The Redemption Man

by James Carver

  “But I didn’t see my promise through. I found his stash and said I’d let him live but not the easy way. I told him to eat all the heroin he had, or I’d shoot him. Kill him like he killed my wife and baby. If he ate it like I said, I’d call an ambulance. I threw it into his lap, raised my gun level with his head, and took the catch off. I told him to start eating, or I’d blow his head off. So he did. He only got to eat about half of it though; there was white powder everywhere, round his face, all over his clothes, on the armchair. It got that he was so high he wasn’t even hearing me anymore. He’d eaten so much he was totally out of it.

  “In the end, I didn’t make the call. I placed him on the floor on his back so he’d more likely choke on his vomit, and I left.”

  Devlin paused and took a long, deep smoke and let it curl out. “A few days later, I saw a report that he’d died. And that’s when I resigned at St. Jude’s.”

  “Who’s the priest you confessed to?” asked Fox.

  “My old friend and mentor, Hector Hermes.”

  “So you’ve been forgiven?”

  “No, Hector couldn’t give me absolution. I needed to repent first and then to find God’s forgiveness. But God can’t forgive a sinner who hasn’t repented. And that’s before even considering the legal consequences I should face. Every night I see him in my dreams. Felix Lemus. Every night he appears to me in some form or another and asks me if I have repented what I did. And every night I say no.”

  “Every night?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s pretty fucked-up.”

  “Yep. I don’t sleep so well anymore. Generally speaking.”

  There was a deep silence as both reflected upon the truth.

  Then Fox said, “Well. I’m not God or a judge, but I forgive you. Without reservation or struggle. I forgive you. What was your wife’s name?”

  “Jane.”

  “You loved her?”

  “I did. Love true as it was deep.”

  Fox wasn’t appalled or shocked by Devlin’s confession. But she did feel ashamed. Ashamed because she suddenly wasn’t sure she had ever been in love. Or that she was even capable of it. Yet.

  Moments ticked by, and then Devlin began to talk again.

  “There’s something else too…something I haven’t told another soul about, not even Hector.”

  “What?”

  “It’s gonna sound crazy…”

  “Crazier than organ trading?”

  “Yeah. Without a doubt. Ever since I killed Lemus, I’ve felt the strangest thing…like an energy. I don’t know if it’s a curse or guilt or what it is. I could just be losing my mind. When I had the fight with Earl and it was all done, and he was out cold on the ground, I laid hands on him…”

  “Laid hands on him?”

  “Performed an exorcism.”

  “An exorcism? ‘I compel you in the name of Christ,’ that sort of thing?”

  “Yeah. Exactly that sort of thing. I’ve never done it before. Once, a few years back, someone asked me about an exorcism. I told them to go find another priest. It’s not me. But on that night, as Earl lay in front of me, I just knew it should be done, and the words flew out of my mouth. And, well, something happened—something passed between us. You can laugh, write me off as some sort of lunatic, but I know that something very weird happened. A huge energy traveled from me to Earl and he…he was released. By whatever held him. Maybe not demons but…”

  “But his anger maybe, the anger that he was trapped in.”

  “Yeah. Although, it was more than just a psychological event. A secular explanation isn’t it… Something’s changed, Fox. That’s all I know. Since I killed that man Lemus, something’s changed in me. Changing in me.”

  “What? What’s changing?”

  Devlin took a minute to reply. “Since the murder, I feel like I’ve been inhabited by two entities that are battling for control of my soul.”

  Fox didn’t reply. By instinct she was secular. She didn’t buy religion any more than she bought astrology. But she was prepared to believe that in some way, a more orthodox way, Devlin did have an exceptional energy about him. Devlin, though, could see by Fox’s reaction that he’d said enough.

  “It’s okay, Fox. You don’t have to tell me what you think about what I said. It’s more important I said it to someone.”

  “I guess if I were religious, then I’d say this is all God working out his wrath on you. After all, you could just turn yourself in. And you haven’t. You haven’t submitted yourself to man’s law, so God’s submitting you to his law.”

  Devlin considered Fox’s reply. “Yeah. I’ll take that.”

  More moments passed.

  “So, what about Logan and Lazard?” asked Devlin. “Do you believe what I said about them, Fox?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe…maybe I do.”

  “Will you come with me to Freedom Hospital to check out Alvarez?”

  “Yes. Yes. I will.”

  45

  Hector lay balled up on the carpet in front of the fire. His hand was a strange thing to him now, useless and agonizing. His very soul was sick. In tiny whispers, as if words had the power to undo what had been done, he repeated over and over, “Forgive me, Father.”

  Otterman stood in the doorway and turned back toward Hector. “What a waste of three fingers. This could all have been done without a single tear being spilled. So long, Father.”

  46

  A dog barked somewhere in the distance, and occasionally the wind picked up from the west, spraying a ripple of dust across the clearing. The buildings in the shadow of the Logan Ranch house were quiet, eerily silent. Night had brought peace to the ranch. No hands, no machinery sputtering and growling, no shouts of instructions, curses, laughter.

  Then, in the space of ten minutes, three cars pulled up: a chauffeured Bentley Continental, a Cadillac XTS, and a Jaguar XFR.

  Clay sat behind his desk waiting for his guests to arrive. The geniality so suited to his face had vanished. His mouth had set into a thin-lipped, sharp line, and his eyes had lost their twinkle and hardened into two dark stones. This was Clay Logan in repose. This was not Congressman Logan as his voters knew him. This was the man without the act. This was the real deal. He reached into his jacket pocket, brought out a pill case, and popped a tablet of propranolol.

  Clay had been born with a withered conscience, a stump where something living and warm should have been. In exact opposition to his dead brother, there was a void in his center which gifted him, or cursed him, whichever way you wished to see it, with an almost total lack of feeling. Even so, from time to time an unnerving flash of guilt or empathy would burn in him like a solitary flare in the boundless night sky. And it terrified him, this alien feeling. When that happened he took his pillbox out and popped a pill. Lazard had prescribed the medication to ward off these moments, to re-numb Clay. Propranolol was used by soldiers to deal with post-traumatic stress. Lazard often warned that the increased dosages Clay was taking would lead inevitably to a higher tolerance and, in the end, immunity to its effects. No matter—when that happened, Clay would find something else.

  Clay, of course, preferred to see his void as a gift. He could mimic what the people around him wanted from him without it costing him anything. He could fabricate charm, manufacture sympathy. His charisma, high intelligence, and physical presence had allowed him to effortlessly manipulate and control practically anybody he came into contact with. He was just so very brilliant at being exactly like a human being.

  His three visitors entered, and each took a seat before Clay. Marie Vallory immediately recognized the version of Clay Logan in front of them. It was a version she’d seen more and more as she’d got to know him intimately. It was Clay stripped of his gleaming exterior put on for the voters and the media; it was the very core of the man, brisk, cold, efficient. And it excited her. There was a strength in his coldness, a power in his amorality. The feeling that anything could be done under his leadership.
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br />   The atmosphere was tense, the body language formal and restrained.

  Marie Vallory was the first to speak. “Whatever happens, this delivery must go ahead. If it doesn’t, then it will mean the certain ruin of Logan Enterprises and fatally damage Freedom.”

  “Agreed,” monotoned Clay. “We’ve come too far, risked too much to draw back now.”

  “I for one think we can roll this baby across the line,” added Stein.

  Lazard didn’t say anything. Jaundiced and stick thin, he sat motionless in his chair, caressing his leather gloves with nicotine-stained fingers.

  Clay eyed Lazard. “Doctor?”

  “I wonder,” began Lazard, “whether we ought to push our deadline back, just by a matter of a week, until any further difficulties have been ironed out. The break-in at the center last night has—”

  “Impossible,” Vallory said flatly. “I have extremely important clients with incredibly busy schedules booked in. As you very well know, Claude, these are the kind of people you have to book years in advance.”

  “There’s no way we’re putting this off, Lazard,” said Clay. “Too many sacrifices have been made to smooth the way.”

  “I am worried about the rushed and sometimes loose management of this project,” replied Lazard. “Reeves and Campbell are being asked to accomplish tasks beyond their competency. They take shortcuts—”

  “Lazard,” interrupted Clay, “if we’re going to talk about competency, it was your fuckup that forced us to take extreme measures.”

  “It was not my—”

  Clay didn’t allow Lazard to finish. “My men are trustworthy. We cannot bring anyone else in on this at this late stage for all sorts of obvious reasons. I’ll remind you, Lazard, that of all of us, it’s only you who has been paid so far. I might also remind you that your fee was breathtakingly large. A fortune. We paid you to make sure your experience and world-renowned skill delivered on time so that the rest of us get our money. The date will not move. Do you understand me?”

  “But this man, Devlin…!” This rare outburst of emotion took Lazard’s colleagues by surprise, but it cut no mustard with Clay.

  “Do you understand me?” Clay barked.

  “Yes. Yes. Of course. I see.”

  “Stein tells me the priest took very important notes from you,” said Clay.

  “Yes. However, they are exceedingly technical and do not say who they relate to. He won’t be able to make much sense of them. Even so, I do not want to take any chances. As the delivery date cannot move, I will take precautionary measures.”

  Clay nodded and turned to Stein. “Where are we with Devlin?”

  “I’m waiting from a call from my boys,” said Stein. “They’re following up on a very promising lead. Much better stuff even than the shit that rained down on him at the press conference. I have very high hopes.”

  “You sure we can’t just find a way of killing him and disposing of his body?” asked Clay.

  “It may come to that,” said Stein. “But I think we should make our first moves intelligent ones rather than forceful ones. Right now the eyes of the country are on Halton Springs. It would be unwise, after what we’ve all been through, to bring any more heat down on us. We’re approaching the most critical hour. I say we move strategically first.”

  “I agree,” said Vallory.

  Clay wasn’t convinced. “I don’t think Devlin is going to go away. Let’s see what your men dig up, Stein, but I think we should be prepared to do what we have to do. I have a feeling the forces of darkness will soon be closing in on the good priest.” Clay turned back to Lazard. “When’s your brother Jakob and his team flying in from Beijing, Lazard?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll bring them to the lab tomorrow evening to get them acquainted with the setup.”

  “Reeves and Campbell have kept a watch over the lab for you and your brother. Done the preparations you asked them to.”

  “Very good,” replied Lazard. “I intend to go there now and begin my own preparations.”

  “What about the doctor’s chauffeur?” asked Vallory. “Where are with that?”

  “Packer’s onto that,” said Clay. “I’m expecting a call to confirm imminently. Now, we’re all busy people—the next week will be harder than any previous week of our lives. So let’s all get to work.”

  The three guests left, and Clay sat in silence watching his cell. His next call would be from Packer and would be of some importance to him.

  47

  Chapter 47

  Ed was sitting on the sofa still watching the TV on the kitchen worktop. He had a glass of bourbon in his hand and a quarter-drunk bottle on the table. He was watching some British chef telling Jimmy Kimmel how to make an omelet. Ed was laughing at the bleeps they’d put on ’cause the British guy had kept swearing. A voice from the trailer door broke Ed’s boozed-up entertainment.

  “Hello, Ed.”

  Ed recognized the voice instantly and swiveled around in terror, splashing bourbon onto his hand and sleeve. He saw Packer standing, hunched in the small trailer doorway looking like a giant. He opened his mouth to scream, but it was too late. Packer had already picked up the bourbon bottle from the table and was sweeping it down in an arc against the side of Ed’s head, liquor spilling everywhere. The bottle exploded against Ed’s head and sent his body sideways across the sofa, knocking him out cold.

  And then there was blackness.

  In the blackness came the sound of the sea. The tide was ebbing back and forth, and Ed was back with his mom and dad and younger brother by the sea out at Cannon Beach. It was cold, evening was settling in, and the town lights had come on. They were out taking a stroll like they often did, but this time his dad stopped and knelt down to whisper to Ed, “It’s not your fault”, and Ed smelled cloves and cinnamon. The sound of the tide grew louder and faster, and Ed began to feel like he was struggling to breathe. His dad had gone, and his face was warm now, like it was a hot day, but the sound of the tide kept coming, except now it wasn’t water it was air, in and out. It was breath, slow and heavy and labored. Ed opened his eyes. A huge face was inches away from his. A milky eye like a full moon stared back at him. Packer had a hand wrapped around Ed’s throat and was holding him up against the refrigerator. Ed wasn’t able to get enough breath; he felt like he was slowly suffocating. Blood had poured from the wounds in his face into his mouth and along his neck. Long warm fingers of blood crept under his shirt.

  “You were a stupid bastard, Ed,” rasped Packer. “A stupid rat bastard. You were working for Homeland. If you’re wondering about the guy outside, he’s dead. At least I think so. I didn’t bother checking. I stamped on his face till he stopped moving, so I’m pretty sure he’s dead. Unless he’s a cockroach. Maybe after I kill you, I’ll go back outside and kill him again.”

  Ed squirmed and tried to let out a desperate cry. Hot, yellow liquid dripped from his pants legs and shoes onto Packer’s boots. Packer looked down and tutted.

  “Now look what you went and done. You pissed all over my boots.”

  Packer squeezed harder. Very few people had been up this close to Packer’s eye, and none of them had lived to tell the tale. All must have noticed as Ed did now the red capillaries that ran through the milky mass in Packer’s eye, like tiny rivers of blood flowing on the surface of a lifeless planet. A web of delicate red strands. Ed felt sharp cold metal against his throat. Packer had a large hunting knife in his other hand and began digging it into Ed’s neck. Ed was blinded by more pain than he had ever felt in his life as the blade ruptured and broke his skin and kept on going. The tide of Packer’s breath was hard and slow like he was reaching the pinnacle of an intense climax. Metallic, warm liquid surged into Ed’s throat, blood was bubbling and gurgling into his airway, and bit by bit he began to drown. His feet and arms voluntarily kicked and involuntarily jolted against the refrigerator until eventually there was no kicking and only jolting. And finally no jolting. Packer let out a profound sigh, as if he were released o
f the many troubling pressures that life brought to bear upon him, and peace infused his being. He let go and a body, a slab of flesh, blood, and bone that until mere seconds ago had been a breathing, thinking, feeling person called Ed James, collapsed onto the drenched crimson floor.

  Packer washed himself up as best he could in the kitchen sink. Then he stepped out into the camp and walked over to his car. There was a group of men sitting on the steps of a trailer about fifty meters away, so he took care not to be seen. But he had to pass by one particular trailer close to where he’d parked his car. He stomped up the steps of the trailer, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a brown package. He placed the package on the top step, stood, and knocked on the door five times but didn’t wait for an answer.

  As he drove off, the door of the trailer opened and a hand shot out to gather up the package and disappeared just as promptly. Then the door snapped shut. Packer watched it happen in his rearview mirror and gave a low rumbling grunt of a laugh. Then he put in a call to Clay.

  48

  Devlin and Fox parked up in the visitor lot at Freedom Dayton Hospital and walked over to the main entrance, a long glass strip overhung and shaded from the clear morning sun by a swooping concrete brim.

  Inside they consulted the hospital map. The urology and kidney department was in building F, which stood right behind the building they were in. A long corridor took Devlin and Fox from the entrance past various departments and out the other side onto a large green lawn bisected by a tree-lined path. The path led up to a strip of road that ran in front of a tall, blue-green glass-and-steel tower. This was building F.

  “Okay. Let’s go pay a visit,” said Devlin.

  Miguel Alvarez had rarely felt so rested. He was sitting up in his hospital bed in a private room finishing a delicious breakfast of waffles with syrup, enjoying his last morning of top-quality health care. The tall windows hung with blinds that ran the length of the side wall and threw sharp strips of sunlight across his crisp white sheets and onto the spotlessly clean white floor. In the few days he’d spent at Freedom, he’d been treated like a prince. There had been a nearly constant supply of food and drink and round-the-clock care.