by Harvey Click
The poker was no longer glowing; it was just an ordinary piece of iron. Dexter threw it down and went to his car. A layer of clarity fell away as he pulled from the muddy driveway onto the road, and another layer fell away with each mile he put behind him. He felt like an addict coming down, and the world looked ugly.
His cell phone was on the passenger seat where he had carelessly left it. There was a message from Cousin Edlyn: “I suppose you’re off on your vacation or whatever it is, but you might want to know Aunt Naomi’s been murdered and her housekeeper too. We think that woman you brought had something to do with this . . .”
Her voice droned on, but Dexter scarcely heard. His head began to throb and was pounding like a war drum when he pulled into his driveway.
His house had been ransacked again. Whatever wasn’t broken before was broken now. Maybe it was true that Grimes had saved his life, but he felt too sick to care. He sat on a gutted chair and stared at the mess on the floor. Naomi dead, Miss Barkley too. Somewhere in this ugly world walked the one who had butchered them.
When his parents were slaughtered, he’d been too young to do more than cry. This time was different. This time there would be no tears. This time there would be blood.
Chapter Fifteen
It was past two p.m. when Johnny Burne was allowed to leave the gallery, and the green egg had made him so sick that he could barely see to drive home. He felt even sicker when he saw two men loading boxes into a moving van parked where Radcliff’s Explorer had been. He found Grimes taping boxes shut in the Old World room, and all the display cases were empty. Obviously the old fuck was wise to the game and was planning to split before the Lost Ones arrived.
Grimes put down his tape and smiled. “You’re looking a little green around the gills,” he said. “I daresay you’ve been tasting some of your own cooking—no?”
“You going somewhere?” Burne asked.
“It’s none of your business.”
“Hey, I live here too.”
“So do the rats in the walls,” Grimes said.
Burne was too queasy to argue. He staggered upstairs and vomited in the toilet, then fell into his bed and passed out. It was a sick kind of sleep, green light and nightmares pulsing in his head. His room was dark and his watch said 7:35 when a chugging noise awoke him. He stumbled to the window and saw the Mercedes pulling out of the driveway.
Great. Now he was fucked but good. The flickering specter had told him the attack squad would arrive at 8:30. The green-eyed bitch named Katerina had given him something shaped like an arrowhead, and when it began to vibrate he was supposed to aim the point at Grimes and spray him with iron web.
“Think you can remember all that?” she had said.
Grimes might be gone ten minutes or forever, and forever was more likely since he’d hired a moving van. If the arrowhead started vibrating before he got back, Burne might as well spray himself with it. He knew the Lost Ones would play rough with him for a while, and then they would kill him. His only hope was to run, but he didn’t have a car. Grab one of Grimes’ guns and steal a car—but he felt too sick.
This time he didn’t make it to the toilet. He puked on the floor and passed out again. A familiar chugging sound awoke him, and he crawled to the window with vomit on his face and saw the Mercedes pulling into the garage. It was drizzling, but the old man strolled to the house as if he didn’t mind the rain.
Burne had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. He staggered to the top of the stairs and watched Grimes come in and shake the rain off his fedora.
Silver eyes glanced up the stairs. “Feeling better?” the master asked.
“Yes, much better.”
Burne wanted to tell him everything, not just about the Lost Ones but about his frustration and jealousy, cleaning toilets while Radcliff and Bitter Ember learned juicy secrets. He even had some line in his head about how he loved the old bastard, and maybe it wasn’t just a line after all. The old bastard was the closest thing to a father he’d ever had. The man who had knocked up his mother didn’t deserve to be called a man or a father. Maybe Grimes would forgive him, and they could drive away in the junker to a nice safe place.
“Where’d you go?” Burne asked.
“To the dog pound to see if they’d take you while I’m gone,” Grimes said. “They said they have enough mangy mutts already. Bring some cheese and claret to my study.”
Angry green light throbbed in Burne’s skull. “Sure thing, boss man,” he said.
He clutched the banister and worked his dizzy legs down the stairs, thinking I’ll bring you some good ripe cheese all right, asshole. He went to the kitchen and peered out the barred window at the woods behind the house. He figured the Lost Ones would pull into the old lane behind the woods, hide their vehicles back there, and attack from the rear. He figured about a dozen agents, but maybe that wouldn’t be enough.
He opened a bottle of claret and unwrapped the moldy cheese Grimes liked, Gorgon-crapola or whatever it was called. Better cut it thick, it was the last stinking piece the old rat was ever going to nibble. He brought the tray to the small study and set it on the desk. Grimes was staring out the window at the rain-drenched darkness.
“Here it is, your highness,” Burne said.
The dim fluorescent desk lamp suddenly flickered as the arrowhead vibrated in his pocket. Shit, not now. He fished it out of his jeans and dropped it.
Grimes turned from the window and eyed him closely. “You look like a Chihuahua about to spray someone’s leg,” he said. “You’re not planning some sort of mischief, are you?”
Burne snatched the arrowhead from the floor and squeezed it hard with hands shaking so badly he could scarcely aim. Iron web sprayed out the tip and wrapped Grimes in a white cocoon. His silver tooth flashed with surprise, and he fell to the floor with a grunt and a sharp snap that sounded like broken bone.
“How do you like your cheese?” Burne snarled. “Maybe you’d like a nice blowjob with your wine?”
The old man managed a smile, but it looked painful. “Your new friends certainly don’t waste time,” he said. “I didn’t expect them so soon. I daresay they’ll make quick work of you.”
“Yeah, and they’ll make mincemeat of you,” Burne said.
“Cut me out of this bag, and I’ll protect you from them.”
“That’s a laugh.”
Grimes’ glasses fell off as he struggled, and his eyes looked naked and frightened. Burne didn’t want to look at them. He remembered something the old fuck had taught him: loving your enemy makes it easier to kill him. It was bullshit, like most of his lessons.
“This is your last chance,” Grimes said. “Cut me loose and I’ll save your life.”
“Screw you, boss man, I’m sick of cleaning your toilets.”
“No more chores,” Grimes said. “It’ll be like old times. I’ll teach you fathom-two noesis.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I give you my word, and my word is Logos.”
“From now on we’re partners,” Burne said. “No more whispering with Indian girls or Dexter Radcliff unless I’m in on the deal.”
“Partners,” Grimes said. “No more whispering.”
Burne got out his pocket knife, but hard green light pulsed in his head and he couldn’t remember how to open it. A B C D E F G, he thought. He put the knife back in his pocket and leaned dizzily against the wall.
“Poor fool,” Grimes said. “It would be better for you if you had not been born.”
Burne heard a noise out back and staggered to the kitchen. The iron studs on the door were glowing red, and molten varnish was bubbling out of the wood. The door burst open and the SWAT team rushed in—except there were only two of them, and they didn’t look like they could swat a fly. The scrawny green-eyed bitch carried a rifle, and behind her was a geriatric geek with a ten-gallon hat and a six-shooter. He looked even older than Grimes.
“He’s back there in his study,” Burne said. “I�
�ve got him in the bag, but be careful. He’s a crafty son of a bitch.”
The old cowboy peered around the kitchen and sniffed the air like he was trying to figure out what was for dinner. He stuck his gun in his belt, laid a kitchen chair on its back, and wedged it in the doorway, as if the door was planning to slam shut all by itself. Funny look in his eyes, and Burne realized one of them was blind. Jesus, what did they think they were dealing with here, some stupid parlor magician?
“Come on!” Burne said. “That door’s not going anywhere.”
He started down the hallway with Katerina, but before they got very far she stopped and looked back at the old cowboy. He was still sniffing the kitchen air, good eye shut and the dead one drifting back and forth like a surveillance camera.
“Hurry up, we don’t have all week!” Burne yelled.
The cowboy opened his good eye and splattered a cockroach with a stream of tobacco juice. “Get out,” he said. “It’s a trap.”
Katerina ran back to the kitchen, and Burne followed her. No way he was going in that study by himself. She gave him a hateful green look and stepped over the chair wedged in the doorway. The old cowboy was already outside.
“Hey, you just gonna leave him here?” Burne shouted. “He’s going to kill us all when he gets loose.”
The only reply was the sound of the heavy oak door banging against the chair. At first he thought it was wind, but there was too much banging and not enough wind. The door seemed to be trying to close itself, chomping and chewing the wood chair like a hungry jaw. A rung snapped as Burne jumped to the back porch, and a second later the door slammed shut on a mouthful of splinters.
He saw the bitch running into the woods, and he ran the other direction around the house until a hot blast of thunder knocked him to the ground. He heard it in his guts more than his ears, and he saw it even before he turned his head. There was a raging fireball where the house used to be.
Unbelievable. The old fuck had fucked up somehow. He had pulled the wrong trick out of his sleeve and had blown himself to hell.
Burne raced through the rain, shielding his face from the fiery debris falling all around. When he got out of its range, he stopped and stared back at the inferno. The pines near the house were already blazing like birthday candles, but this wasn’t the present he wanted. All his nice things were burning up in there. He could still see the frightened look in Grimes’ naked eyes, and that wasn’t what he wanted either. He had no idea where to go.
A rifle butt came out of nowhere and bashed the side of his head. He hit the soggy dirt and watched the yellow fireball shrink to a hard black dot. When he came to, his hands were cuffed behind his back and his pants were open. Katerina was kneeling beside him tying a dog chain around his scrotum.
“Get up,” she said.
She yanked the chain, and it bit into his balls like barbed wire. It was hard to run on wet leaves with his hands cuffed and his trousers down around his knees, but she tugged his leash and yelled, “Snap it up or lose the nuts,” and he trotted behind her like a yipping puppy. Up ahead he saw a pickup truck with a camper shell and the old cowboy waiting at the wheel.
Chapter Sixteen
When Mark got home from work Monday, he found a wet towel on the bathroom floor and a nest of frizzy blonde hairs in the sink. He went to the living room and found cigarette butts and a brown apple core soaking in the dregs of a coffee cup on the end table. Toya’s skirt and blouse and several wads of tissue paper were strewn on the sofa. He glanced through the glass door to the deck and saw her waving at him from the hot tub. He stepped out and smiled, a little embarrassed.
“Hey, I like it here,” she said. “Gonna have to drag me away with a chain.” She emptied her wineglass, stretched and yawned. “How was work?”
“Awful. How’s your cold?”
“Awful.” Toya tried to refill her glass, but the Chardonnay bottle was empty. “Don’t s’pose you’d bring me some more of this yummy stuff? It seems to help.”
“Sure.”
Mark went to the kitchen and found the refrigerator running with its door hanging open. A banana peel seemed to be doing a backstroke in a puddle of milk on the table. Linda had left the same kind of messes. He had always thought they were symptoms of a disordered mind, warnings that another anxiety attack could spill out of her like toothpaste from an uncapped tube, but they had never frightened him away. Maybe cleaning up after her had made him feel saner than he really was. He didn’t feel very sane with her gone.
He opened another bottle of Chardonnay and got himself a beer. As he headed through the living room, he picked up a cork from the carpet and tossed it into the coffee-cup ashtray. He wondered if Toya was always this messy. Maybe Linda’s neuroses were somehow infecting her. He handed her the bottle and sat on the deck bench with his beer.
“Come on in,” she said. “I won’t bite.”
“Thanks. Think I’ll just keep dry.”
“Suit yourself.”
There was a privacy fence, but Linda had always worried someone might be peeping through the cracks or watching from upstairs windows. Toya didn’t seem worried. Mark tried not to look at the rings dangling from her nipples. He watched the sun sinking into the clouds behind the fence. They were balling up their fists and moving closer.
“Been thinking about séances and stuff,” she said. “I call them my death trips. I started taking them when I was a little girl, after Grandma died. She started talking to me some nights when I was going to sleep. The thing is, it felt good. I think maybe I’m addicted to the buzz of death, know what I mean?”
She was slurring her words, but maybe the barbell was to blame. She reached for a box of tissues on the rim of the tub and blew her nose.
“When I go in my trances, it’s like the wall falls down between life and death. It’s like I’m dead for a while myself. If you can be dead when you’re alive, then you know you can be alive when you’re dead. Does that make sense?”
“Maybe these trances aren’t healthy,” Mark said.
“Sure they are,” she said. “The wall comes down, and you know you don’t need to be afraid any more of getting sick or getting old or even dying, ‘cause you’ve seen the other side.”
“I saw the other side myself,” he said. “Trouble is, I saw two other sides and one of them isn’t very nice. Tear down the wall around that place, and maybe you better be afraid. I know Linda says she’s in heaven now, but I’m not so sure.”
“Heaven, hell, it’s all a matter of perception,” Toya said. “We help her get rid of her anxiety, and then she’s in heaven.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple,” he said. “The places I saw weren’t just a matter of perception. They looked as real as this place.”
“I’ve spent a lot more time with the dead than you have,” she said. “Tell you the truth, I don’t even think this place is real any more. It’s all in the head.”
“It’s real okay, and so’s that damn pit,” he said. “My skin starts crawling when I think about it.”
“I know all about the pit,” she said. “I will thrust you down with those that descend into the pit, to the people of old, and I will make you to dwell in the nether world, among primeval ruins.”
Her voice sounded different somehow. A cold breeze whistled through the fence, and Mark shivered.
“You know your Bible,” he said.
“No I don’t. I never read it.”
“Well, you just did a pretty good job quoting it.”
“No I didn’t, it was just some words I thought up,” she said. “What I’m trying to tell you is, we can help Linda get to heaven if we want to.”
Or maybe we can let ourselves be dragged to hell with her, Mark thought. He still felt cold. He sipped his beer, but it didn’t help.
“You look like you’re freezing out there,” she said. “It’s nice and cozy in here. Just saying.”
He took off his clothes and got in. The steaming water felt good.
“I don’t think we better call her up anymore,” he said.
“But you told her we would. You promised her.”
“So you can hear what she’s saying when you’re in a trance?” he asked.
“Sure I can. I know what she said, and I know what you said.”
“There’s a time to bury the dead,” he said. “I think that’s better for her and for us too.”
“You miss her, don’t you?” Toya asked.
“Of course I do.”
“So don’t you think she misses you? How would you like to be murdered and take all that negativity with you to the grave and then be all alone with no one to help you?”
“It’s nothing to play with,” he said. “I mean trying to cure the dead with amateur psychology, that’s just nuts. Anyway, let’s not worry about it tonight.”
“Suit yourself.” Toya sipped her Chardonnay. “Hey, I could get used to this,” she said.
The dark clouds gathering above the fence reminded Mark of the man in black.
“I like hard facts,” he said. “I like to put my hands on things. What I’d really like is to find the bastard who killed her.”
“The murderer rises in the dark,” Toya said. “In the dark they dig through houses. By day they shut themselves up; they do not know the light.”
“That’s from Job,” he said. “I thought you didn’t know the Bible.”
“I don’t. I was just sorta spacing out, thinking about some people digging around through the dirt like worms. Don’t mind me, I’m just weird. What makes you think it’s from the Bible anyway?”
“Because I had to study it when I was a kid,” he said. “I was brought up Baptist, and they make you read every word except the raunchy stuff.”
“I bet you were a good little Bible boy,” Toya said. She stretched out her long legs and started tickling his balls with her toes.
“I don’t think you should do that,” he said.