Genesis of Evil

by Nile J. Limbaugh

  “Oh, boy,” he said to himself. “I smell money.”

  Maurice couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Basically, you’re telling me the thing is back bigger and better than ever,” he said.

  “It sure looks that way,” Gerhart said into the phone. “You wouldn’t believe the riot we had today. Seven dead. Seven! My God, Maurice, what the hell am I going to do?”

  There was silence on the other end for a moment. Then Maurice said, “We’re not that far away. Been in Indiana looking into a barn that proved to be haunted with a lot of electronic gimmicks. We were headed home for a few days, but we can be in Trinidad day after tomorrow. I’ll call Arch. He’s in Vermont. He won’t be there for another day, but I want to talk to him about the meters we used at your mall.”

  “What should I do in the meantime?”

  “Nothing. Closing the mall is the best thing you could have done. Keep everybody away from there. We’ll see you late Sunday or early Monday.”

  Gerhart hung up and sat thinking. How did the thing get back? Why did it return? What the hell was it in the first place? At least Maurice could come back. That was something. All he had to do was keep folks out of the mall until then. He picked up the phone to call Penton and tell him the experts were on the way. He hoped the mall manager could hold off the stockholders until the mess was cleared up. Gerhart didn’t want to think about what might happen next.

  The Right Reverend Rimer Tillotson of the Trinidad Church of Divine Prayer parked his fifteen-year-old Chevrolet in the center of the almost empty parking lot in front of the mall. Although there was an announcement on the front page of the Trinidad Probe, as well as several spots on the radio, cars kept coming and going. They started rolling slowly through the lot at 10:00 in the morning when the mall usually opened. Tillotson reached into the trunk of the Chevy and pulled out what his daughter referred to as “Daddy’s Soapbox.” In reality, Tillotson had built it himself from scrap lumber. It was designed to elevate the Reverend some eighteen inches and assure him a view over the heads of a crowd, assuming one happened to gather. Tillotson climbed onto the box and rotated slowly, both arms raised to Heaven. After turning a full circle he closed his eyes and bowed his head.

  “Dear Lord, help us to spare these, your humble sheep, from the evils of this den of commerce. Help us to understand that these evils are only a test of our faith, Dear Lord, and are designed to enable us to ascend to your mansions in the sky.”

  Several curious folks wandered toward Tillotson to see what he was babbling about. The combined sound of the ubiquitous seagulls and surf almost drowned him out. When they got close enough to understand the thrust of his message, some stayed, but most returned to their cars or trucks and drove away. Tillotson was not to be deterred from his goal. He knew firsthand that the work of the devil was going on in that mall, and he intended to fight it with every ounce of his strength.

  His encounter with Geraldine Mockey had almost culminated in his arrest. A screaming Geraldine had galloped into the food court and dragged a startled security guard back to the closet where Tillotson had hidden and waved his weenie at her. But by the time she returned the preacher had yanked his clothing into a semblance of order and escaped via the delivery door at the rear of the building. His wife and daughter waited for him near the front door for almost an hour before going out to the old Chevy to find him sitting stiffly behind the wheel, ninety-three-degree heat notwithstanding. He had claimed boredom as the reason for vacating the comfort of air conditioning. Although both wife and daughter eyed him suspiciously, neither questioned the statement.

  Now that the Right Reverend Rimer Tillotson knew what he was up against he intended to subdue it one way or another. Upon ending his prayer he looked out over the small crowd. There were some twenty souls who had planned a morning of shopping but now found themselves with time on their hands. When Tillotson looked up, some offered “Amen” or “Praise the Lord.”

  Tillotson, thus encouraged, launched into a sermon.

  “The time has come for all good Christians to offer themselves to the Lord God for evermore. Confess your sins and come forward to be saved in the name of Jesus!” He held his hands above the heads of the crowd. “Let no man keep you from ensuring your entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven.” He rolled his eyes skyward once more and drooled slightly from the left side of his mouth. “Baptism is the one sure way of gaining entrance into the Kingdom,” he cried. “Come forward and be baptized.”

  One man stepped slowly forward and looked hopefully up at Tillotson. The Reverend quickly lowered a hand, opened his fly and urinated forcefully in the direction of the startled man. “I baptize you in the name of the Lord,” he roared. The crowd gasped collectively and the first row beat a hasty retreat. Tillotson seemed unaffected.

  “Shrink not from the anointment of your Spiritual Leader,” he commanded, unbuckling his belt.

  He released his penis and slid his trousers and shorts down to his ankles. “Come to me and learn the way to salvation,” he roared, then spun around and mooned the remaining onlookers. “Kiss this sacred ass, you motherfuckers, and I shall lead you into the ways of lust such as you’ve never known.”

  The crowd fell all over each other in an effort to retreat before the Reverend lost all control and shat upon them. Two large trucker types, however, ran to the soapbox and yanked Tillotson to the ground.

  “What’s the matter with you, man?” one of them yelled in his ear. “Have you gone nuts?”

  “Do you know this guy?” the other asked as Tillotson struggled to escape.

  “I’ve been to his church a few times. Seemed like a regular type preacher. I think he’s flipped his cork.”

  Tillotson did his best to bite the ear from the shorter of the two men as they wrestled him into the back seat of his car. They managed to keep him there until a police car arrived, summoned by one of the previous onlookers. Officer Mazack hauled Tillotson to the station and locked him in a holding cell until Gerhart could be reached for instructions.

  Chapter Seventeen

  November 17, 2004

  Mark Birrell had not smoked for seventeen days. In times of stress he would almost beat himself to death looking for the pack of cigarettes he had carried in a shirt pocket for the better part of forty-one years. This time he went two rounds with himself before he realized what was wrong. He stopped pounding on his body and dug in a jacket pocket for the pack of chewing gum he used as an ineffective substitute for the nicotine. All he found was an empty package.

  “Hey, Gino,” he called to his driver, “pull in at that store up there and get me some gum.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  Gino swung the Mercedes into a parking slot, climbed out and trotted into the big grocery store. It took him six minutes to find the gum, gather up five packs and get to a checkout line. Then he came to a halt behind a blue-haired little old lady trying to find six more pennies in her purse. To kill time he read the headlines on the various tabloids and gossip magazines racked next to the aisle. Most of them contained the usual mindless bullshit. His gaze stopped momentarily on a magazine cover that sported a shot of a pneumatic model wearing about two square inches of bikini. Next to this magazine was the latest copy of the National Query. The headlines took up half of the page.

  NEW SHOPPING MALL A KILLER!—CLOSED BY POLICE!

  Gino read the byline and first three sentences. Then he yanked a copy from the rack and got halfway through the article before the checkout girl gave the old lady her receipt and asked Gino how he was. He tossed the copy of the tabloid onto the counter along with the chewing gum and dropped a five-dollar bill next to his purchases.

  When he climbed into the Mercedes he handed the paper and the chewing gum to Birrell. “You better chew three or four sticks of gum,” he said, “before you read that.”

  Birrell, who was in the middle of a nicotine panic, ripped the wrapper from a stick and stuffed it into his mouth before he paid any attention to the tabloid. He st
opped chewing long before he stopped reading. Gino, who knew his boss better than he knew his own wife, pulled his head in like a turtle on a racetrack, gritted his teeth and waited for the explosion. When no sound came from the back seat Gino knew it was worse than he had expected. He heard Birrell pick up the phone and punch in some numbers.

  Hicks’ receptionist answered on the first ring. “Gulf Coast Properties. How may I help you?”

  “Let me talk to Hicks,” Birrell said.

  “He’s not in at the moment. May I take a message?”

  “This is Mark Birrell. Tell him to call me as soon as he gets back—not five minutes later. Not even one minute later. Understand?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Birrell. The moment he returns.”

  Birrell hung up on “Certainly.”

  Norbert Hicks made it a policy never to be in if someone called for him. It was his theory that if he appeared to be always busy, he would be. Although engrossed in the latest copy of Newsweek when the phone rang, something penetrated his concentration. He looked up from the magazine and called out the door.

  “Did I hear you say Birrell?” he asked the receptionist.

  “Yes, sir. He said to call as soon as you got in. He said not five minutes later. He said…”

  “Yeah. I got it.”

  Hicks laid the magazine on the desktop, went to the wet bar and made himself a bourbon and branch then returned to his big leather chair and sat down again. He didn’t like the sound of that summons. Birrell never called for him that way. In fact, Birrell never called at all. Hicks glanced at his watch. It was already after 3:00. He decided to put off calling until the next day. He sighed, stood and went to the door.

  “Josie, if Birrell calls again, I didn’t get back today at all. You didn’t see me after lunch. Okay?”

  “Sure, Mr. Hicks.”

  Norbert Hicks left quickly through the back door.

  When Norbert Hicks had first approached Mark Birrell concerning backing for the shopping mall, Birrell’s first impulse was to tell Hicks to go scratch his ass. But the more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea. The project would be high profile and wouldn’t hurt his image a bit. Although Birrell still held the reins on prostitution and gambling he had let the drug dealing go to the South Americans after seeing his first overdose victim in person. He didn’t need to deal junk to stay rich, anyway, and he almost hoped Florida would legalize gambling so he could get out of that racket, too. He wasn’t getting any younger. He kept his hand in the rackets primarily to keep the young blood in line. Most of them still knew his reputation from the old days, so he didn’t need to expend a great deal of energy upholding that image, but it didn’t hurt. Besides, these young guys were soft. He hadn’t had to whack anybody for nearly eight years. But he hated losing money needlessly and he would not allow himself to look stupid.

  The first thought Birrell had about the problems at the mall was to send Gino and a couple of the guys up to Trinidad. He figured they could fit Hicks with a lead necktie and take him fishing. But age had tempered his compulsive nature, so he waited for word from the realty agent. When Hicks finally called, it was the next day and Birrell had spent too much time thinking about the problem. He was back to considering heavy clothing and one-way boat trips.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he snapped when he recognized Hicks’ voice.

  “Out of town,” Hicks lied, doing his best to hold his voice steady. “Sorry, I didn’t think it was important.”

  “We ain’t asshole buddies, Hicks. Whenever I call you it’s important. You got that?”

  Hicks regretted his choice of words immediately. He noisily swallowed a dry lump of nothing that had apparently become lodged halfway down. “Right, Mr. Birrell. Sorry. What can I do for you?”

  “Have you seen the latest copy of the National Query?”

  “Jesus, Mr. Birrell, nobody reads that crap.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I just read it and I’m hardly nobody.”

  “Uhm, right. What’s in it?”

  “A headline about my mall. Says the fucking thing’s haunted. Says they closed it down.”

  Hicks knew about the closing, of course, but he didn’t dream the news would get to Birrell until the problem was solved and the mall was open again. He decided to play dumb. “What? Closed? When did that happen?”

  “Don’t feed me a ration of shit, Hicks. You’re right up there on top of the place. What’s going on, anyhow?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, some guy and his wife shot the place up a few weeks ago. And the Police Chief’s wife got murdered in one of the stores. Oh, yeah, and some kid French fried his head.”

  “He did what?” Birrell yelped.

  “Poked his head in the French fryer,” Hicks said with difficulty. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. “And one of the night watchmen died sort of funny, although nobody’s sure how. Come to think of it…”

  “Jesus Horatio von Christ! All of this in, how long, seven or eight weeks? Hicks, I want you to find out what the hell is going on and fix it. If that place loses money, I lose money. And it can’t make money if it’s closed. You got that, Hicks?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Birrell. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know anything.”

  “You better know something in about two days, or I’m coming up there. And if I come up there it means I’m unhappy. Believe me, Hicks, I’m not good company when I’m unhappy, if you get my drift.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Birrell. Two days. Right away.”

  Hicks hung up the receiver, blew out his cheeks, leaned back in his chair and mopped his face with his handkerchief. It came away wet enough to clean the bumpers on his car. After he caught his breath he raised his head and yelled to Josie to get the mayor on the phone. Right now.

  Gerhart sat at his desk and watched His Honor the Mayor march back and forth in front of it.

  “It’s simply a matter of money,” the mayor said for the third time. “You can’t arbitrarily cut off the income for almost five hundred people. Especially since they just got started. Not to mention the problem we’re going to have with management and stockholders and…” He trailed off as Gerhart held up a hand.

  “Manny, when it comes to my job I don’t make arbitrary decisions. I closed the mall in the best interests of the community. I don’t want anybody else to get injured or killed.”

  “I don’t either, but can’t you work around the problem while the place is open?”

  “That’s what I tried to do. It didn’t work. The mall stays closed, at least until my consultants get here.”

  Manning Richards stopped pacing in front of Gerhart’s desk. He spread his feet apart, jammed his fists against his hips and looked steadily at Gerhart with his most intense glare. “It won’t do, Chief. I want you to open that mall, and I want you to do it now.”

  Gerhart sighed, swiveled about and looked out the window at the row of stores across the street. “Manny, I can’t. And get off your high horse. You should know by now that you can’t intimidate me.”

  Richards leaned forward and placed both hands flat on the desk. “Chief Kable, open the mall. Now. That’s an order. Don’t forget who you work for.”

  Gerhart swiveled around and glared back at Manning Richards. “Listen here. I’ll continue to do what I think is best until you fire me. I hate to do this, but let me remind you of who I picked up for purse snatching in that very mall not two months ago. The case file is still open, pending further investigation. If I so desire. How is your son doing these days, Manny?”

  His Honor straightened up, swallowed and stared at a spot above Gerhart’s head. “Okay, okay. You’ve made your point. I owe you one.” He stuck a finger inside his collar and pulled it away from his neck. “But don’t push me too far.”

  “Manny, blow it out your ass,” Gerhart said, raising an eyebrow. “Now get out of here so I can go back to work.”

  “What am I going to tell people?” Richards asked.
>
  “Tell ‘em what you told me when you hired me. As long as I’m the chief, I have your full cooperation. I’m the professional cop here.”

  His Honor, Manning Richards, Mayor of Trinidad, Florida, grimaced, spun on his heel and left. Gerhart stood and hurried out to meet the spookhunters, who had just called to say they were rolling into town.

  Gerhart, Maurice, Claudette and Archie stood in the center of the mall entry and looked about.

  “Archie figured out what happened while he was driving down,” Maurice said. “It was because of the adjustment to the meters.”

  Archie nodded. “Remember, we had to change the sensitivity because this entity was so powerful? Well, we forgot to set it back. The thing was still here, but I guess we had knocked it into a semi-conscious state, or something similar. The meter was set to pick up a strong signal, not a weak one. If we had set it back it would have picked up the thing. Look at it now.” He held up the device in question. The needle was pegged out of sight. “I set it back the way it was before we came in.”

  “So what do we do now?” Gerhart asked.

  “I want to find out exactly where the hot spot is. The readings vary depending on where we are in the building, but we never really worked to see if there’s one place that’s the center of the activity. If there is one, it may help to know where it’s located.” Archie picked up another meter and held it out to Gerhart. “Take this one. We’re going to split up, each with a meter, and see where the signal is most powerful. Plus, if we all go in different directions at the same time and the thing moves around, maybe we can track it.”

  “How do you work this?” Gerhart asked, holding up the device.

  “Turn it on here. Then just keep an eye on the needle and make a note of where you are in the mall when you get the highest reading. Chief, you take the north corridor, Archie the south, Claudette the area behind the food court. I’m going back out to the service areas where they unload the trucks. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen or twenty minutes to cover the whole place. Everybody ready?”