“What is it?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
His eyes narrowed and he reached to pick it up. I didn’t try to stop him. Some things you have to find out for yourself. He turned a page and rage creased his big face. He replaced the book and took out a block of C4 from one of his cargo pockets.
I was stunned. “What the fuck?”
“There’s only one way to cure this disease. He held up the C4. “With this.”
“I get it, bro, but first we have to find out what’s down here.”
He nodded and put the C4 away.
“What’s this thing that Clipper has about eyes?”
I shrugged. “See no evil. Feel no evil?”
“This fucker’s pure evil.”
Bobby led the way and we mounted the right hand staircase. The area in front of us illuminated, while the main room behind us went dark. The stairs led directly into a galley-style kitchen and again, lights flickered to life as we stepped inside. It was all ultra-modern and very expensive stainless steel appliances and upscale cookware, but without any signs of recent use.
I checked behind a Norman Rockwell calendar hanging on the wall just inside the kitchen door, and found the control panel. I pressed the dimmer and the lights faded. Bobby grabbed his flashlight and I flipped off the lights completely, plunging the room into total darkness and then brought them back up.
“Detectors for every room. But why?”
Bobby shrugged. “Dunno. I get using dimmers, for mood an’ all, but not the whole motion thing.”
“Unless it’s for security?”
We descended back into the main room. Using my flashlight, I searched above the light fixtures and found what I was looking for. Just below the ceiling, in each corner, were tiny, recessed security cameras. I pointed to them.
“Shit,” said Bobby. “You think they’ve made us?”
“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
Stepping it up, we took the left hand staircase. When we reached the top, we stepped onto a large landing, furnished with antiques. The walls were painted yellow in a contemporary scroll style, and a single step led to a flat panel door made of dark hardwood. A stainless steel sign with letters in black calligraphy hung at eye level: Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.
“I’ve seen that before,” I said.
“Dante’s Inferno.”
“Yeah. You’ve read it?”
“Several times.”
“That’s amazing? When I read it in college, it freaked me out. I had to force myself to finish it.”
“When I got back from Nam, it somehow seemed fitting. The only thing I could find that helped me make sense of the horror of it all.”
I nodded and grabbed the door handle. Bobby moved to the right, and I pushed it open. Soft, moody light flooded a well-furnished, high-ceilinged bedroom. In the middle, lacy lavender curtains surrounded a four-poster bed. Saloon style swinging doors led into an exotically tiled bathroom with recessed lighting. It was divided into sections with two wooden toilets sitting side-by-side in a separate cubicle, finished in Asian black lacquer with gold designs. An entire wall of the bedroom was dedicated to what had to be Clipper’s intricate, precise, and very disturbing artwork. Pen and ink in the hands of a madman can be terrifying. Horrific creatures, twisted and deformed, tortured, raped, and devoured each other.
“It’s the nine circles of Hell, with his own twist.”
“Fucking weird, bro.”
It was unnerving. That someone as evil as Clipper was a first-rate artist was troubling. I’d been staring at the wall for some time when Bobby shook me out of it.
“We gotta keep moving.”
He yanked me away and we walked out of that nightmare. We descended back to the main room and immediately started up the center staircase, which was carpeted in black with ebony handrails. Halfway up we were plunged into darkness.
“No motion detectors,” whispered Bobby.
“I feel safer this way.”
Our flashlights probed the darkness and at the top of the stairs we came to a landing where a second staircase intersected it and angled sharply downward. There were no handrails and the walls had been sprayed with black powder paint.
“Jesus,” said Bobby. “Feels like we’re stepping deeper into hell.”
We continued on and, after about 100 feet, the tunnel forked.
“Left or right?” I asked.
He said nothing and I followed as he stomped off down the left hand tributary. After about a minute, we came to a barrier made of flat-stacked rock. It too was painted black.
Bobby looked at me, his eyes narrowing, “What’s the point of this? A tunnel that goes nowhere?”
“Maybe that is the point.”
He turned and I caught a glimpse of his face, his square jaw set, his sad eyes hooded. He muttered something under his breath and started back up the corridor. When we reached the other branch he picked up the pace, striding rapidly forward. To my surprise, a dim light shone in the distance. We came to a large landing with the ceiling supported by four thick cylindrical pillars. This time the walls were painted to resemble a winter forest scene -- snow on the ground, pine trees, their needleless branches extending toward a thin sky, a family of white foxes hurrying toward their hillside burrow. The work was painstaking and precise.
“Glad to see him do something in color,” said Bobby.
Twenty feet in front of us, twin inlaid wooden doors topped by a stained glass archway suggested a church or sanctuary. Low curved steps in natural granite led up to the doors. Guns drawn, we moved forward. I turned the knob, pulled the door open and we crossed the threshold. The air was thick and a putrid stench, one we both instantly recognized, wrapped itself around us. I had the odd thought that somebody should open a window. I played my flashlight across the ceiling and walls of a huge rectangular space with a beamed cathedral ceiling. Rows of wooden pews faced forward, above which chandeliers hung at intervals, but offered no light. At the front, a thick burgundy velvet stage curtain hanging ceiling to floor extended from one wall to the other. Nativity scenes that might normally have been inspiring made me shudder. Men and young boys in naked undress mingled with goats, sheep and donkeys.
“I can’t take much more of this shit,” growled Bobby.
We climbed the five small steps up to the stage, pulled aside the velvet curtain and stood as still as the body that was strapped across a rough, plank table. The victim had apparently starved to death. The emaciation was absolute and the remains, what were left of them, looked like something out of a horror movie. The flesh, blackening and putrefied, was covered with maggots and nocturnal beetles. The clothes had been removed and stacked on an altar next to piles of mold-covered cakes, cheese, bread, rotten milk, bottled water and wrinkled fruit. Above that hung a plain wooden cross. It was undoubtedly Cicero and he was very dead. A single, straight-backed chair sat near the body, with a red oak pulpit completing the arrangement.
Bobby, his eyes glazed, said, “Is that him, Cicero?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
BANG! The slug seared the air right in between us, slamming into Cicero’s skull, spraying congealed blood, brain matter and maggots through the air. The room erupted with light from the overhead inset fixtures. Reggie Mount, his green eyes ablaze with fury, aimed his .38 at us.
“How dare you enter this church and invade the sanctity of this man’s death?” His voice, shrill with excitement, laced with insanity. I took a step away from Bobby in the hopes of distracting Mount, so that Bobby could get the drop on him. But Reggie Mount was cunning, and not to be so easily outsmarted. He grinned and jacked back the hammer on his gun. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
I nodded and smiled. “No harm in trying.”
“Your weapons? Put ‘em on the altar.”
We complied, carefully placing them as far away from things that crawled as possible.
He flicked his gun at me. “Grab the rope an
d tie up Hulk Hogan.”
“Where’s Clipper?”
“Don’t be in such a rush to meet the devil,” he grinned.
“And what’s he to you, Reggie?”
“My nephew.” A shiver raced down my spine. He must have sensed it and smiled, but it was completely without warmth. “Amusing that you didn’t make the connection.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“You know this guy?” Bobby was astonished.
“Met him last Thursday when I came looking for Clipper.”
Agitated, Reggie gritted his teeth. “I said tie him up.”
“Did he bring Richie here, to watch his dad die?”
“He most certainly did not.”
“But wouldn’t that have been the ultimate way to demonstrate his power over him, to get him to do exactly what he wants?”
“He already has total control over Richard.”
“Then what does he want with Jade?”
“He’ll be here soon. You can ask him yourself.”
Bobby, the muscles in his body rippling as he prepared for combat, announced as if to an unseen moderator, “I can’t wait to meet him.”
Reggie was growing more arrogant by the second, Bobby more dangerous. Explosion time. I started laughing. Bobby remained coiled, ready to leap at the precise right millisecond.
Reggie, perplexed, stared at me. “What the hell’s so damn funny?”
“Why’d you murder him?”
“Because he had it coming.”
“You’ll have to expound on that.”
Reggie sighed and looked at me like I was a moron. “Mr. Lamont was no babe in the woods. During the course of our long vigil, he revealed that he was responsible for multiple homicides. Admittedly they were drug dealers and other types of criminals, but still, you get the point.”
“But that doesn’t give you the right to murder him.”
“The right? The world doesn’t run on who has the right. It runs on who has the power.”
“So then what’s the difference between you and him?”
“What about the hundreds, perhaps thousands, who overdosed on his product?”
“That’s not for you to judge. And certainly not for you to--”
“--Hold on, Nick,” said Bobby. “Maybe he’s got a point.”
“What?” The shock coursed through me.
“I fucking hate drug dealers. You know that.”
“So what? You’re not buying his bullshit, are you?”
Reggie was bemused by this sudden turn in events. His eyes darted from Bobby to me.
“A lotta Vietnamese and GIs died ‘cause’a drugs.”
I nodded, fully aware of why Bobby hated drugs so much.
Reggie’s eyes narrowed. “You were In Country?”
“What?” said Bobby, pissed.
“Nam. You were in Nam?”
“Yeah. Tunnel rat.”
Reggie Mount lowered his gun. “Jesus. You guys were crazy.”
“1st Recon. 9th Cavalry,” he smiled. “All in a day’s work.”
“I was a door gunner on a rescue chopper. Three tours. Almost 500 missions.”
Bobby grinned. “And you call me crazy?”
They looked at each other, a mutual admiration society. I felt like I was watching a Monty Python sketch, but I let it play out.
“One of your guys saved my life,” offered Reggie.
“Is that right?”
He nodded. “We’d just taken off from a hot zone, north of Saigon and the NVA opened up with a 50 cal. Blew me right out of the Huey. I dropped like a stone into a paddy field. Next thing I know, I’m being dragged into a tunnel.”
Bobby’s mouth fell open. “Where, where did it happen?”
“Why?” glared Reggie, suspiciously.
“Duc Ho, Quang Nai Province?”
“So what if it was?”
“You were cut up pretty bad.”
“Uh-uh. I’m not falling for that.”
“The Huey went down. No one but you survived.”
A curious mixture of shock and disbelief spread across Reggie’s face. “I don’t know you. I’d remember.”
“In the tunnel, there was a firefight. You got shot. Left forearm if my memory serves me well.”
He stared blankly. “How could you know that?”
“Simple. I dragged you into the tunnel. Your arm, can I see it?”
Reggie’s hard green eyes turned soft. Trembling, he began rolling up his sleeve. “Are you…I mean, it’s not possible.”
Bobby, 225 pounds of pure fighting mad, adrenaline-coiled muscle, nodded almost imperceptibly.
There it was, an old bullet wound, thick with white scar tissue, staring up at Reggie. “Shit.” His tone was half-incredulous, half fait accompli.
Bobby smiled. “Long time no see, bro.”
Looking down at his arm, Reggie licked his suddenly dry lips. “I dunno, I dunno what to say.”
“Small world.”
“Yeah.” He looked sad, embarrassed and sighed, “SNAFU.”
“Copy that.”
They stared at each other in the charged silence.
Reggie looked down at his gun, then at me, then at Bobby. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances.”
“Me too.”
“I’d be KIA if it wasn’t for you.”
“Don’t suppose you can let us sky out?”
Reggie’s face creased with what might’ve passed for real emotion. “No. Sorry, I really am.”
Bobby nodded. “A handshake then, after all these years.”
“I can do better. You wanna go first? Your choice.”
Bobby nodded and Reggie slipped the .38 into his left hand. He held out his right and took two steps forward, jacking back the hammer. Bobby stiffened and saluted. They were like marionettes on some infernal stage. Reggie came to attention and returned the salute. Bobby sprang, turning sideways, grabbing the .38 with his right, chopping him across the throat with his left. Sinking to his knees, Reggie’s hands flew up to try and massage air back into his crushed larynx. Faster than I thought possible, Bobby wrapped his paws around his head, slamming him down on to the concrete floor. Now in full kill mode, enraged, he smashed his head so hard it made a hollow, cracking sound, like a coconut being broken open. Blood and pink brain matter oozed out of his skull. Reggie Mount twitched several times, his eyes glazed over and he died. Bobby stood up, breathing hard, eyes wild with blood lust.
The adrenaline was like a hurricane. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
He didn’t move.
“Bobby!”
He looked at me and slowly, deliberately, pulled out the C4. “It’s time.”
“No. We can’t go blowing up the Hollywood Hills.”
“Cicero’s dead and Jade doesn’t need to see or know how much he suffered.”
“Yeah, I get that but still.”
“Plus our prints are all over the place.”
“It doesn’t matter. As much as I’d like to blow these bastards to hell, we can’t.”
Bobby nodded and sighed. “What about me?”
“What about you?”
“I just killed him.”
“It was self-defense.” Bobby looked skeptical. “Besides, they’ll spend years analyzing Clipper’s paintings, and who knows how many others he and his crew have murdered. There’s probably DNA all over this place.”
“I don’t like it, but you’re the boss.”
I inwardly sighed with relief. “Ironic, huh, that you saved his life? I mean, what’re the chances, right?”
“I didn’t.” He shrugged.
“What? But I thought--”
“--I’d heard about it from one of the grunts in my unit, who knew the guy that actually did save him.” I didn’t know what to say. I looked at him in amazement. “I figured we were screwed anyway, so there was nothing to lose.”
The blood from Reggie Mount’s head was oozing out and spreading across the concrete floor. I
took a step to one side and grabbed my guns off the altar. “Get your guns and let’s go.”
Bobby picked his up, deliberately blowing off a maggot. “Bye, asshole.” Then he turned to me, “You gonna call this in?”
“At some point.”
He looked around. “This place is huge and I’ll bet that we haven’t explored half of it.”
“I don’t care. There’s too much evil here.”
“Heard that.”
“Let it stay here.”
He nodded and we got out like the house was on fire. Ten minutes later we passed through the stainless steel door and stepped out onto the windswept hillside.
“You see the bag?” I asked and played my flashlight over the brush.
“There.”
I retrieved it and that’s when it hit me. “Shit.”
“What?”
“The surveillance tapes have to be in the main house somewhere.”
I could barely keep up with Bobby, as he hammered up the access road to the back door. He reached for the handle and froze. “Wait. What if it’s wired?”
“I dunno. I’m guessing there’s a way into the labyrinth from the house. If I’m right, then it figures that the system’s on.”
“We need to get those tapes.”
“The only way to not trip the alarm is to go back, through there.” I pointed at the steel door.
“SNAFU,” he said.
“Yep.”
We headed back down the hill, pulled open the door and retraced our steps. We didn’t speak. It was nasty. Sweat drenched us as the unknown chilled our bones. We’ve both seen our fair share of dead people, in my case mostly lying on cold mortuary slabs, but the vibe in there was as foreboding as anything I’ve ever experienced. Eventually, we reentered the perversity of Clipper’s church. I almost expected Reggie to greet us, looking like Nosferatu, but he was as dead as the cold concrete he lay on. We sidestepped the spreading red ooze of his death, traversed the stage, past the crawling scavengers feasting on Cicero’s stinking corpse, and found the passageway leading up to the main house.
The door into Reggie’s living room was open. We cautiously entered and, using our flashlights, searched for the computer that the security cams would be wired into. I found it in a small, back office. The screen was on, showing the underground church in all its HD vulgarity.
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