"You have business with my family?" the Gypsy front man asked, with twenty feet between them. Remo nodded toward the teenagers and tots. "All yours?"
Broad shoulders rolled inside the crimson shirt.
"Some mine, all Romany," the Gypsy said. "I think you didn't come here for no genealogy."
"You must be psychic," Remo offered, but the joke fell flat. "The fact is, I was told... I mean to say I'm hoping you can help with some information."
The Gypsy smiled and stroked the side of his nose with a nicotine-stained index finger. "You are looking for New Orleans, yes? You must go back the way you came."
Strike one on fortune-telling, Remo thought. He said, "It's not directions, Mr.... ?"
"Ladislaw," the Gypsy said. No telling if it was his first name or his last.
"Well, Mr. Ladislaw-"
"King Ladislaw," the walleyed man corrected him.
Remo let that one pass. "I'm looking for a different kind of information. I'm not sure-"
"About your future, yes?" The Gypsy's smile increased in wattage, pearly whites on bold display. "You come to the right place, all right. The Romany have powers. But, of course, it is no easy thing. We must-"
"It's not about my future," Remo told him, interrupting the sales pitch. "I need to ask about ...well, um, a loup-garou."
The Gypsy lost his smile as if someone had wiped it from his dark face with a washcloth. Remo watched his left eye jiggle for a moment, dancing to a different beat, before both pupils locked like gun sights on his face.
"Who sent you here?" King Ladislaw demanded. "You said someone told you to come here."
"Slip of the tongue?" Remo suggested.
"Now you lie."
"Okay, you're right. It was a Cajun friend of mine," he told the Gypsy, stretching the relationship. "I'm not at liberty to give his name, but I can tell you that he wishes you no harm. I'm not with the police or-"
"Why should Romany have fear of the police?" asked Ladislaw, his bad eye veering sharply north-northwest.
"No reason I can think of," Remo said. "Let's just forget it, shall we? My friend was obviously wrong."
He turned to leave, but barely took a step before King Ladislaw called out to him, "You stop!" Remo turned back to face the Gypsy, waiting.
"You say this friend of yours is a Cajun?" Remo nodded, kept his mouth shut, waiting. Ladislaw reached up to tap his own forehead, above the jerky eye. "Is he a special man, this friend?"
"I doubt it," Remo answered frankly. "If he had the power and knowledge, I suppose he wouldn't send me here, to you."
The Gypsy's left eyelid came down, as if to better study Remo without interference from the rebel orb. "You are a wise man, I believe."
"I know an old Korean who would disagree."
"Excuse me?"
"Forget it. Can you help me?"
Ladislaw had found his smile again. "My eldest daughter has considerable knowledge of such matters. She is, how you say?" The Gypsy raised a hand and tapped his head again.
"Brunette?" Remo suggested.
"Sensitive!" King Ladislaw seemed pleased that he was able to recall the word. "Of course, it still requires great effort, sometimes pain. For something dangerous, like loup-garou, two hundred dollars."
It was Remo's turn to smile. "I'm after information, not the pelt," he said. "I'll give you fifty down, and match it afterward if I'm completely satisfied."
The Gypsy king seemed infinitely pained, but he was clearly in his element, adept at dickering. "For such a risk," he said, "one-fifty is the best that I can do."
Remo considered it, deciding what the hell. It was CURE's money, anyway, and fifty bucks was nothing to the organization that had eluded government auditors for decades on end.
"Half down," he said.
"A deal!" King Ladislaw relieved him of the cash and led him to the former school bus, where the back door-once reserved for exit in emergencies-now stood ajar.
"Step in, my friend," the Gypsy said, "and learn what you must know. I only hope you do not see too much."
Chapter 8
The windows in the rear part of the bus were painted over, but some fading daylight spilled in through the open doorway, and the space inside was lit with candles. Remo counted twelve candles while he was waiting for his eyesight to adjust, examining the portion of the bus that had been artfully converted to a kind of sitting room. The rug beneath his feet was clean and looked handwoven. Furniture consisted of some large embroidered pillows in the place of chairs, with a low table just in front of him, standing ankle high. Remo was put in mind of certain geisha houses he had visited ...until he saw the girl.
She occupied a cushion on the far side of the table, sitting with her back against a folding screen that blocked his vision of the bus interior beyond that point. In fact, he didn't care what lay beyond the barrier, so captivated was be with the girl. She wore an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse with puff sleeves and a ruffled skirt that hid her legs completely. Tawny cleavage showed above the scoop neck of her blouse, but Remo's eyes were drawn inexorably to her heart-shaped face, framed by jetblack hair that spilled across her naked shoulders. Her complexion was a light cafe au lait, and while she didn't have her father's eyes, it seemed that perfect teeth ran in the family.
"Your father said-"
"Sit, please."
Her voice was soft but firm. He did as he was told, and quickly scanned the tabletop, noting the crystal ball that stood to one side, near a deck of tarot cards.
"I am Aurelia Boldiszar. And you are..?"
"Remo," he replied.
"Not such a common name. What is it that you wish to know?" she asked.
Remo was tempted to suggest that she tell him, but Master Chiun had frequently reminded him-in diplomatic terms, of course-that no one liked a smart-ass.
Remo said, "A Cajun friend of mine told me that Gypsies-"
"Romany," she said, correcting him.
"Okay, that Romany could give me information of a certain nature, and your father told me you're the one to see."
"My father." There was something in her smile, but Remo couldn't make it out and told himself it was a waste of time to try. "This 'information of a certain nature,'" she went on. "Can you be more specific?"
"It concerns a loup-garou."
If she was startled by his statement, she concealed it like a pro. There was no show of fear, not even hesitation, as she ordered, "Let me see your hands."
"Say what?"
"Your hands. Palms up, please."
"I don't need-"
"I need to see your hands," she told him, with enough steel in her voice that Remo offered up his open palms.
Aurelia studied each in turn, some twenty seconds each, and then sat back, appearing to relax. "You are not loup-garou," she said.
"I could have told you that."
"A loup-garou would lie," she told him. "Some, despite their power, strive for greater knowledge, greater skill. They do not shrink from subterfuge."
"Uh-huh." He made a vain attempt to hide the skepticism in his tone, but her expression told him he had failed.
"You don't believe in loups-garous," she said, "and yet you come in search of information on their habits-and, I think, their weaknesses. Why do you waste your time and money, Mr. Remo?"
"Just plain Remo."
"You avoid my question, Just Plain Remo."
"What I search for is a loup-garou, but it is one that is made by science. Not magic."
She considered that. There was wisdom residing in the depths of her eyes. "Does it matter?"
He was wondering how much to tell her. If she was possessed of psychic powers, there would be no point in trying to conceal the truth. Conversely, if she was a charlatan, he had already wasted time and money on a wild-goose chase.
"Well, yeah. I mean, I assume a mutant created by science is not going to behave like a guy who goes all feral when the moon's full."
"And you seek the loup-garou why?"
"I'm a security consultant," he said, treading softly on the borderline of truth. "My present client, one whom I have promised to protect, is being hunted by bad men."
"In other words, he has a contract on his head." Her smile was almost taunting. "I'm not an idiot, all right, Just Plain Remo? Just run it down."
He smiled in spite of himself. "Okay. Some of my client's late associates have died-been killed-in the past few months, apparently attacked by a large animal. The man I'm working for insists they were the victims of a loup-garou, a werewolf. He insists the thing is coming after him and that there's no way to avoid it. He suggested I talk to Gyp-I mean, to Romany, and get more information. I decided that it wouldn't hurt to humor him."
She sat there looking at him before she gave him a nudge. "There's more to it than that. You think this is a laboratory-created monster."
"Yes."
"So you do not disbelieve in the loup-garou. That's strange enough for a policeman. Or-" Aurelia Boldiszar smiled slightly "-whatever you are."
Abruptly she was all business, turning her gaze intently into his hand. "This I see. You are indeed protecting someone, but he is not your employer. You would not take money from this man, but someone else prevails upon you to defend his life. You demonstrate humility in describing yourself as a security consultant-you are certainly a great deal more than that."
"Well..."
"You did not seek me out to humor anyone," she declared flatly. "For that, you could have left your client where he is and simply gone to dinner. Kill some time, then tell him that you saw the Gypsies. He would never know the difference. You are here because you seek out certain information for yourself."
"Meaning?"
"You want to believe the loup-garou is what you think it is-a science experiment gone bad-but you're not sure. You have seen something else, long ago, not in America, I think, and it makes you wonder. Something..." She considered it for several moments, finally shook her head. "No. Much about you is shrouded in darkness. Your past is a swirl of images that seem real and can't possibly be real. Your present is like the presence of something giant and huge out of the old myths. Except I don't picture the giants of legend wearing goofy grins like they just saw their first dirty magazine. Your future-" Aurelia Boldiszar shuddered.
Remo Williams stopped the goofy grinning. "What about my future?"
"It is difficult-" What was difficult she did not say. Even the speaking seemed to be an effort.
"Tell me," he commanded sharply.
She looked up. Her dark eyes glimmered with moisture. "It is indecipherable," she said, her words fracturing, and for the first time she was something other than in control.
"You're lying," Remo snapped.
She shook her beautiful head very slightly. "No. I speak the truth, Just Plain Remo. I see something that I think is your future. I see you. I see the swirling darkness and chaos of your life. I see your fathers and your daughters and your sons, battling one another......
Remo blinked. "You got the part about the fathers right," he said. "But as for the daughters and sons, there's just one of each."
She just looked at him.
"Tell me the truth," he said quietly.
"Somehow, you would know if I was lying to you," she said. "I believe that what I say is true, and believe it because I have seen it. You must decide if what I see is true."
She was right. Remo could hear her conviction in the beat of her heart and the rhythm of her breath. He could see it in the pattern of her pupils' dilation.
"I have one son," Remo Williams declared flatly. "I have one daughter. That's all."
They both knew he was trying to convince himself. He felt his face warm up and willed his circulation to get control of itself.
"You're distressed."
"Distressed?" Remo demanded. "Lady, three minutes ago my biggest concern was a swamp-dwelling wolf man and how to talk you out of your Romany uniform. Now you tell me I've got more kids than I know about and soon they'll be fighting among themselves."
"I did not say soon," she protested. "I did not say when."
"Whatever. Just threw me for a loop."
"That means you believe in what I say?"
Remo looked at the Romany princess and exhaled a long, long time and it sounded like the word "crap" stretched out inhumanely.
The problem was, he didn't want to believe in this kind of mumbo jumbo. The other problem was, this was the kind of mumbo jumbo that came true for him with annoying frequency.
"Back to the subject in hand, so to speak," he announced, trying to get his own mind back on track. "The Loopy Garou of the Backwoods Bayou."
"Whether he is the product of dark art or dark science, he's not to be taken lightly," the dark-eyed woman chided him. "This is advice that comes not from a vision. It comes from something I have seen with my own eyes."
"You've seen a werewolf?" Remo asked.
"I've seen enough," Aurelia Boldiszar said. "Beyond that, I can tell you that there is a loup-garou near by. Within a day's walk of New Orleans, perhaps. Whether he is the one you seek-or who seeks you-I cannot say. If so, it won't be long before he takes your scent. Your client is at risk, and so are you."
"I should be stocking up on silver bullets, then?"
"You're pleased to joke," she said. "So be it. But remember this, Remo. Like you, the loup-garou is not as other men. He can be beaten, even killed, but it requires more dedication to the task than you may be accustomed to."
"How do you know what I'm accustomed to?" asked Remo, curiosity encroaching on uneasiness. Would Harold Smith consider a seer's seeing as a breach in CURE security?
"Loups-garous and Romany have never been good friends," she said. "I may be able to assist you in your search."
"Well... "
"At the moment," she continued, "I do not know where this loup-garou is hiding, if or when he will approach you, but I may be able to discover more if I apply myself."
"How much?"
"My treat," she said, and flashed another dazzling smile. "I am interested in the manner of man you are. Tracing palms and looking into the crystal and reading the tarot, these are imprecise methods of divination. To understand the person and his soul and his fate, one must live within the arm's length of his or her aura."
"Yeah, well, maybe I'm one of those people you don't want to know," Remo said, and he realized he was offering her a way out. But he was fervently hoping she wouldn't take it.
"My choice, my risk," Aurelia said.
He saw no downside to it and responded with a shrug, "Why not? I'm at Desire House, in the Quarter. That's on Tchoupitoulas Street. Don't ask me how to spell it."
She was smiling now. "Desire House?"
"From what I've seen, it's nowhere near as friendly as it sounds."
"You'll hear from me," Aurelia said.
"Good night."
Outside, King Ladislaw was waiting to accept the other half of the one-fifty. Remo handed it over. "You are satisfied?" the Gypsy asked.
"Ask me again tomorrow," Remo answered, "If I'm still alive."
LEON WAS DRESSING out a raccoon, ready to discard the guts for anyone who might desire them, when the bitch heard trouble coming. Privately, he could admit that every other member of the pack had keener senses than his own. It galled him, but there was no arguing with simple facts of life. Whenever it began to get him down, Leon consoled himself with a reminder that he had the only working set of thumbs in camp, and thus was still the only one among them who could drive the van.
He had no license, registration or insurance, granted, but such details were a bore. Leon dismissed them out of hand. He liked to think of the Dodge Ram as his inheritance, although its former owner was no kin of his. They hadn't even known each other, really. Their acquaintance lasted all of six or seven seconds, while his shaggy hands enclosed the driver's head and twisted sharply to the left, with force enough to snap his neck and end his life.
Good eating, he had been. Not sc
rawny, like so many of the bayou dwellers Leon saw when he was out on hunting expeditions. Mr. Dodge Ram had been positively plump and redolent with health, a feast unto himself. A gift of Providence, which Leon had accepted in addition to the van.
Now he laid the 'coon aside, rose from his crouch, pricked up his ears. The others had begun to melt into the undergrowth before he rose, anticipating his command and acting on it while the thought was taking shape in Leon's head. It never crossed his mind that maybe they were leading him, and not the other way around.
He was the loup-garou. He ruled the pack and he always would.
At least as long as he was cozy with the bitch. He started moving toward the water, following his nose and instinct, picking up the first sounds from the skiff before he cleared the chest-high reeds. Deep night and trailing Spanish moss concealed him as he watched the lone intruder moving closer, paddling his cheap flat-bottomed boat and watching out for landmarks on the bank.
He didn't recognize the boatman yet, moonlight behind him making him a silhouette against the restless water, but the man was close enough now that he caught a smell he recognized. It was the smell of fear.
Off to his left, Leon heard one of his brothers approaching the water's edge. A "normal" man would probably have missed it, but the leader of the pack knew swamp sounds, and he knew at least approximately where the others were right now. The bitch was roughly fifteen yards to Leon's right, downstream, which put her closest to the new arrival. If the man kept veering toward the shoreline with his skiff, she could spring out and join him by the time he reached her hiding place.
The small man in the skiff stopped paddling then, as if he had picked up on Leon's thought somehow. It made no sense, of course. More likely he was tired, or maybe lost. Good luck if that turned out to be the case. A man could sit for hours in the bayou country, searching for familiar landmarks, and come up with nothing. He could sit forever, until the ants and larger scavengers arrived to pick his bones.
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