by Unknown
“What’s going on here?”
“Well, this is all just so… so much,” Fred said. “I mean, the three of us have had some time to get used to things…”
“Kate, did you raise me to be a liar?” Leslie asked. Kate rolled her eyes.
“I’m not asking you to lie, but…”
“A lie of omission is still a lie. Don’t you think this man has suffered enough without having more shocks in store?”
“What lie?” Ralph asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Kate said. Ralph didn’t believe her.
“Think about, what was it, the doctrine of double effect,” Fred said, nodding at Leslie and Ralph. “If something has good and bad effects, you have to weigh both…”
“Hey, wait a minute here,” Ralph said, all of his old suspicion crashing back on him. “What are you three talking about? I’m still here, you know. What the hell is going on?”
The other three were silent for a moment. Fred shrugged and threw up his hands. “If you think it’ll spare him suffering…”
Leslie’s face turned red beneath the makeup, but her words were composed. “They don’t think I should tell you that, uh, I was born your son.”
Ralph just stared. With a jerky movement, Leslie pulled off her scarf.
“Oh… oh no…” Ralph muttered. Then his teeth clenched and his hand lashed out in a powerful backhand.
Leslie’s hands flew up to protect her face, but there was still a loud impact as flesh hit flesh. Kate lunged in, trying to grab Ralph’s arm.
“You!” Ralph couldn’t think of a word bad enough. His face was clenched, bright red, and he shoved Kate back as hard as he could. She stumbled and fell, skinning her palms on the rough concrete sidewalk. Leslie lurched back across the lawn, hands up, as Ralph chugged forward at her.
“Trip,” Fred muttered. He took two small, quick steps in and body-checked Ralph just as the big man’s foot caught on a wooden duck whose wings spun in the wind. The wood tore and splintered as the exterminator took three offbalanced steps to the side, but he did not fall. Instead, he turned and punched Fred in the face as hard as he could. Fred crumpled to the ground, both knees hitting the concrete hard enough to make him shout.
“What’s goin’ on out there?” A window opened in a house across the street, and a concerned and curious face appeared.
“Mind your own fuckin’ business!” Ralph bellowed.
“I’m callin’ the cops!” The window slammed shut.
“You bastard!” Ralph shouted, aiming a kick at Fred’s fallen form. “You fuckin’ bastard!” Fred covered his ribs with his arms and scuttled away from the kicks as fast as he could.
“Leave him alone!” Leslie cried, getting between her father and Fred.
“And you! You sick, lyin’ piece of faggot shit!” Ralph shoved Leslie as hard as he could. She stumbled back, tripped on Fred, and sprawled on the lawn.
“That’s enough of that,” Kate said. While no one was looking, she had stood up and drawn a revolver from her purse. When Ralph turned to look, she drew the hammer back.
Ralph stared, breathing heavily, face contorted with rage. He glanced at Leslie and Fred, who were stumbling to their feet, and his eyes narrowed.
“I will,” Kate warned, stepping forward and raising the pistol slightly.
“Get out of here,” Ralph said in a low voice. “Take your lying husband and your freak sicko kid and haul your nigger ass outta my town, bitch.”
“We’re going,” Kate said, slowly backing towards her car.
Nothing more was said until the Mundys had slammed their doors and started to drive away.
“Well, that didn’t go so well,” Kate said. Leslie made no reply. She was shaking slightly. She turned and looked at her father, who was crumpled in a ball in the back seat.
“Dad? You okay?”
His breathing was choked and ugly. Blood was pouring from a cut lip, and he was obviously trying not to sob.
“Don’t look at me.”
Reluctantly, Leslie turned away.
In the back of the Honda, rolled in a ball of hatred and humiliation, Fred’s soul caressed the power it had gathered with the knifeplay, with the trip to the laundromat, with other stupid risks, other blatant invitations to bad luck. The bad luck had come and now it was his to mold and cast, and he focused his mind and whispered the words “My curse on you, Ralph Kimble.”
Behind them, a cop eventually arrived to find Ralph sitting on the steps, head in hands, crying.
There’s no place
Like home
CHAPTER FIVE
At the Berghoff restaurant in Chicago, there were mutters, whispers and stares.
“Is that…?”
“Can’t be…”
“Wasn’t she in…?”
The overall consensus was that, although the woman who walked right in, ignoring the reservations podium, bore a great resemblance to Nicole Kidman, it probably wasn’t her. The features and figure were right, but there was a certain stiff, plain awkwardness—not only in the way she moved, but in the way she held her aloof expression on her face. She couldn’t quite carry it off. Maybe the hair wasn’t exactly right.
Nonetheless, many men paid attention. Some even found her slight limp alluring. They had not, of course, heard her speak.
The woman who wasn’t quite Nicole Kidman walked straight back through the doors into the kitchen, then up a small flight of stairs to a private room. The private room had been something of an architectural accident—too big for a second pantry, too small for a banquet room, but just right for people who didn’t want to risk being overheard.
The middle manager from TNI half-expected what he saw, but it shocked him anyhow. He stood reflexively and held out a hand, but instead of a calm and confident greeting, what he said was “Jesus Christ, it’s true… you really can change…”
“No,” growled the Freak in its serpent voice. “This is how I naturally look. I just do all this magick shit as a sideline to my acting career.”
The sarcasm in the torn, tortured words violated the illusion, and the middle manager repressed a shudder. It wasn’t just the voice. There was a masklike quality to this… being’s… features, and he found it disturbing. Especially knowing that it had killed four highly trained assassins, any one of whom could have taken out the middle manager with one hand and an empty Coke bottle.
The Freak looked him up and down, coolly. “So,” it said. “Who’s paying your way?”
“I don’t see how that’s really relevant to matters between you and me.”
“Don’t try to yank my dick: I don’t have one today. It’s Abel, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s ‘Abel’?”
The Freak blew out an exasperated breath and turned towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“None of your damn business. If you want to tell lies and jerk me around, you can do it on my voice mail.”
“I’m not jerking you around!”
“Oh really? Listen, there are two kinds of people who know that phone number. One group is people I’ve given it to, and that clearly isn’t you. The other group is occult fuckos, and pretty high grade ones at that. Any occult fucko who has that number and claims he doesn’t know who Abel is, is either a liar or too ignorant to bother with. Now, you want to tell me which one you are?”
The middle manager shook his head and gave a little sigh.
“I’m a liar,” he said.
“I figured. You work for TNI, don’t you? And don’t lie to me again. I can smell it on you, you know.” This was a bluff, but the Freak knew its reputation went well beyond even its own considerable powers. In truth, the Freak had pegged the middle manager for TNI simply because other occultists usually looked shabby.
“Okay, yes. I work for the New Inquisition.” He took a deep breath. “But in this instance, I’m here unofficially.”
The Freak sat do
wn.
“Now that’s interesting,” it said. “Abel’s got leg breakers and mystics up the yin-yang. What would make you come to me? What have I got that’s worth betraying a powerful billionaire who thinks you can’t make an omelet without breaking skulls?”
The middle manager was quiet for a moment, then said “I have a sister. She’s very sick.”
The Freak leaned back. “The best doctors are at the end of their rope?”
The middle manager nodded.
“Abel doesn’t have anyone who can cut the mustard?”
“We’re not allowed to use company resources for personal purposes,” the manager said, with a touch of bitterness.
“What’s she got?”
“Ewing’s sarcoma.”
“Ooh. That is nasty.”
At that moment, the waiter came in. The manager got veal. The Freak ordered the white sausage. When the waiter left, it leaned forward and said “Miracle cures are a specialty of mine, but you have to make it worth my while.” One perfect hand stole up to the front of its black blouse and tweaked a button out of its hole. “There’s a price I pay, and it’s not easy.” A second button, and the middle manager could see the top of one perfect breast over a black lace brasserie. Punched through the flesh was a thin link of metal chain.
“I understand,” he said, eyes glued to the conjunction of cold steel and warm skin. The Freak leaned back, redoing its front.
“So. What have you got for me?”
“First and foremost, a rival godwalker. I know where he is, I know his name and I can hand him over for you to deal with as you see fit. As a fringe benefit, we’ve come into possession of a device that tracks Hermaphrodite avatars.”
“What do you mean, ‘a device’?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t examined it myself, but apparently…” He coughed into his hand. “Er, apparently it’s some kind of fetus in a glass jar…”
The Freak leaned back and laughed. It wasn’t attractive.
“The Hotchkiss compass? I always thought it sounded too good to be true. I guess you never can tell.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The story goes that some time in the late 1800s, a guy named Hotchkiss was running around the country with a sleazy kind of circus or fair or something. One of his attractions was a fetus preserved in a glass jar. This kid had died in the delivery room, and it was a perfect biological hermaphrodite—that is, it had both sets of genitals. Today we’d call it an intersex baby. Anyhow, some kook stole it from him and, using the principle that like attracts like, made it a kind of dowsing rod for those people who stand betwixt and between. Just as the baby was between male and female, preserved at the moment between birth and death. There’s a lot of stories about who took the thing and who’s had it, but I suppose it doesn’t matter in the long run.” The Freak reached for its water glass and took a long sip. It usually spoke in short sentences to take it easy on its scarred vocal cords, but it rarely had the chance to show off its knowledge on a topic so close to its heart.
“Clearly you know more about this device than I do.”
“Clearly.” A flawless hand stroked a flawless cheek. “One miracle cure for this ‘rival’ and the Hotchkiss compass. Who does the legwork?”
“You do. There’s no way I can hand him over to you without my boss finding out.”
“And then it’s the forty-five caliber retirement plan, huh?” The Freak shrugged. “Who else knows about this?”
“Just two of my people.”
“Oh, is that all? So I have to run off, tangle with two pro killers who can see me coming with the compass and then reveal myself to a rival? Look, you do know how avatar politics tend to play out at high levels, right?”
“Look, I’m sorry, this is the best I can do. Take it or leave it.”
“This reeks of setup.”
“It’s not a setup.” The middle manager sighed, pinched his nose. “Look, if you absolutely have to… heal my sister, then rat me out to Abel. Watch the papers for my obituary. Then you’ll know I was on the level,” he said with some bitterness.
The Freak just stared, silent.
“Well?” The middle manager shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Am I lying? You can smell it, right?”
He wasn’t sure himself.
The Freak stroked its chin. “So, why does Abel want the kid so bad? As a threat to me?”
The man from TNI shrugged.
“Does this mean the truce is off between TNI and myself?” The Freak’s voice was low and even—the man couldn’t tell if it was dread or simmering anger.
“God, I hope not,” he replied. “Honestly? I think he’s just hedging his bets. He’s got nothing to gain and a lot to lose by crossing you. Trust me, he hasn’t forgotten last time… hell, for all I know, he was planning on getting the kid and handing him over to you.”
“If that’s the case, why do I need to help your sister?”
“Because this way, you get him free. You know Abel would make you pay dearly before he put a rival godwalker in your power.”
The Freak shook its head. “All right. You’re playing a dangerous game for someone. I’m going to hope it’s for yourself. Tell me where to go. I’ll take care of your sister when I get back.”
The middle manager swallowed, then shook his head.
“I’m sorry, that’s… that’s not acceptable.”
“Oh?” It was a single soft syllable, pronounced after a short pause, but it frightened him more than anything he’d heard in his life.
“I… I mean, there’s no way I can know you’ll survive this. More importantly, I don’t know how long she’s going to last. I’m going out on a limb here. I need some assurances.”
“So you think… what? I’m going to go, get the goodies, then leave you hanging?”
The middle manager said nothing, just concentrated on mastering his fear. He stared, but when the Freak moved, he was still taken by surprise. It was that quick.
One moment it was across the table from him. Then, with the speed of a blink it was standing, and it had jerked him back from the table, chair and all, and before he could react both its hands were on either side of his well-shaved chin. It picked his two hundred and ten pounds out of the chair as easily as his wife would lift and inspect a melon in the supermarket. He felt the bones in his neck pop as they took the unfamiliar weight of his entire body. He didn’t want to scream, but he tried involuntarily, his fear was just too great. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t scream, couldn’t even open his mouth, could only wave his hands feebly and kick against the empty air as the Freak pushed him against the wall.
“You little shit,” the Freak said calmly. “You pathetic bag of crap. You know I can kill you. But did you know that I can warp you? I can shrivel your face and wither your hands and distort your ribcage until it’s torment just to feel your heartbeat. Now think carefully. Are you going to trust me, or are you going to insist that I trust you?”
Gently, the Freak lowered him until his feet touched the ground. He stumbled back into the chair, rubbing his chin and his neck. He was hyperventilating.
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” the Freak said crossly. “Bend down and put your head between your knees.”
When the middle manager looked up, the Freak was sitting calmly, sipping its water. At that moment, the waiter arrived with their entrees. He gave the middle manager a concerned look.
“He has the hiccups,” the Freak said. “He’ll be fine.”
The waiter nodded and put down their meals.
“Don’t come back without knocking,” the Freak said as the waiter backed away. Then it took a forkfull of sausage and said “So, you gonna tell me where the guy and the compass are?”
“Please…” The middle manager wiped his face with his napkin, then said “Please,” again. “Please try to see this my way. I have very little to bargain with. I have no way to make you keep your promise. I’m putting my life in your power just meeting with you. You can kill me…
you don’t even need to do it yourself, just say the word to Abel. But before I die I want to see my sister better. I need that.”
The Freak just stared.
“Shit,” it said at last. “Now I have to respect you.” It sighed. “Your sister—she here in Chicago?”
The middle manager nodded.
“All right, fine. Lemme finish dinner then I’ll do it.”
He blinked.
“Just like that?”
“What, you figured I’d need to kill a brindle calf at the full moon? I’ll get my stuff while you’re paying, then you can drive me to the hospital. If it’s a doublecross, I guess I’ll just kill you and fight my way out. Won’t be the first time,” it said, frowning down at its sauerkraut.
The middle manager couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“Well, eat up,” the Freak said. “I’d hate for that poor veal calf to have suffered for nothing.”
Despite that, the manager found he had no appetite. The Freak left first, after telling him to pull his car around to the front of the restaurant. As he paid the parking attendant, his head was spinning. Was the Freak going to betray him? He didn’t have a very high opinion of his ability to withstand torture, and he was certain the Freak was capable of it. But what would it gain by forcing him, instead of cooperating? If it killed him, its truce with TNI would be off. His stomach turned at that thought. The Freak was just one person, but among the occultists who knew its reputation, there wasn’t much that scared them more. If it tortured him without killing him, he could turn TNI on it with some story, but it would know that. So if it was going to betray, it would have to kill him for good and certain.
Did it have more to gain from betrayal than from collusion? That was the key question. Without any idea how difficult it would be for it to heal his sister, he couldn’t make an informed judgment. He just had to guess, and trust in a being whose most stable property was “unity of opposites.” Sinner and saint. Healer and slayer.
He waited, and wondered which face it would show him.