The Lazarus Mysteries- Omnibus Collection

by Ken Fry

  What concerned him most was the way he seemed to be changing. He almost didn’t recognise himself. He was no longer interested in ‘ruling the world’ with Shepard. Even adding the painting to The Book of Miracles had lost its attraction.

  I must be going insane. Maybe I have a tumor in my brain.

  Bower rationalised ... analysed … and resisted.

  I’m a casino owner, a crook, a hood, a tax evader and criminal for Christ’s sake! What am I getting so stupid for? I’m sticking to my original plan. Once Shepard’s disposed of, and that crappy little picture performs a documented miracle, then I’ll decide what to do next. Religion is not my game!

  He called in Man One and George.

  They sauntered in with the assured air of a pair who knew they were essential cogs in what could be a greasy business.

  “Boss?”

  “You two, sit down. I need to discuss things with you. First, whatever I ask, say or do with those in the other room, are you going to back me up?”

  “Haven’t we always? What’s on your mind?” Man One asked as he proceeded to pick at his teeth with a toothpick.

  “I’m thinking of expanding my businesses into other areas.”

  “Like what?”

  “Management … waste management.” He paused for ten seconds. “Am I making myself clear?”

  “Cockroach elimination by any chance?” George grinned.

  “That comes into it … yes. I take it you’re interested in some promotional opportunities then?”

  “When do we start?”

  “Soon, I feel. You’ll be on special bonuses, you’ll be pleased to know. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.” What Bower said next, surprised him even more. “The ladies out there, I don’t want them harmed in any way. You are to protect them at all times. No matter what it takes. Understood?”

  Did I just say that? Where did that come from?

  The two men looked at each other with raised eyebrows and then back to Bower. “We can do that, boss.” George was giving him a funny look.

  “I knew I could rely on you. Good. Now, get out and send in the two ladies.”

  Some minutes later, Martha and the Condesa Maria entered the room, but with Shepard behind them.

  Bower sensed an air of suspicion and nervousness emanating from Shepard. He decided to push until his true purpose was revealed. Since the recent events, his dislike and mistrust of the man had increased.

  “Sit down, ladies … but not you.” He pointed to Shepard. “What do you want, Pastor? I didn’t ask for you.”

  “I thought you might need some help.”

  “You’re wrong, I don’t. Please go.”

  “What’s going on? I think I have the right to know what you’re going to say to them. If it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t be here, and you would have never known of them.”

  “So what? Things are changing around here and what happened when we first met doesn’t matter anymore. Now, get out!”

  “Now hold on, pal.” Shepard had found new courage. “We agreed to act together, and you are clearly not doing so.”

  Bower experienced an odd calmness. Normally, he would have physically attacked Shepard for contradicting him. He was finding words more effective.

  “Perceptive, Pastor. What are you going to do about it?”

  Martha and the Condesa looked apprehensively at each other and moved closer to link arms.

  “It’ll be fine, ladies. You are quite safe unless this bluebottle lands on you.” Pointing at Shepard he let out a piercing whistle, and at the same time produced his Beretta.

  “Shit!” Shepard turned to go, only to be confronted by George twirling his garrotte and Man One brandishing a pistol. They’d recognised Bower’s alarm signal.

  “The Pastor here needs to go to the john. Take him there and keep him there until I’m ready. Make sure he doesn’t mess himself. I’m not quite ready for a final solution, so hold him there for a while. I still need him. Disarm him also.”

  They bundled a protesting Silas Shepard out of the room.

  “Well, ladies, all we have to do now is wait until the painting arrives and then it can be inspected more closely.” He pointed at the Condesa. “You, you’ve had experience with this painting. What was it like? I mean, how does it work?”

  Maria’s natural haughtiness had returned. “You really are a tonto ignorante! I was told not to suffer ignorant fools gladly, but in your case, I have only the utmost contempt.”

  He half rose towards her, but Martha was quicker. She stepped in between them.

  “No! Leave her. She is who she is, and she is my dear friend. If you’re going to hit anybody, let it be me.”

  “Okay, okay.” He held out his hands, palms facing her. “I’ll let it be.” He sat back down, but with an expression as tight as a knot. “I’m just trying to find out what’s going on around here, okay? I’m in the dark, and you two know more about this than I do. I just need to know the truth about this. Ever since I got involved in this, strange things have been happening around me. Let me tell you what.”

  Martha sat back down next to Maria. “We’re listening.” She reached for Maria’s hand.

  Bower began to relate his story, commencing with his meeting with Shepard at the casino, and how for a reason he could not explain, he began to experience things that were beyond his control. The more he spoke, the deeper it went. By the time he reached the part where he had the vision at the bridge, he realised that he had become …

  Powerless.

  Maria appeared as if in a trance. Her eyes were closed and her body slack.

  What was more unnerving was that Martha was saying his words even before he spoke them.

  “I sat and looked at the bridge…”

  She had said it two words ahead of him. Not only this time, but throughout his discourse.

  She’s in my mind.

  Yes, I’m there. I know you, John D. Bower. I know you well.

  “Stop! STOP!” he yelled and held up his hands “That’s enough!”

  He felt her withdraw.

  “What’s happening? What have you been doing? Is this a goddamned trick or what?” He demanded with irritation. A deathly pallor like molten wax shone from his face.

  “I don’t know. It just happened. It was as if I had always known you … from the moment I first saw you.” Maria opened her eyes and looked at Martha.

  “You have it … as Brodie and I have it.” Maria turned to Bower. “You too will know it, for in your heart there is goodness. Just let it out.”

  “What a load of crap. I didn’t become as rich as I am by being a goody two shoes – the opposite in fact. I’ve had enough of this rubbish.” He checked his watch. “That painting should be here soon and then we will really see, won’t we? I can’t believe that a shitty piece of work like that can hold any special powers.” He leered at the Condesa but could not bring himself to look at Martha. There was something there. He knew it wasn’t the money, and in his quiet self, it jabbed at him like an aching tooth.

  CHAPTER 26

  They had travelled ten miles in silence before Garcia spoke.

  “What do we do when we get there?” he asked in a flat tone of voice, as if scared of hearing the answer.

  “No idea,” Brodie replied. “I promised Father Abbot I would do everything I can to return with the painting, but that’s number three on my list. My main concern is my daughter and the Condesa.”

  “What are these guys going to do when they get hold of it?”

  “I suppose they’d want to see if it’s authentic. They’ll ask for a demonstration, one way or another. That’s the problem. It doesn’t work like that. It can’t be expected to perform miracles on command!” Brodie sighed. “If there’s rough stuff, I don’t expect you to get involved.”

  “I’m not supposed to be here, remember?”

  “Too well.”

  Time passed by, as did numerous small towns and villages before they stopped once for a deserved brea
k of thirty minutes. The closer they got, the faster Brodie drove. His tension rose.

  Garcia had the directions Shepard had supplied and there was no problem with them.

  “The only mistake they’ve made is directing us straight to the main door. They obviously don’t intend to stay around too long, because they know that once we get out of there, if we ever do, the first thing we’ll do is call the police.”

  “We can’t do that.” Brodie snorted. “Who would believe a story like we’ve got? Certainly not a hard-nosed policeman.”

  Garcia had to agree. He consulted the map. “We’re about twenty miles off our next turning. It’s a few miles short of Pamplona’s city centre, but the road should lead us to the address he’s given us. It’s a couple of miles long.

  Eighteen minutes later, they made the turning. Without warning, Brodie brought the vehicle to a sudden halt and killed the engine.

  “What are you doing that for?” Garcia exclaimed.

  He got no answer.

  Brodie’s eyes were shut, with his head was tilted back onto the headrest, and his face was the colour of a weathered gravestone.

  Garcia whispered, “Are you…?” Something stopped him. Looking closer at Brodie, he guessed the man was in the middle of something he had yet to understand. Either he was praying to God Almighty or he was out of it, in another realm or place known only to him. The entire episode had been so bizarre since he came upon it, he now believed anything was possible.

  Right then, Brodie’s face muscles began to twitch, and his lips moved but with no sound coming from them. Brodie then, without opening his eyes, placed his hands over his ears and shook his head from side to side, not violently, but in time with something Garcia couldn’t hear.

  Then, Garcia clearly heard the words…

  The time is near. She sits on The White Horse of Uffington. Deus Vult! Beauséant!

  Brodie’s eyelids fluttered and in an instant, he was back into full consciousness.

  Brodie turned to Garcia. “Ned, I’m sorry you saw that, but you should get used to this when you’re around me. I can sense it as it’s about to happen. I know now that my daughter was meant to be here, and that White Horse was the messenger between us all. It’s carried us here one by one. What’s ahead of us, I still can’t say. That’s the way it works. A vision here, a clue there, but it doesn’t reveal all.” He sighed. “But we both know there will be danger. Martha is, somehow, at the centre of it all.”

  “I understand. In fact, I think I understand everything. What happened back there with Luciana said it all, believe me. What do we now?”

  “We get to the address. When we do, you stay here and out of sight. I’ll go in with the painting. We don’t know what will happen next, but with the kind of people we’re dealing with, it’s not going to be good.”

  Brodie fired up the engine again and they headed to their rendezvous.

  §

  Bower no longer felt certain of what he was doing or why. He was a man divided. Part of him was the self he recognised; the man with drive, ambition, a tough, rough hustler in life who had made it good by fair means and foul. He’d done whatever was required to succeed and gone where many would fear to tread. He had created a chilling yet respected persona. He’d lived with that image and reputation for as long as he could remember, and it had suited his aspirations and outlook on life. Yet, beneath all that, he had always felt incomplete. Recent events had highlighted that area of his life. Uncertainty had never bothered him before, but now, it had him by the collar. An alter ego was manifesting, and he had no idea how his familiar persona would handle it. He understood rough stuff, violence and aggression. They had been forever part of his life.

  He forced himself to look across to Martha, who was, as usual, staring back at him and into his very soul. Christ, she’s only a teenager yet she makes me feel ashamed. It’s like she’s trying to get into my mind again.

  “Quit looking at me, will you?” he snapped, completely aware of his rising discomfiture.

  Martha said nothing and averted her gaze.

  “What are your plans when the painting gets here?” the Condesa asked. “Shoot us, cut pieces off us or something else?”

  “We’ll sort that out when the time arrives. As you’ve experienced its alleged powers before, you might just be the perfect candidate.”

  She turned away from him.

  A white horse passed across his mind and seated on it was Martha, her hair flowing behind her, carrying a sword and wearing the cross of a Crusader.

  The vision passed in a flash, causing him to gasp out loud, “What in God’s name was that?”

  “Are you okay, Mr. Bower?” Martha asked, although the look she gave him was far from innocent. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  He stood up. “Cut the funny stuff. I don’t know what’s going on here, but whatever it is I don’t believe it.” He made a quick check on his Beretta and buttoned his shirt. “You two stay here and don’t move. I’m going to check on the others.”

  Once outside the room, he took a deep breath, counted down from ten, and walked to the bathroom area where Man One and George were keeping watch on Shepard.

  The scene inside the bathroom was one of amusement. It took his mind off the strange goings-on in his life. Shepard was seated on the toilet and trussed up with towels, his arms bound behind him and a wedge of gauze stuffed into his mouth from which muffled sounds could be heard. He also had a very black and red eye. Man One was lying in the empty bath and George was sitting on the vanity stool reading a horror comic book, Tales From the Crypt. Shepard’s Smith & Wesson, with its holster, was visible on the glass shelf.

  “You two have been having fun?”

  “Yes, boss. He got a bit lively.”

  “No hard feelings, eh Silas? Untie him, guys, we should be having a visitor soon.”

  They unknotted him and the gag was removed.

  “You scumbag arseholes.” Shepard growled, shook his head and lunged for his holster.

  “Whoa there, Pastor! Nice and easy now.” Bower’s Beretta was in his hand in a flash. “We don’t want any mishaps, do we?”

  Shepard knew when he was outnumbered. He tried to calm himself but stared daggers at Bower. “You two shits haven’t heard the last of this. I promise you that.”

  “Yeah, we’re shaking in our boots. Aren’t we, George?”

  George pretended to tremble in fear and Bower began laughing.

  “Let’s go and await our expected guest.”

  §

  They both saw the house appear about a hundred yards ahead.

  “It’s time for you to duck down on the back seat, but before you do that, have you got Maria’s gun?”

  “It’s here.” Garcia handed him the small pistol and Brodie made sure it was fully loaded.

  “I don’t know how long this is going to take or what they have in mind for me and the ladies. You may have a long wait. Don’t get too curious, okay? You’re not in their league and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “I’m no hero. I’ll stay here and keep my eyes open.”

  “Good. That’s settled. Well, it’s now or never.” He took a large lungful of air, exhaled, and without thinking said, “May God go with me.”

  As Garcia moved to the back seat, Brodie stepped out of the car, with the painting clutched tight. He was deeply aware of everything about him. For a moment, he stood motionless and absorbed the warmth of the sun beating down on him. He could hear birds calling as he began the short walk towards the premises. All his senses were on high alert, and the beat of his heart struck heavily in his chest. He hoped they wouldn’t conduct a body search.

  The stones crunched beneath his feet and he could hear the water from a garden fountain splashing down without enthusiasm.

  Butterflies swirled in his stomach. Sweat appeared on his brow, and he could taste the saltiness of it on his lips. He attempted to calm himself but heard onl
y the pounding of his heart.

  He reached the brown, wooden door with its massive iron ring knocker, and without waiting, gave it three hefty raps.

  The door swung open and the frame of Man One, filling the space like a wide-open barn door, confronted him. In his hand, he held a pistol. “You’re expected. Get inside and walk forwards.” He stood aside and waved Brodie in.

  Here we go. Calmness descended upon him and all tension left. Up ahead was another room. He was ushered through a hallway and through an antiquated Spanish kitchen.

  “In there,” Man One barked, his gun pointing at the back of Brodie’s neck.

  Brodie opened the door and what he saw gave him no surprise. Bower and his other goon occupied the centre of the room. Shepard, looking dishevelled and swollen, sat slumped in a chair. At the far end stood both Martha and the Condesa. He could clearly read the situation.

  “Dad!” Martha cried out. “I’m okay! Are you?”

  Maria held her back before she could rush to Brodie. “Not yet, Martha,” she whispered.

  “I’m fine!” He moved towards her, but the heavy hand of Bower pushed him back.

  “They’re both safe. You can chit-chat later. Is that the painting?”

  “Yes.” He pulled back the covering.

  “Stand it on that table. Shepard, get your arse over here now. Everybody stand back.”

  When Shepard made no move, Bower went over and dragged him to the table. “There it is, Pastor. What are you waiting for, man? It’s your baby. Uncover it and be careful.”

  Brodie glanced at Maria and their eyes met. Maria simply shook her head. He closed his eyes and her faint whisper entered his mind. Deus Vult! Nos ad id pervenit!

  He agreed and gave a small nod, “Yes, we will prevail.”

  Martha held her head in her hands. She could make out voices in her head but couldn’t understand what was being said.

  Shepard reached over to the painting, and with care, removed the covering to reveal The Raising of Lazarus.

  There were no trumpets or angels, no ethereal lighting, dazzling bursts of sunlight or heavenly choirs.