The Skinwalker Conspiracies - 02

by Jim Bernheimer

  The psychopath deflated slightly, but a dangerous look crossed his face. “Fine! I’ll be back at sunrise. Don’t even think about double crossing me, Ross.”

  Watching him float through the wall, I was certain someone else could have handled that better, but I couldn’t stop being Mike Ross anymore than I could stop being a Ferryman.

  If I was lucky, the crazy son of a bitch would cross when De Soto was finally finished. If not, I hadn’t merely considered “betraying” him. No, I was already planning on it.

  Episode 22: The Dirty Dillo

  The road trip to Amarillo was quite possibly the most annoying and unsettling experience I’ve had in a long time. With the notable exception of that one time in Iraq when I had a Humvee blown out from under my ass, the absolute worst.

  I had Silas riding behind me, looking like he’d rather be squirming through a Viet Cong tunnel. Amos was in the front seat trying really hard to not say anything that would provoke the lunatic behind him. The giant knife Tabby made for me held protectively in his lap. He kept staring down at it, probably wondering if it would do him any good if the ex-jarhead, whack job snapped.

  Oswald was in the passenger rear seat, but the hairs on my neck wouldn’t stay down. It was like I’d borrowed someone’s rabid mutt and said that I’d drive him ten hours to the vet, based on a promise that, “Oh, he won’t bite!”

  After a hundred miles, two stalls, and the air conditioning cutting out because of the increasingly “flaky” electrical system in the Caddy, I politely … or as politely as I could, given the circumstances, instructed Oswald to sit in the trunk for the rest of the trip. He wasn’t pleased, but I didn’t want to push a car a few hundred miles because he couldn’t keep his temper tantrums to himself. The loss of the air conditioning wasn’t so bad with the ghosts in the car absorbing the sweltering Texas heat, but the power steering cutting in and out and the sudden stalls were a bit much.

  At this rate, Pastor Duncan’s Cadillac would be lucky to make it back to Maryland. Fortunately, he was a very forgiving man. Truth be told, I counted on it. The car would likely be headed for the scrap heap when I returned it in hopefully one piece to him. I was just thankful the car was still under warranty and made a note to lease cars from now on. It would be simpler that way with all the mechanical and electrical problems I expected to have in the future.

  Every time I looked in the rearview mirror, I could see him staring back at me. If William Poe was still out there, I’d be able to tell him that I’d run into someone that “out crazied” him by a country mile. I don’t know how many times the notion to reach into my pocket, charge some iron filings and fling them out the window crossed my mind. The little fantasy of me doing that and Oswald screaming and falling off the trunk and into the highway, as we sped off kept a smile on my face.

  Maybe Kennedy’s assassin wasn’t the only one who was a little unhinged.

  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Texas is one big effin’ state. Take the six or seven hours that it took to get from Dallas to San Antonio and add a few more hours to it. Over five hundred miles separated San Antonio from Amarillo.

  I’d like to say that “before we knew it” we were entering the city limits of Amarillo, but that would be a big, fat, stinking lie. It was a tedious trip and coming from an Army vet where all you could do was “hurry up and wait,” that was saying something.

  It was after midnight when we finally rolled into our destination and I was too beat to go out to the stripper clubs looking for an elusive Skinwalker. Suddenly, I felt like a very “old” twenty-four. I could almost hear the voice of Donnie Hodges in the back of my mind, taunting me about not being up for a late night on the town. Of course, this wasn’t exactly something I was doing for fun.

  On my last legs, I stood in the hotel lobby while the clerk located a room for us to crash in. Casting a glance over at the mirrored glass, I looked like death warmed over and then run through the garbage disposal.

  Cassandra Von Eckels was supposed to be in the neighborhood. The dirty skank of a Skinwalker was responsible for at least one attempt on my life and who knows how many other lives she’s ruined. She was long overdue for some payback. As much as I wanted to cross her as soon as I found her, I needed to get some answers. Old Cassie should know if William still existed and she obviously had dealings with the Walker who is running around in my dad’s body.

  So, I sent Amos out to “scout” the adult establishments and, against my better judgment, Oswald to go see what was happening in the graveyards. Settling into the welcome embrace of a hotel bed, I pitied any ghosts he ran across, but I really didn’t think I could sleep with him in the room. Letting the feral animal off his “leash” might make him a little more manageable.

  The sad truth of the matter was I needed Oswald in case Cassandra had something up her sleeve, which was likely. She wasn’t a threat when it came to power, but despite that, she’d hung around for close to two centuries.

  After a long shower where I mostly stood with my forehead resting on the tiles under the showerhead and let the water run down my back, I collapsed into my bed for the night. I pulled a phantom pillow to give me a third one on my bed and let out a little sigh wondering why a nice gal like Tabitha left me high and dry, and how I can’t afford to get rid of someone like Lee Harvey Oswald. The world just wasn’t fair.

  I slept out of sheer exhaustion and missed the feeling of rejuvenation that Paul Lawrence’s ring once provided. Groggy was the order of the day, and I wasn’t thinking about any pirates either. I’d have to look into finding some more objects with spiritual connections. Some of them might be as useful and I needed all the help I could get.

  Amos stood in the corner. My normally happy-go-lucky friend looked haggard and worried.

  “What’s wrong?” I didn’t need to ask - I already knew the answer.

  “Oswald,” Amos said. “I kept an eye on him. He cleaned out a graveyard and destroyed six spirits last night. I thought I was gonna have to stop one or two of them from escaping and letting the woman know we’re here, but Oswald … he was merciless!”

  I shook my head. “I know. I’m not even sure he’s the lesser of two evils anymore. Did you find out where Cassandra is?”

  He nodded. “I saw a couple of ghosts hanging around a place called, ‘The Dirty Dillo.’ I’m pretty sure that’s where we’ll find her. Since they didn’t seem that interested in the girl’s inside, I figured they were her bodyguards.”

  When Silas came out of the bathroom, the three of us put our heads together to formulate a plan … one that maximized my chances of getting information out of von Eckels and minimized the chance that Oswald would throw a giant wrench in things.

  Blending in with the dozen or so customers, I took a seat away from the main stage and nursed an extremely overpriced light beer that was included in the cover charge. The odd thing was, even though I’d been in dives like this since I’d first enlisted in the Army, I felt out of place. Maybe it was the knowledge that there was something after this life that made this seem so superficial, but I knew this wasn’t for me anymore.

  With no small measure of irony, I remembered how, back in Killeen, Donnie and I were around so much that we became the “unofficial” bouncers at the club where Sonya and Heather danced. We helped out when things got out of hand. In a military town, it occurred rather often. This place was a bit more upscale than I was used to, but it was still just a strip joint.

  The woman on the main stage danced to the Lenny Kravitz remake of “American Woman.” I could tell that she wasn’t Cassandra. I’d seen her dance enough in the body of Sonya Hodges. Those weren’t her moves and she looked awkward on the pole. The Skinwalker I was looking for could work that metal bar like no one I’d ever seen before. Decades of practice had refined her routine to near perfection. Even if the lights were too bright to see the slight spectral glow around her body, I’d be able to spot her.

  Originally, I’d wanted to bring Silas along
with me. With his ability to see just ghosts, we could have identified her in seconds. Plus, there was a joke about bringing a blind man to a strip club, but he wasn’t interested in any kind of spectacle.

  An almost topless woman approached and interrupted my musings. She was attractive enough, brown hair done up in pigtails, about my age, and trying to affect the naughty schoolgirl look. With an exaggerated smile and an arch of her back to display her wares, she said, “Get you another drink? How about a lap dance?”

  “Maybe later on both counts, thanks though. Who’s the headliner?”

  “Misty V. She’ll be on in about thirty minutes,” The dancer answered without much interest, while already scanning the crowd for the next person she could approach. Sadly, I didn’t look wealthy enough for a more determined sales pitch and I felt a bit miffed.

  For the most part, I feigned interest in the next few dancers, except for the brunette with the tassels, she was good. If I’d been here for recreation, I’d have probably followed her over to one of the side stages and tipped her personally. Instead, I gave one of her coworkers collecting tips a few dollars and redeemed my voucher for my second overpriced beer.

  As the latest song finished, the DJ made a few announcements while the dancer collected her clothing and tips from the “ringside” crowd as a male employee wiped down the pole.

  The pair of ghosts hanging around outside gave me hope that Cassandra was indeed here. The next few minutes would determine whether I’d been right or just wasting my time.

  “And now, get your money ready and give it up for Misty V!”

  The ever familiar sounds of Billy Squier’s “Rock Me Tonight” began and she came out. Cassandra hadn’t even changed her song. Misty was a leggy platinum blonde. The body wasn’t too different from what the ghost inside of her looked like. After a few dance moves on the floor and a couple of twirls around the pole, she pulled herself up onto the metal and in seconds was hanging upside down. The crowd clapped and wolf whistled as she unbuckled that complicated looking corset while moving herself up and down using only the strength of her legs wrapped around the pole.

  I’d seen Sonya do it hundreds of times and it was just as impressive. Now that I’d been actively working out and trying to stay in tip-top shape, I could really appreciate the kind of muscle control it took to do that.

  Most of her routine took place on the pole. Spending a good deal of time around Cassandra in Sonya’s body, I’d asked her why she didn’t dance in better clubs for the “big” money. She used to say that she liked the atmosphere around Fort Hood.

  Watching her now, I knew the real reason. She was already rich and probably had tons of money stashed away. Cassandra did this because she liked having power over men. My research into her was limited. The internet was pretty useless. The juiciest nugget I’d gotten on her came from her collection of “toy soldiers” back in the graveyard at Killeen. She’d been some minor Austrian noble back in the early 1800’s. Since she was more connected to William than Edgar, I’d guessed she met him during the older Poe brother’s merchant seaman days.

  There were likely several interesting stories behind her relationship with the Poe family, but I wasn’t here for a history lesson. My future was a more immediate concern. When the performance ended, I pulled out most of my ready cash and walked to the crowded area by the stage. She collected cash in her waistband, doing little poses for the guys nearest her.

  I slid a couple of Andy Jackson’s onto the part of the stage I was closest too to grab her attention. It took a minute, before she got over to me. She wasn’t really looking at my face when she came.

  “Thank you very much,” she cooed plucking each twenty off the stage and taking her time running them over her body before inserting them in her waistband. She still hadn’t bothered to look me in the eyes yet.

  “It was just as good as a girl named Sonya I used to watch out at Fort Hood,” I said. “She danced under the stage name of Cassandra.”

  That got her attention in a hurry. Her head snapped up and she focused on me. “Wasn’t expecting to see you so soon, Mike. Got a death wish or something?”

  “If you want to know, come over for a visit when you go on break,” I said gesturing to where I was sitting. “Don’t take too long.”

  “Thirty minutes, Ross,” she answered not looking terribly pleased by my presence.

  “You’d think forty bucks would at least buy a smile.” I turned and headed back toward my table.

  For the next half hour, I watched Cassandra work the semi-private area doing lap dances for one hundred twenty a pop. Even after the house’s cut, she probably cleared more than my meager monthly pension in that short span.

  As the girls on the three stages rotated once more, Cassandra pulled on a halter top and turned down an obvious invite to go back to the screened-off area from an Asian man and his fist full of cash.

  She slid into the booth I was occupying. “Time is money, Mike. You’re costing me a cool grand just by sitting here.”

  “Nice to see you too, Eckels. Give me the info I want and I walk out of here. If not, things just might get unpleasant.”

  She shook her blonde mane and rolled her eyes. “Oh please, I wave my hand to that group of steroid abusers and your little Ferryman ass will get dragged out into the alley and beaten to a pulp.” She leaned forward and thumped the table to emphasize her point. “And when they’re done, my other friends will move in and finish the job.”

  “Sounds like a good time, Cass. There are a couple of problems with that. More than likely, your other friends aren’t there anymore and the moment I get tossed out of here, my buddy comes in, and I don’t think you want that to happen.”

  She wasn’t impressed by my “tough guy” talk. “Aw, did little Mikey go make some new friends? It’s going to take more than a couple of civil war rejects to scare me.”

  “No, my friend is from around these parts. More specifically, Dallas. He’s got a few issues with Skinwalkers and because I’m a nice guy, Cassandra, I’m trying really hard to forget that the last time we saw each other you tried to kill me.”

  Sucking in a breath, Cassandra let a look of genuine fear cross her face. It only lasted a second before she banished it and reclaimed her composure. “Mike, you shouldn’t be dealing with a lunatic like Oswald.”

  “Travis said that too,” I quipped, taunting her with the implication of that little bit of information. “You’re both probably right. If word gets out, it’ll ruin my rep,” I said. “Besides, William wasn’t terribly stable either. I think this is definitely a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

  She crossed her arms. “William was just a megalomaniac. Oswald is a sociopath. There is a difference.”

  “Yeah, I took abnormal psych during the winter semester. You can save it.” I didn’t bother telling her I’d gotten a “B,” though in my defense, I was a bit busy during that whole time.

  I could see her searching for an angle and continued, “So, are we going to talk like sensible people, or are you going to call in the goons? It’d be worth a few bruises to be finally rid of you.”

  “Okay Mike, since you haven’t come looking for a fight nor turned your wild animal loose, you must want something bad. What is it?”

  “First thing is William. Is he still out there?”

  “You were in a better position to know, Ross. I was busy trying to get out of the range of your cleansing burst.”

  She could be lying, but I decided to believe her for the moment. “Pity you weren’t just a bit slower. Unfortunately, I didn’t see whether or not he was destroyed. So he hasn’t been in contact with you?”

  “No. If he is still among us, he’d be weak. He wouldn’t come out of hiding until he was strong enough,” she answered. “I ran in Baltimore and didn’t stop until I could possess someone at BWI who was flying west. It’s possible he is still alive, but he hasn’t come after me.”

  “Come after you?”

  “William woul
d see my sense of self-preservation as betrayal.”

  “That actually makes sense. Still, you don’t sound terribly worried,” I said, glancing at the bouncers to make sure she hadn’t given them some kind of secret signal. It actually looked like I might get out of this without being beaten up; that was certainly a change of pace. I tapped my knuckles on the lacquered wood, just in case I was jinxing myself.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time I talked William out of destroying me,” she answered with a shrug. “So, if that’s all you’re looking for, you’re leaving empty handed. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”