Lovelady

by Wynne, Marcus

  The two of them looked at each other. I was reminded of an ancient triptych of Janus, the two-faced Roman god.

  “It’s my business to be a good judge of character,” Miss Emerald said. “There’s far more to you than meets the eye. You have qualities we find quite rare. We’d like you to join us.”

  “What is your first name?” I said.

  She was taken aback. Then she said, “Miss.”

  “So formal,” I said. “I don’t need a job, thank you. All I want is what you have on the girl. Then I’m out of your life.”

  “And we’re out of yours?” Wollheim said.

  “That’s a curious way to put it,” I said.

  He pursed his lips in amusement. “Miss Emerald has taken an interest in you, Frank. Most men would be flattered.”

  “Oh, I am,” I said.

  We all took stock. Wollheim slugged down his drink and grimaced. “Very well, Frank.”

  He turned and walked to a blade thin man whose expensive black suit hung on him like a scarecrow’s outfit. He pointed me out to the thin man.

  “I’m disappointed, Frank,” Miss Emerald said. “I was looking forward to working with you.”

  “That’s the way the world turns,” I said.

  The thin man walked right up to me, his hand outstretched. “Frank? I’m Larry Kane.”

  “Hello, Larry Kane,” I said. I touched his hand briefly.

  “I’ll leave you two to your business,” Miss Emerald said. She raised her glass in a mocking salute and went to join Wollheim. Kane watched her go, a hungry look on his face.

  “That’s a lot of woman there,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged at my non-response.

  “I understand you have some information for me,” I said.

  “You’re looking for Luella Pound?” Kane said.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know how much I can help you. Emerald sent her to me to work in my office, as a receptionist. I’m an architect, I have a big practice over near Lake Calhoun in Uptown. She worked for me for a few weeks.”

  “Only a few weeks?”

  “Yeah.” He shook his head in a good attempt at portraying disgust. “She was living in a rough neighborhood, running with the wrong people, got into drugs. I had to let her go.”

  “Really?”

  “She showed up for work hung over, even came in stoned a couple of times. I can’t have that in my business. She was supposed to be out front representing me and my company. She wasn’t ready for that kind of white collar work…she’d have been better off as a waitress. Didn’t have the inner poise, let alone basic self control, to handle a semi-professional position. So I let her go.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care, to tell you the truth.”

  “Do you have her last address?”

  He reached into his pocket and took out a business card. Written on the back was Luella’s name and an address. It was in the same neighborhood as Elena’s half-way house.

  “Did you ever hear from her after she left? Any request for references, anything like that?”

  “No, nothing,” Kane said. His eyes shifted around, watching the room.

  “Anybody come to see her at work?”

  “No. Like I said, I didn’t have much to do with her besides hiring her on Emerald’s suggestion.”

  “Were you fucking her?”

  That brought his attention back to me.

  “What? No!” he said.

  “Isn’t that what Miss Emerald arranges?” I said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t like what you’re saying.” Kane walked away.

  “Thanks,” I said to his back.

  I slipped the card into my pocket and finished my wine. My work here was done. I set my glass down on a passing tray, wiped my fingers together, and went for the door. Emerald and Wollheim watched me go, their faces carefully neutral. Kane stood in front of them, agitated, waving his bony arms around. Wollheim said something that stopped Kane cold. Then he turned and watched me go. Armando the security man waited till he had my eye, then waved one hand at me. I grinned and cocked my hand as though it were a pistol and aimed it at him. He placed a hand on his chest and staggered back, then laughed out loud. A funny guy.

  Outside the valet said, “Get your car for you, sir?”

  “No thanks. I’ll just walk it.”

  I went down the driveway and through the cars to where I’d parked my Camry. I was hemmed in by a Jaguar and a Range Rover. I carefully pulled out and turned around and drove back to the guard shack. The guard nodded with elaborate courtesy as he let me out and I made my way home. I took my cell phone out and punched in my home number. After three rings, Marcos answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Marcos. What’s happening?”

  “Whew, mano. This is some weird shit,” Marcos said. There was awe in his voice. “Rake, he saw everything. Got it down word for word. You, Miss Emerald, the Man, a guy named Kane. Even you drinking a glass of Merlot. Did you drink a Merlot?”

  “Yeah. It was good, too.”

  “Jesus. You sound like it’s no big deal. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.”

  “Did Rake say anything else?”

  “He doesn’t want to talk right now. He’s sitting down, drinking a lot of water.”

  “They need their cool down time. Don’t bother him. I’ll be there soon.”

  “The kids are spooked by this,” he said. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you, Frank?”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Whatever, Frank. We’ll be here.”

  I pushed the end button and set the phone down on my console. The wine coursed through me and my heart sounded loud in my ears. I took out Kane’s business card and looked again at the address he’d written. Make a run tonight or not?

  Maybe later.

  I wanted to see what my psychic had to say.

  ii.

  Rake slouched deep in my armchair in the front room, a distant look on his face. “You have to be careful. I don’t get a clear picture moving forward.”

  Ryan and Sarah sat together on the couch, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. I stood and sipped from a bottle of water while Marcos eased himself down into the other armchair.

  “I can’t believe all this,” Marcos said.

  Rake smiled. He looked tired. “For someone who can’t believe, you did a good job as a monitor.”

  “What is there to do?” Marcos said. “I just sat there and listened while you rattled off what Frank was doing. Just like he was in the room.”

  “I was in the room,” Rake said. “Over Frank’s right shoulder.”

  “You actually go there?” Sarah said.

  “Yes,” Rake said. “I’m actually there. It’s not always as easy as it was tonight. There’s always a lot of noise, interference, that interferes with viewing. But Frank, he’s got a calm mind. That makes it easy for us to work together. Some people, some times, their minds are all over the place, so there’s lots of signal interference. There’s a line, we call it the signal line, that runs from me to what I want to see and the less interference on it, the better I see.”

  “You see it like you see us now?” Sarah said.

  “Just like I’m there,” Rake said. “We call it bilocation when it works that well. Sometimes a viewer won’t actually see. He’ll get impressions, bits and pieces, that add up to a picture. But when it works well, then it’s just like watching a movie, except that I’m in the picture.”

  “Can you…do things?” Sarah said. Her eyes were wide in fascination.

  “I can’t actually do or change anything,” Rake said. “But sometimes I can communicate to the person I’m watching.”

  “How?” Sarah said.

  “I whisper in their ear,” Rake said. He smiled, shyly.

  “So you
can spy on anyone, see anything?” Sarah said.

  “It’s not that easy,” Rake said. “Sometimes, when the conditions are right and I’m working the right target, yes. But often it’s like I said…we just get impressions.”

  “So you could watch me in the shower?” Sarah said.

  We all laughed.

  Rake shook his head no. “There’s something to viewing we don’t understand, but it’s part of what we do. We can’t use viewing for unethical things. I can’t view winning lottery numbers, for instance...and I’ve tried! And no, I couldn’t watch you in the shower. I might get impressions of someone in running water, but I wouldn’t see you in the sense you’re talking about.”

  “But it’s possible?” Ryan said.

  “Anything’s possible,” Rake said. “With augmentation you could do that.”

  “Augmentation?” Marcos said.

  “There was a lot of experimentation with ways to make viewing better,” Rake said. “Augmenting the viewer with technology. Electro magnetic waves, microwaves, extreme low frequency waves…energy. Because that’s what we’re working with, the energy of the mind. I don’t have access to that stuff any more. I’m satisfied with what works for me and that’s what’s important. I don’t think much about how it works anymore.”

  Rake smiled at me with the guileless innocence of a child. It chilled me. “Works for you, doesn’t it, Frank?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It works for me.”

  “This is crazy,” Marcos muttered. “I can’t believe it and I’m in it. So what now, Frank?”

  “I have her last address,” I said. “That’s what all the posturing was about. Kane was an architect who hired her from Emerald’s company.”

  “How does a runaway rate a referral from a hot shot company?” Marcos said.

  “I think they’re scooping girls off the streets and taking them inside for prostitution. Some of them they shop out to clients for straight jobs. For cover. How ever it plays, they milk these girls for money.”

  “So what are we going to do about it?” Ryan said.

  Ryan surprised me with that. He was a quiet one, but he had guts. He’d shown that out on the street and that earned him some respect.

  “I don’t think we are going to do anything,” I said. “I’ve got one goal, and that’s to find Luella Pound and get her back to her grandfather. This thing has gotten out of hand. And it’s gotten violent.” I nodded towards Marcos. “I’m not interested in saving the world or even a little corner of it. I just want to find the girl. That’s it. That’s where it ends for me.”

  Rake slumped back in his seat, his head bowed. He spoke in a deep and slow cadence, each syllable measured for impact. “There’s violence ahead. I don’t see it clearly but it comes with a message. Frank, you could lose your way.”

  Everyone stared at him.

  “What does that mean?” I said. “I could lose my way?”

  Rake started like a horse trembling beneath a bridle. He looked up, surprise large on his face. “I don’t know. That’s never happened to me before.”

  “What never happened?” Marcos said.

  “Spontaneous trance,” Rake said. “I’ve heard of it, but it’s never happened to me…”

  “Lose my way how?” I said.

  “I don’t know, Frank,” Rake said. He was frightened. “What does it mean to you?”

  iii.

  Rake went home. Ryan and Sarah retreated into their bedroom. Marcos and I sat up over two bottles of Carlsberg in my kitchen.

  “This is the strangest night of my life,” Marcos said.

  I clinked his bottle with mine. “Here’s to that.”

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

  I weighed my answer. Fuck it. “Yeah. I’ve done it before.”

  Marcos nodded in understanding. “That explains a lot. Military?”

  “Yep.”

  “Only Special Forces would be doing this kind of shit.”

  “That’s right.”

  Marcos sipped from his beer and was quiet for a moment. “I knew some of the D-boys in Somalia. That your history?”

  “Not them. Something like them.”

  “I get it.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “So what now?”

  “I’ve got an address. So tomorrow I got to the address and see what I find.”

  “I’m too fucked up to back your play, hermano.”

  “I know. No need. I’ll go alone. They’re not going to play it like that.”

  “That’s what we thought. Now look at me.” He held up one bandaged arm. “I don’t understand why they’re so into you. You’d think they’d want you the fuck out of their deal.”

  “Miss Emerald has an unhealthy obsession. She thinks I’m like her daddy. And she loves her sick game playing.”

  “Maybe we can play them.”

  “I don’t want them in my life one second longer than necessary,” I said. “I like my life uncomplicated.”

  Marcos laughed. “Uncomplicated? That’s the past, hermano. Look at you now. You got your own psychic, a beat up bike messenger with a shotgun camped out in your front room and two runaway teenagers in your spare bedroom. How uncomplicated is that?”

  He was right. How had things gotten to this point? I didn’t know. All I knew was that it felt right. This was my connection, these people, this family I had chosen for myself. Had I chosen? Or had all this been chosen for me, part of a larger plan I was part of but couldn’t comprehend? Maybe that’s what Rake was talking about. That was something I couldn’t understand. All I had to go on was my gut, and that told me that having my people around me was right.

  “No lie, G.I.,” I said. “You going to be okay on the couch?”

  “Long as I got Mr. Gauge, I’ll be fine wherever you put me.”

  “You think they’d make a move?”

  “I didn’t before, and I was wrong. I don’t know about now. I expect you got some other little items of insurance around here?”

  “I’ll get something out for me,” I said. “I wonder what your buddy Joe Spenser would make of all this.”

  “What he don’t know won’t hurt him,” Marcos said. “I like Joe, but I don’t think he has a high tolerance for unconventional psychic warfare.”

  I laughed. “Good night, bro.”

  “Sleep well, Frank. Dream about Miss Gigi for me.”

  iv.

  I walked through a high school, down a hallway with a gleaming linoleum floor, towards a door that opened into the auditorium. The door was closed and Armando, Miss Emerald’s pet Cuban, stood in front of it. He smiled at me and drew a knife, a long bladed Bowie, from his back waistband. He walked towards me, relaxed and confident, the knife dangling in his hand, and with no word lunged at me, then back slashed with the big knife. I ducked back and thumbed open my Spyderco Military-Police as I drew it from my pocket and flicked my blade at his knife arm.

  I drew blood.

  Armando stopped, just out of my reach, and touched his tongue to the cut on his arm. “Tasty,” he said. “But not as tasty as the girl’s.”

  He slashed at me, driving me back with big sweeps of the longer blade. I stumbled against a trash can and took it in my left hand as a shield. He batted the can aside, and stabbed his blade through the bottom of it, tying it up just long enough for me to lever past the can and get my knife into him. I entered his belly just below the sternum, then leaned all my weight on the blade and opened him like a sack. His blue gray entrails slipped out of him. But he slashed at me, then lunged, the tip of his knife entering my belly, a sharp hot pain.

  I stepped back to give him room to die.

  “Frank Lovelady,” he said. “You’re not what you think you are.”

  He slipped to the floor.

  I took my prayer card with the picture of Saint Michael from my wallet. I read the prayer: “Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; may God rebuke him, we h
umbly pray. O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen.”

  Then I tucked the card into my breast pocket. Blood soaked my shirt. I ignored it. I was drawn to the door Armando had blocked. Light leaked brightly from beneath the door, from the cracks all around it. I opened it.

  On the polished wooden floor of the auditorium were the body parts of a young girl. Her hands, her feet, her arms, her legs, her torso cut in half, her head, the back of it to me, all set out in a square.

  “Oh, no,” I said.

  I went to the head, walked around it. I couldn’t touch it. It was Sarah.

  “Oh, no!” I cried. “Oh, no…”

  I turned to the door and Armando stood there, his bloody knife in one hand, his entrails hanging like the hem of a ragged shirt.

  “Hola, hermano,” he said. “She was sweet, wasn’t she?”

  “I killed you.”

  “You can’t kill me without killing yourself, Frank. I am you.”

  I woke up. It was four in the morning. My heart pounded and I was clammy with sweat. I swung my feet free of the covers and took my loaded Colt Commander .45 automatic from the side table. The tritium night sights glowed reassuringly as I raised it in my hand, then slipped out my bedroom door into the hallway. I went to the spare bedroom door, paused, listened.

  Nothing.

  I eased the door open just a crack.

  Ryan and Sarah were in bed. Ryan lay on his side, one arm thrown protectively over Sarah. Her covers had slipped to expose her small breasts. I watched till I saw them breathe, then I eased the door shut. I crept down the hall to the front room, where Marcos snored on the couch, the shotgun propped up beside him.

  Nothing.

  I went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. I put the pistol down. Sweat cooled on me. I listened. There was a faint sense, just the sense, of voices far off, not distinguishable as words but only the sound of conversation. But there was no one there. Every one else in this house slept soundly.

  Except for me.

  Then I remembered. I’d forgotten to take my Zyprexa. It frightened me that I would feel this disoriented after missing one dose. I don’t like thinking that I’m only one pill away from madness. I took my pistol and went to the bathroom and shook out a pill from the unlabeled bottle Dr. Marks had given me and swallowed it dry.