by Стив Хиллард
A hand slammed flat against the door next to her face.
“First, we have a bit of commerce to complete.”
She couldn’t really move. She opted, instead, to study the intricacies of the grainy oak inches from her face.
“Will you hear the offer? Or should we kill your grandfather now?”
A thin cloak fell over her head. Cadence felt the world drop out beneath her feet. Wind rustled the cloak as she began to freefall. Images came to her — first still, then moving like pictures in a thumb-operated flicker book. She knew that she was dreaming as she was falling, falling to depths where oblivion was an unknown word, so dense was the darkness.
In the dream, her father faced a blazing man at the edge of a fire. He sought to pass to freedom, but the blazing man, shaped by furious black coils of smoke and the reek of hot diesel oil and burning flesh, barred him. There was talk of commerce which no path could warrant.
Her father said No, it’s not worth that price.
The blazing man held out a steaming oilcan. As you please. Here are special things for you to ponder. Sort of little kittens. He gestured a flaming hand. Come take a look.
Her father nodded.
The smoking eyes, darker in the flameface, narrowed and the indescribable contents of the can were poured on the ground.
* * *
As if at the snap of a hypnotist’s fingers, Cadence woke up, clearheaded and sitting in a chair. She was not surprised that her adversary was sitting across from her.
From the smells and style of the room and the furnishings around her, she guessed that she was still somewhere within the little shop of talismanic horror. She had the chance to study him. She realized that he had also been the strange cab driver. He had those same oily, dark eyes, but he was clean-shaven, the Mohawk gone, and his hair was buzz-length and neatly trimmed. He wore a loose-knit, orange polo shirt, nice pants, and a pair of khaki-colored Air Jordans. Almost as if for effect, he held a pair of wire-rimmed glasses in his manicured hands.
She said the first thing that came into her head.
“You learn fast.”
“That is my core competence.”
She tried to move, but while each of her parts moved and felt fine, the act of getting up from the chair just would not happen. One of the objects from the exhibition case, the backward-running clock face, lay on her lap. Was the wrong-way whirr and sweep somehow keeping her sitting there? She wondered if she could scare this weirdo.
“You and the munchkin are going to be in some kind of trouble when the cops arrive.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about being interrupted here. He glanced around, gesturing magnanimously with his glasses, saying in effect Aren’t we lucky to be in such a swell place?
“I have an idea.”
“Please, tell me.”
“Crawl back in your spider hole.”
“Now, now. No reason to be unsociable. At least, not yet. Perhaps we should clear up just who I am so that it doesn’t get in the way of us getting to know one another. I am known locally as Mr. Peaches. In my own country, I am called Mr. Barren or, simply, Barren. Before that, my name was Seax. My employer values my skills, which he sees as considerable. He too believes that I learn fast, and thus he chose me to make this trip and straighten this whole thing out. That, and the fact that I can be charming or one mean son of a bitch. I am to use my discretion, as he put it, although not exactly in those terms.”
Cadence stalled while she looked around for the door. “And just where is this employer, and who is he?”
“Far away, yet close. Down a road, across a bridge, burned in the words of a book, or behind a secret gate. My employer is powerful and used to getting his way.”
“Is he a wizard?”
“If you believe in such things.”
“I’m not into believing in things I can’t see.”
“I’m right here. The other pieces you’ve already seen, if you allow them to fit together.”
She started to get up, but nothing happened. The watch with the backward-running dial stirred in her lap like a purring cat.
“You’re a fake!” she spat out.
“You seem to have some issues here beyond me, Cadence. Forget about fire, for which I know you have a weak spot. To get to the point, you seem to be troubled by what’s real and what isn’t. Are you a doubter? Does your doubt insure that your world is made up of low hopes and petty requests? That is to say, barren?”
She looked at him.
“Don’t think I don’t know the meaning of my name. And yet my world is rich beyond your imagining. I not only believe it, I live it! A philosophy you might wish to embrace if you ever get out of this. Now, in any case, I’ve come to like this place. The perks aren’t as good, but there’s lots shaking.”
“All right, I’ve heard enough. I want to go.”
“Yes, yes. That has already been arranged. Do you want to know where?”
“Yeah, home. Out of here.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple. We, you and I, have some beez-ness to conduct.”
“What’s that?”
“A simple contract. Very little to negotiate. All it really is, I offer and you accept.”
“I know some lawyers.”
“Don’t threaten, child, it’s unbecoming. It’s also futile. Let me proceed as I have planned. Now, pay attention! My profession is to humble men much tougher than you, hard men who are used to ranging in the wilds and spying on my employer’s interests. I can break you. Now, what I’m offering you is as good as it gets. Far better than Les Inspecteurs.” He caricatured the name in phony French. “I implore you, don’t go down the path of your grandfather.”
“So what’s the offer?”
“The offer is that you deliver, at my direction, each and every page of each and every one of the documents given to your grandfather so many years ago. In other words, the entire peach crate stash, everything in that elusive valise. Upon delivery, I shall arrange for your release as well as … the survival of your grandfather.”
“What do you mean!” she exclaimed.
“I thought that might get your attention. Yes, yes, he is alive. He worries if he’ll ever see you again. He seems to have learned a huge lesson. Rather late, but still better than never. He needs your help, Cadence. Will you let him down the way he let down your father?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Good. Because that means that you and he, gosh, even Mel, may be allowed to live. Call it a performance bonus.”
A fine mist of sweat sprang out upon her forehead. The man was speaking in a mishmash of television dialects, but the gravity of his message was clear. “OK, I’ll play. Deliver my grandfather first.”
“I’m afraid those aren’t the terms. We have to have some trust if we’re going to work together.”
“Where do I make the drop?”
“The what?”
“Come on, you were doing so well with your I’m-just-learning-the-language routine. The place of delivery of the documents.”
“They have to be delivered in person, as it were. The place you already know. A pool of water in a storage room beneath the city.”
“You deliver them!”
“I’m afraid, on that score there, has been an adjustment of plans. I’m not in a position to deliver them.”
“Why not? You came from there, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but plans change.”
“If I go, can I get back?”
“I’m afraid not.”
She watched his demeanor. He didn’t blink. He was confident and focused solely on her. She had no doubt he’d delivered polite but deadly ultimatums many times, in many languages and places. She shook her head. “I don’t believe this.”
“What’s not to believe?”
“If I go, I save my grandfather. Fine, I’ll do it.” She took a deep breath. “Count me in.”
“Yes, well, here’s the truth. You can never do what you don’t
absolutely believe in. You’d better find somebody that does.”
“No, I’ll give it all I’ve got.”
“Well, it’s pointless to test this further. I wanted to see how you’d react. But just to be sure, I’ve arranged for an alternate.”
She said nothing.
“Someone who believes completely. Someone who was always eager to go and, at last, wouldn’t hesitate to save his family.”
“Grandpa?”
“Precisely. ‘I’d go— in a shot’, I believe, were his exact words.”
“I couldn’t ask that.” Her voice was so small that it shamed her.
“You don’t need to. I did, he’s agreed. He’s ready. I just need a sign from you.”
“Like what?”
“I think you know. Show it to me.”
She hesitated and then realized her hand was involuntarily moving. Like an ant in honey, it slowly pulled her keychain from the pocket of her sweat top. The tooth talisman was attached.
“Not this.”
Barren smiled. “What better?”
Despite her resistance, her hands slowly removed the keys and gave the tooth to him.
Barren held it up, squinting and turning it in the light like an admiring scientist. He looked back at her, showing the slightest sign of … what? Empathy? Admiration? Then he gave her a look which she could read in an instant. This young woman is a bit of tragedy, a cautionary tale. He returned his attention to the tooth, “It’s got to bring better luck to someone else anyway.”
“May I ask another question?”
“We’ve got lots of time.”
“Is Ara real? Or is she only a story?”
“As real as me.”
That’s not … altogether helpful.”
“I could tell you she never lived and is no more than bits of doggerel from an older time, misinterpreted by the present. I could tell you she is, at most, a part of what are called ‘story books.’”
“Yes, you could, and I would accept it.”
“Oh, but there’s danger there as well. I’m finding that my greatest power is plain old truth, so I’ll tell you true. She lives, this very moment, in a place you would recognize. A place that is vibrant with peril and resolve and great purpose …”
She interrupted, “and she betrayed everyone? Is that right?”
“You seem to have a desperate need to know, but I could hardly spoil a good ending, now could I?”
“You are a bastard.”
“You’re in no position to be insulting, young lady. Now, as I was saying, she lives in a place that indeed exists.”
Cadence paused, thinking his statement over. “How do I know?”
“Because your heart tells you so. If you listen to that voice but a little, belief follows like dawn on the night.”
“How do I really know?”
“Because it’s not me or what I say that matters. It’s only you. I’m sure we agree that it’s a shame her story has to be erased. Especially after she did so much work. Blame it on those Dark Elves who cursed her in the woods so long ago.”
“I blame you and your, what did you say, employer.”
“Well, you can’t expect him to leave his former enemies around. He might have plans for, how do you say, a comeback. Don’t ever count this guy out.”
She listened, marking his slang but thinking in particular about Tolkien’s admonition that evil ever renews, that monsters do not depart.
“Now, young lady, I have a question.”
Silence.
“How does this work?”
He held a Nokia cell phone in his hand.
“I’m very glad you have that.”
Moving in the allowed slo-mo, she gave him a show-and-tell lesson, he holding it up to his face upside down and backwards, she correcting him, showing him the buttons to push. His eyes opened wide as a voice came through.
“Thornton here.”
“Don’t mind that, the person on the phone can’t hear us.”
The line was silent. Cadence watched the green light on the phone showing the call was still live.
“If you would, please let me go. I’ll do anything to get out of this place!”
Barren thought for a moment, then put the cell phone aside. The green light stayed on. He had some other questions. This was the best time to milk her for information.
“I’ve been watching The Sopranos. I can’t decide if I should be a gangster or a businessman. They’re so close. Now, I think the businessman has the edge. He can start up anywhere. All he has to do is be whatever it takes at any given moment. The gangster, though, he’s gotta have a gang, otherwise he’s just a freelancer. So how does one find a gang? Should I be part of some family, like my prior employer? Should I be a Jet or a Shark or a Crip or a Blood, part of NG Purples or the Stony Hill Gang? Maybe join a club. Like eBay? All I know is I’m tired of working for the man. So I’m gonna freelance, just see what comes up. Not bad for an orphan kid from the other side of a dark and stormy rainbow, huh?”
“You could care less about orphans. You don’t have the balls to care.”
“Again, I’ve touched a tender spot. Well, before I go, let’s play a game, with a prize.”
“What’s the prize?”
“Well, normally I’d say we had already bargained for your life, so I can’t negotiate over that. But since you’ve already given me this,” he hefted the tooth in his hand, “I feel like I can put it back on the table, your life that is. That’s my specialty, after all.”
“Liar!”
“Now, now. Relax. If you do this right you’ll come out alive. It’s not like fairy gold. You’ll be real and walk and talk like the other boys and girls.”
She squirmed, knowing he wasn’t kidding. Not one bit.
“This isn’t going to involve riddles, is it?”
“Oh no, that would put you at, shall we say, a grave disadvantage. That is an art lost to your times.”
“So what is it?”
“Just names. Trivia. You guess the name of the person I’m thinking of, sort of, becoming. That’s the great thing about your world, Cadence. Aspiration. Ambition. You can be anyone.”
“I can’t just guess names.”
“Oh yes you can. I believe you know them already. And I shall give you a few clues.”
“How could I know the names?”
“Because they are in the little box that people and places live in. The television. I’ve been spending time with it. It’s everywhere. People have told me people and places inside it aren’t real, but believe me, I know a thing or two about reality. I’m going to become someone different and you’re going to guess who it might be.”
“You mean TV and movie stars?”
“That’s what you call them. You know something of them, yes? Here’s your real chance to use your learning. Only not stars, villains. It’s a weakness of mine.”
“Do I get a clue?”
“Three. Just to keep with tradition. I just gave you your first one. And … I’ll throw in a comment when you’re wrong.”
“How many guesses?”
“I’ll let you know. So start.”
She thought for a second, Mel’s warning about never … ever betting her life on movie trivia rocketing around inside her head. Then she focused, thinking about weighty bullshit thrown about in a class on cinema history.
“OK, uh, I’ll start with … Norman Bates.”
“Come on, I may be from another world but I’m not crazy.”
Then she took her absolute best, intuitive guess. “The Alien.”
He scoffed. “You know I have affinity for blood that melts swords and armor. Like Beowulf’s moment facing Grendel’s dam. Great talent, but not so good for these times.”
Now she was truly at a loss. “Uh … the Wolfman.”
“Well, I know the night-blooming wolfbane, but I am most certainly not pure of heart.”
“HAL. T-1000.”
“Enough of the nonhumans.”
“Better. Nice selection. Too gruesome, though. Not my style.”
“Say warmer or colder.”
“Huh?”
“If I’m close, say ‘warmer.’”
“Very well. I’m ready.”
“Jack Torrance.”
“Uh, warmer. I like his mind, but I’m too pragmatic. Anyway, I never drink … wine.” He laughed at his own joke.
“Tony Montana.”
He laughed. “Scarface? A loser. Also no drugs. You people obsess with such false realities. They are like stinks of fart-clouds. Your fool of a grandfather was one of those druggies.”
“OK, let’s see…”
“I think we’re on our last leg here, Cadence. Think of coin, scratch, silver and gold. That’s your last clue, and you have three guesses left.”
“OK. Hmm. Auric Goldfinger.”
“Ah, very warm. But he’s too arrogant. He should’ve killed Mr. Bond and moved on.”
“Noah Cross, no … no … Gordon Gekko!”
“Whatever you may think of me, I don’t necessarily think greed is good. It’s a fine distinction, I admit. So now, this guess is your last one.”
“My last one?” She only then realized how she had wasted her guesses on some of the unlikeliest movie villains.
“Yes, my dear. Alas, we’re there.”
She took her time, looked at him carefully, thinking about his style. It came to her. Something in his manner suggested it, the same world-weary, dissipated sang-froid. Besides, she remembered the movie Die Hard was on TV late earlier in the week. It was worth the gamble. “I’ve got it.”
“I doubt that.”
“Hans Gruber!”
He seemed surprised, and then raised his hands to give a soft clap clap clap. “Very well done, my dear! Ordinarily, I would say you have won. But, as you might expect, there’s a catch. I must confess.”
He paused.
“Come on,” she said, “there’s no John McClain that could stop you.”
“No, I’m afraid not. These police detectives are a joke. They could never, as they say, get the drop on me. As for you, there’s no way you could win. It’s like life. You play, but you don’t know the rules of the game.”
“You are a bastard. Now you do sound like Tony Soprano. You don’t have the balls to have rules!”