothes further and he saw the underside of her ribs. The left side was one big mass of bruising; yellows, blues, purples and blacks mapped out their territory across her skin. Seb felt his eyes fill with tears. He blinked them away against the cold wind. Melissa was dry eyed, impassive. It was as if she was showing him a school book. She seemed completely unemotional. When she saw the horror and concern in Seb’s eyes, she dropped the sweater back and re-buttoned her coat. She looked at the floor.
“He said you had told him to ask me out,” she said. “He said you thought I was his type, that you liked me as a friend but you were…you preferred boys.”
Seb snorted. “He’s some piece of work,” he said. “Couldn’t you tell how much I liked you?”
“Yes. No. Well, I hoped you liked me, but you never said anything, so…well, I didn’t want to believe him, but he was so convincing. He said you were his best friend, that you’d do anything for each other.” She looked up at Seb. “He lied, right?”
“He lied,” said Seb. “I don’t like him, I hardly know him. He’s not someone I want to know. Melissa, did he do this to you?” he reached out a hand to her, but she stepped backward. He stopped and stood still again. After a while she continued speaking.
“I told my folks I was meeting a girlfriend. They’re not quite ready for me to start dating. He said he was going to take me to a book signing. He said he’d got tickets and that it was a famous author. He wouldn’t tell me who, he said it was a surprise.” Melissa’s voice was toneless and flat. Seb noticed she hadn’t said Jack’s name once. “We stopped at a bar on the way. I said I wouldn’t go in, but he said they did the best hot chocolate in New York and I had to try it. I let him persuade me. It tasted funny. I think he put something in it. I felt a bit light headed when we came out.”
She stopped talking and walked off again. Seb walked alongside her, keeping his distance.
“Melissa,” he said. “Did he do this to you?”
She stopped again. He stopped alongside her. When she spoke, she looked straight ahead.
“He pushed me into an alleyway. He tried to kiss me. I said no, tried to make a joke of it. But he thought I was laughing at him. His eyes went horrible. Cold. He turned away and left me alone. I said I was going home. Then he turned back and hit me in the ribs. It hurt so much, Seb.”
Seb thought about moving closer again, but she sensed it, glanced at him, shook her head. She faced forward again.
“I couldn’t breath. I hunched over. I thought I was going to throw up. Then some guy came out the back of one of the restaurants carrying some trash. He wanted to know if everything was ok. Ja- he told the guy I had had too much to drink. He made some joke about it and the other guy laughed and walked away. I tried to go but he pushed me back against the wall. That’s when he showed me the knife. He told me what he wanted to do to me. Then he told me I was frigid and ugly. That he could have any girl he wanted. I was so scared, I didn’t say a word. I just looked at that knife and listened to his voice. He said if he saw me at St. Benet's ever again, he would kill you, Seb. He said if I saw you or spoke to you again, he would kill you. Then he would come for me and do all those things he wanted to do. Then he would kill me too.”
Seb felt two warring emotions fight for control. Overwhelmingly, he wanted to put his arms around this girl and hold her and promise to protect her. But he also wanted to kill Jack Carnavon.
“He meant every word, Seb,”she whispered. “He’s crazy. But he wanted to make sure I would believe him, so he hit me again. I didn’t see it coming. I fell over. He crouched over me, said I’d slipped on leaves and fallen down some steps. Made me repeat it. Told me again what would happen. Showed me the knife again. Said if I went to the cops, he would get away with it. I’d lied to my parents about where I was going. He’d told the Sisters he was going to see his uncle. He smiled at me. Then he just walked away.”
Seb could barely form a coherent thought. He could feel his heart racing. He had seen the look in Jack’s eyes when he attacked Stevie. He knew he was capable of worse. Far worse. What the hell was he going to do?
“I can’t see you again,” said Melissa.
“No, please,” said Seb. “We can’t let him - ,”
“We have to,” said Melissa, finally facing him. Her beautiful, solemn face looked up at him, the bruising doing nothing to detract from the impact she had on him. He wanted to hold her, to stroke her cheek, to kiss her lips. “I’m transferring,” she said.
“What?” said Seb.
“I’m leaving St. Catherine's. Told my parents I’d been unhappy for a while, but had been hiding it from them. I’m moving in two weeks.”
“Where to?” said Seb.
“Oh Seb, you know I can’t tell you,” said Melissa, her voice shaking. “This isn’t the movies. He could really do what he said he would do. And we couldn’t stop him. Thi
s is the only way to be sure.” Seb just stood there, trying to think of something to say, his mind racing. “Goodbye, Seb,” she said.
She walked away and this time Seb let her go, watching her as his brain seemed to slow and become numb. It was as if he had been drained of any life force, like he was watching himself from outside his own body. She stopped once, at the corner.
“I really like you, too, Seb,” she said. Then she rounded the corner and disappeared. It was the last time he ever saw her.
13
Victorville
Present day
Westlake stepped forward as the train slowed to walking pace. He turned to face his team. The FBI uniform was one of a number of options open to him when he needed to move openly. It was more than just fancy dress. If a concerned member of the public called the FBI to check, it would immediately be confirmed that a team was working in the area. Westlake reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph of Seb, holding it up.
“Sebastian Varden, aged thirty-two,” he said. “It’s possible he’s not on this train, but unlikely. Make a thorough sweep. When you find him, let me know. Do not, I repeat, do not attempt to bring him in yourself. He may be dangerous. Go.”
The figures moved to the train doors and, on a nod from Westlake, got on board. Westlake stepped away from the train and watched, his eyes scanning the cars.
On board, passengers reacted just as they should when confronted by a uniformed man with a gun. They were helpful. One Chicago businessman seemed to be sweating a lot more than would be considered normal in an air-conditioned railway car, and appeared more relieved than most when the FBI guys checked him and moved on. He had recently begun embezzling his employers in order to pay for a mistress in Los Angeles and—although he knew it was very unlikely the US Government would waste money arresting him using what looked to be a SWAT team—he wondered how he would be able to explain away the handcuffs, clamps, gags and whips in his luggage.
The World Walker Series Box Set Page 9