American Omens

by Travis Thrasher

  “What sort of business do you want with Jackson Heyford?”

  As he suspected, the man had been sent by his father or his father’s people. Will wasn’t surprised.

  “It’s nothing to do with business,” Will said. “And it’s not your business either.”

  The man stood there, more motionless than the trees behind him. Flip wiggled in his arms, so Will put the dog down to wander by their feet.

  “I assume Jackson Heyford’s office received my message.”

  “Yes, but not the reason you want to meet.”

  “That’s between me and him.”

  Jackson’s well-dressed assistant or bodyguard or whatever he was just stood there, again seeming to wait. Or perhaps working extra hard to think of something to say.

  “Tell Mr. Heyford that this has something to do with Jimmy,” Will said. “You got that?”

  Still nothing from Robot Man, or maybe Will should think of him as Frankenstein. Will picked Flip back up, but as he did, it appeared the stranger heard something.

  “Ten o’clock tonight,” Heyford’s man said.

  Ah. Dad was listening in. Will knew the very mention of his brother’s name would get an immediate response.

  “I’ll pick you up,” the man said.

  “No. I’ll drive myself. That way I have a tiny bit of control. I need every little bit I can get.”

  “Ten o’clock tonight at Mr. Heyford’s residence.” The big figure began to walk away in the mixture of snow and ice.

  Will had done exactly what Hutchence had told him to do—make sure he wasn’t taken to Heyford but rather would drive himself. That way Will could bring a guest.

  SIXTEEN

  Streaks of Red and Orange

  1.

  “Good morning.”

  The sound. Sudden, alive, surrounding, inside.

  “This is your wake-up call, Mr. Dowland. One you will remember for quite some time.”

  He’d already grabbed the Beretta on the table by the master bed and crouched between the bed and the wall. The hovering red glow on the illuminated wall spilled out into the rest of the hotel suite, giving it the hazy look of a nightclub. No shape or shadow could be seen. Nothing was moving or out of place.

  “Don’t worry, Dowland. You don’t have to get dressed for me. Instead of spying on you the way you like to do with others, I thought I’d introduce myself.”

  No way. “How are you able to talk to me?” Dowland yelled even though he knew he could have whispered and the man on the other end would hear him.

  “Well, first, you left your SYNAPSYS on.”

  Since he was in Chicago, he had contacted a couple of guys he knew to look into any possible leads on the man he had been following earlier. Now he knew for sure it was Reckoner. The only way his contacts could reach him right away was through his SYNAPSYS.

  How’d he get through mine?

  “But the technology part? Frankly, I think guys like you and me aren’t smart enough even to have that explained to us. Like you, I have colleagues. They just happen to be brilliant.”

  “Identify yourself,” Dowland said as he walked through the two-room suite to make sure everything was clear.

  “ ‘Identify yourself’? You act like you’re talking to HAL 9000. I think you know who this is.”

  “Why don’t you tell me since you obviously have a lot more answers than I do.”

  Everything in the room appeared the way he remembered it before he fell asleep. Or the way it had been before his memory began to slip, before the alcohol finally set well into his bloodstream, before the familiar black took over. An empty bottle of gin sat on the bathroom counter, and another bottle was on the table in the sitting area.

  “I’m not interested in playing cat-and-mouse games, Dowland. Nor am I trying to play head games, even though I am literally inside your head.”

  Dowland opened a screen on the desk and looked up the data on the caller. No image could be found, no information listed. It was blank and blocked. The voice continued to talk, undaunted by anything Dowland might be doing to learn his identity.

  “I’m going to tell you the same thing I’ve been telling others, though I’ll make it a lot more simple and straightforward for you. The people you’re working for are no longer protected. The world is going to learn about the lies they’re digesting daily, about the people controlling them. And about people like you hunting down and killing men and women for their faith. But as the Turkish proverb says, ‘No matter how far you have gone on a wrong road, turn back.’ ”

  Despite every sort of search and scan Dowland tried, his SYNAPSYS produced nothing. Not one bit of information. All Dowland could do was curse at the voice.

  “I know you’ve seen plenty of the signs and warnings and proclamations I’ve given.”

  “Yeah. And it’s going to be fun when I finally see you and give you a proclamation of my own.”

  There was a pause, and for a moment Dowland wondered if he had scared away the unseen intruder.

  “God knows you. He sees you and loves you. And He has mentioned you by name, Jonathan Paul Hardy.”

  Dowland stood and looked around the room again, panic setting in. A sort he hadn’t felt in a very long time. The gun still in his hand, he walked over to look at the glittering skyline of Chicago. In the distance the Incen Tower soared up to the heavens high above this miniscule building.

  Nobody knows my real name. Nobody.

  “Who are you working for?” Dowland asked. “Where are you getting your information?”

  “Jesus told the people that unless they saw signs and wonders, they simply would not believe. Yet He also told them that they had indeed seen Him, and still they didn’t believe. And you’re one of those, Dowland. I tell you something as simple as a name you’ve kept carefully hidden your entire adult life, and you instantly assume I’m working with someone else, another small group controlling everybody else. But that is your world, not mine. I follow the person in control of everything, including you and me.”

  Dowland wanted to shut off his SYNAPSYS and easily could, yet every single second he spent listening to the man on the other end might help. If not to find his location, at least to figure out who he was and to possibly take him down.

  “A man I know spent his life dreaming of being in those high circles, of knowing the people who knew the people who ultimately make every decision for this world. The secret societies, those above the governments, those with money and power. This man kept rising higher and higher in the spidery web of the financial market. But God never let go of him. God finally caught his attention and crushed his heart. He became a new man.”

  “And this is you, right?” Dowland asked.

  “You should know by now that things in this world are never as they seem. And when it comes to the Holy Spirit, He truly does move in mysterious ways.”

  2.

  She was crazy. That was for certain. But maybe Dowland was too. Maybe that’s why they made a living doing what they did. He rarely called her, primarily because she scared him. But at this point he needed to stop the bleeding, so any way that could happen was worth it.

  Margaux entered the doorway as if she had just completed a marathon. The logo on her athletic jacket matched the ones on her leggings, shoes, and headband. She swooped into the bar with long, quick strides, her raven hair pulled back in a ponytail. Margaux was a striking figure, and her allure was the very reason she was almost the best in this brutal business. Yet there was something undeniably cold about her.

  “This had better be good,” she said as she wiped a dot of sweat off her cheek.

  No greeting, no “How’s life treating you?” No casual comment whatsoever.

  “I see you’re really letting yourself go,” he said with a grin.

  “And I see you’ve never looked hea
lthier.”

  This prompted a laugh. He always loved her bite.

  “You were hard to reach.”

  “Some of us have lives,” Margaux said.

  “But you’re here now, right?”

  Her eyes glanced at the empty glass in front of him. “You’re drunk.”

  “And you’re judgmental.”

  Margaux slid onto the chair across from him and glanced around, apparently expecting someone to be there at that very second to serve her. “I always wonder why they put up with you.”

  “We’re cut from the same cloth, and you know it. That’s why you’re here.”

  She flipped her hair, then drilled into him with her malicious stare. “ ‘We’ are two opposing universes here, always have been.”

  Dowland looked at the bartender and then shouted at him to get over here.

  “I’m so sorry,” the man said seconds after he bolted from behind the thick wood of the bar to run to their table. “What would you like, miss?”

  “Give me a double,” Dowland said.

  For a second the short, bald bartender didn’t know what to say. Margaux didn’t appear surprised in the slightest by Dowland’s rudeness.

  “I’d like to order a muzzle,” she joked.

  The bartender really looked confused now, his wide eyes looking at Dowland and then at her again. “Is that some kind of drink?”

  She sneaked an amused glance at Dowland, and for the moment they were on the same side. “Since he’s picking up the tab, bring me the most expensive glass of wine you have. And if it only comes in a bottle, then let’s uncork that sucker.”

  The man began to open his mouth, but Dowland told him to go, so he did.

  It was enough to make Dowland almost grin. Almost.

  “You know why you don’t like me, Margaux?” he asked her.

  “It’s a long list.”

  “It’s because I don’t run like that. I don’t crumble under the Margaux factor.”

  Those long fingers spun her hair again in a way that looked like a habit, like someone who couldn’t stay still, someone who couldn’t help waving the world off.

  “You don’t need someone else to help you crumble,” she said as the drinks were served.

  Dowland didn’t wait for her as he took a sip, closing his eyes for a moment, lost in the warm tug while the bartender opened the wine bottle and let her try a sip. He opened his eyes and took another sip of his double-barreled gin. The bartender was kind enough to bring two wine glasses, leaving his empty.

  “I flew down to meet with Mel,” he told her and saw the reaction in her eyes. “We met for a very specific job.”

  “ ‘Very specific,’ huh? So you’re saying there’s no ambiguity here, right?”

  He cursed at her sarcasm, which only made her laugh louder.

  “I hope you looked a little more alive and awake in front of Mel than you do now.”

  Another curse was directed at her. “I don’t want to trade insults like some married couple. There’s a reason people like us aren’t hitched.”

  Margaux raised her eyebrows as if surprised, then brushed her jaw with her index finger. She had mastered the art of seductive mannerisms when talking, a trick that helped her control most conversations.

  “Relationships can be tough to navigate, right?” she said, looking at the bandage on his ear.

  Ah yes. Well played.

  He cursed again with a laugh, then finished the drink in front of him. “As the saying goes, ‘ ’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,’ ” Dowland told her.

  “I believe our definitions of love might contradict each other,” Margaux said.

  The last thing in the world he wanted at this moment was to be talking to this woman about love. “I need your help,” Dowland said.

  Her head moved back. Then she feigned choking as she put a hand over her mouth. “Am I delirious? Did I just hear you say that?”

  “I don’t have the time or patience to try to be cocky.” He sighed. “That’s gotten me nowhere.”

  The gemstone green in her eyes appeared to brighten with his admission. “I’ve heard you haven’t had much luck lately.”

  He leaned over the table. “What have you heard? Honestly, I need to know what’s out there.”

  “I’ve heard it’s urgent. Quite important, in fact. Acatour is anxious, something that doesn’t happen. It involves the mystery man who keeps pulling pranks and predicting the end of the company.”

  “But have you heard any chatter—anything—in the last twenty-four hours?”

  “No,” Margaux said in a tone honest enough for him to believe her.

  At this point he had to believe in someone. He needed at least one ally he could trust. Even if it was only temporary.

  “The situation just got worse.” He told her what happened with Lorenzo Costa and the old couple.

  There was no reaction from Margaux, nothing that revealed she’d heard the story. Maybe Lorenzo was actually keeping his mouth shut.

  “The problem isn’t only the mess Lorenzo left back in Tulsa,” Dowland said. “He spotted the first two people at the scene of the crime. One was the daughter of Keith Burne, the missing exec on our list. And—you’re gonna love this—the other was the rapper named License.”

  “Odd combo,” she said as she took a sip of her wine.

  Dowland nodded and poured himself a glass, then tried it. “Wow, this is going to be expensive.”

  “Very.” She looked amused. “You believe Lorenzo?”

  “Yeah. He’s scared. This was the only way he stayed out of trouble. Honestly, the only way he’s not floating in a river.”

  “Has anybody ever connected either Burne or License with the Chicago vigilante?”

  “No. If they do before I manage to find either of them, then I might be the one floating.”

  “You do need my help.”

  “Yes.” He cursed to emphasize how much he hated asking for it. But like Dowland, she had her own contacts and connections, especially in a city like Chicago.

  “There’s something else,” Dowland told her. “They’re able to get through your SYNAPSYS, to talk on it.”

  “I thought you didn’t use yours.”

  “Only at select times, only when I have to contact someone like you in an emergency. They knew. He knew. I heard him loud and clear.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive,” Dowland said. “This technology—it makes me wonder about the Burne girl. Cheyenne. The genius from PASK. Maybe she’s been involved with this like her father.”

  “Their whereabouts…”

  “Unknown. But I have a feeling. I’m pretty sure they’re either in Chicago now or nearby. All the things the Reckoner is doing concern Acatour and Jackson Heyford.”

  Margaux rubbed her hands gently, then lightly touched the black tattoo band around her ring finger. “Have you spoken with Heyford about any of this?”

  “No. It better not come to that.”

  “You think something big is going to happen in Chicago?”

  Dowland looked across the room at the modern art painting on the wall as he pondered the question. The background was blurry gray with a round black cloud in the center coated with streaks of red and orange as if they were splattered rather than painted on the canvas. Staring into the six-foot painting, Dowland pictured his father’s face the day he finally died.

  “No,” Dowland answered. “I think this guy and these people are putting on some big act. I don’t think they know all that much. But it doesn’t matter what I think. I’m just supposed to hunt them down.”

  “And what if I told you I can’t help you?” she said with a devilish smile on her lips.

  “Then tell me. Like I said, I don’t have time for an
y games or bravado.”

  They both knew that the moment she became involved, her position of power in their universe rose a little higher.

  “Okay,” Margaux said. “And if I find any of them first?”

  “Do what you do best.”

  SEVENTEEN

  The Same Page

  1.

  The moment her father stepped foot in the barn that morning, Cheyenne couldn’t help but let loose with an uproarious laugh.

  “You have to be kidding me,” she said, shaking her head.

  Her father wore a black hoodie that said LICENSE on its front, the rapper’s name and brand almost as well known as the Nike logo. Jazz stood next to him, looking professional in his sweater and black winter vest.

  “What?” her father said, acting as if he had no clue what she was talking about.

  “Big License fan, huh, Dad?”

  “Oh sure.” Keith Burne looked at Jazz. “At least the songs that don’t have profanities in them.”

  “There aren’t many,” Jazz joked.

  Soon all five of them sat around the conference table under the hard white light illuminating the barn. Looking at everyone, Cheyenne knew what an unlikely team they were. Her father sitting next to her in his very unconventional attire, and next to him was Jazz, studying the printed documents all of them had in front of them. On another side of the table, Malek sat typing on a Mac laptop, his fingers moving like a hamster running in its wheel. He had his get-up-and-go look today, as she used to call it when it appeared as if he had gotten out of bed and gone directly to work. He wore the same clothes as yesterday, and his hair was sharp and messy, as if he’d tried to style it with gel and only made it worse.

  Jazz had arrived last night, and the four of them had spent the night at the farmhouse, waiting for the fifth member of this makeshift team. When she showed up, they were all surprised to see it wasn’t the Reckoner but rather a woman named Lucia Gonzales. The woman wore a dark blue business suit and looked like a realtor or lawyer.

  “I’ve seen you before,” Lucia told Cheyenne as they shook hands.