by Arno Joubert
Jenna nodded. “You’re welcome to accompany us.”
He turned and looked at his wife, who nodded. “It’s the right thing to do, John.”
He made up his mind and nodded. “We’ll go, but first, let’s go grab a cup of coffee; catch up on old times.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Alexa followed behind Bishop Daniel McGill as he led the party into the temple. She rubbed her arms as they entered, it wasn’t only the blast of cool air, it was the deep-rooted feeling of foreboding in the pit of her stomach which threatened to overwhelm her.
They marched to the reception desk, the robed man looking up, his smile changing to a smirk and then a worried frown as the people filed into the door behind her. He walked around the desk and stuck out a hand, palm up. “Hey, you can’t just come in here and…“
Neil showed him the search warrant. “All the way from Mayor Hoffman, oh, great druid guy manning reception.”
The man took the warrant, skimmed through it and then picked up a phone. “Security, we have a situation here.”
Neil grabbed the phone and slammed it back on the cradle. “Don’t be stupid, druid boy.” He turned back when three more robed figures arrived, marching toward them with menacing looks on their faces.
Bruce and his men stepped forward, forming a line in front of the people.
Alexa slipped between the makeshift human cordon. “Hey, I recognize you guys.”
She glanced back at Bruce and handed him her Glock. “Please don’t interfere,” she said and turned back to face the three men. “Let’s see how well you three gentleman do when you’re not armed.”
They grinned, casting each other confident glances. Before the robed guard in the middle could look up, the guy on the left was already staggering back from a vicious uppercut, and Alexa turned to face the man beside him. He grabbed Alexa in a bear hug, but she wiggled and squirmed and managed to free her arms, digging her thumbs into his eyes.
He shrieked and dropped her, blinded, and Alexa drilled a foot into his groin, following up by smashing a knee into his face.
The man in the middle had suddenly become more circumspect, bouncing around in a boxer’s stance.
Alexa dodged a jab and slapped his face. “Remember me?”
He shook his head and she slapped him again. “Well, do you?”
He roared and lunged, but Alexa stepped to the side and he tripped over her outstretched leg, arms flailing as he tried to keep his balance.
“Not so strong now without your damn sword, are you?” Alexa said, circling the man.
“Mother of Isis, It’s called a fasces, you ignorant bitch,” the man said and lunged at her.
She stepped back, grabbed the back of his cloak and swung him around, smacking his cheek into the granite reception counter. He groaned, clutching his face, a welt forming on his cheekbone. Alexa slammed her fist into his nose, twice, the robed guy slumping to his side, blood staining the front of his white robe. “Now all your fasces resemble your asses,” Alexa said, tapping the man’s chin with the toe of her shoe. He looked up, then dropped his head with a groan.
She turned to the man at reception, wiping her hands on her pants. “Should we be expecting any more trouble from your halfwit Neanderthals?”
The man blinked, shook his head and stood back. “No, please go ahead.”
Neil grabbed the warrant from his hand and strutted down the marbled passageway, heading towards the amphitheater, McGill and the others following close behind.
They navigated their way along the rocky path to the seating gallery, the show had already started. Thick smoke engulfed the stage and men clad in white robes were bumping their fasces against the ground, humming a weird tune.
A robed man appeared from back stage, a bright spot light focusing everyone’s attention on him. He wore a white mask and he lifted a scepter in the air. He said a couple of words which sounded like “Anoculous,” followed by some more weird Latin BS, and as one, the entire crowd kneeled down on all fours and bowed.
Neil trotted down the stairway, heading to the stage. A large guy wearing a tight-fitting turtleneck shirt jammed a palm against his chest before doubling over as Neil punched him in his stomach. Neil reached the stage and helped Bishop McGill up. Peter Di Mardi hitched himself onto the stage as well and escorted McGill as they strode purposefully to Joe Di Mardi.
Bishop McGill unceremoniously yanked the wireless headset microphone from Joe Di Mardi’s head and Peter helped him put them on. McGill nodded his thanks and Peter Di Mardi disappeared behind the stage.
McGill lifted his hands in the air, waited for dramatic effect. “Illuminatis,” he ordered in a loud and booming voice.
All the stage lights turned on, bathing him in a bright glow.
McGill chuckled. “I feel like Harry Potter,” he said, dropping his hands.
The crowd grumbled and moaned, booing him, urging him to get off the stage.
He raised a fist. “Fettucini Stagioni,” he ordered loudly and a large serpent appeared in the sky, hissing at the crowd as it flew over them. He lifted his other hand and it caught fire, and he shouted, “Lamborghini Frittata Cannelloni,” as he cast the flaming orb at the front of the stage and a large ball of flames erupted, forcing the people at the front of the stage to take a couple of steps back.
He lifted his face to the heavens, arms raised. “It’s a miracle!”
The crowd quieted down, now that his credentials had been established.
McGill waved the men, woman and kids over whom they had rescued from the drug house. “Ladies and gentleman, allow me to introduce to you some of your former colleagues.”
Neil helped them onto the stage and Peter Di Mardi appeared from backstage with a microphone and handed it to Jenna Sands. Someone in the crowd pointed at her and shouted. “Hey, that’s Jenna.”
She looked up hesitantly and talked with a quavering voice. “Hi, everyone, my name is Jenna.”
“Hello, Jenna,” the crowd answered in one voice, as if they had been trained to do so.
“I was captured and held against my will by Joe Di Mardi when I couldn’t raise enough money to pay for my rent and drug habit.”
“Bullshit!” one of the masked figures shouted from the side of the stage.
“They forced me to work in a drug lab, producing the stuff that I was addicted to.”
She handed the microphone to the girl next to her, and she repeated a similar story. This went on for a couple of minutes until fifteen of them had given their testimonials, the crowd now hushed, listening in raptured awe.
McGill took the microphone. “The same will happen to you soon,” he pronounced. “Sooner rather than later, you will not be pretty enough to serve as Di Mardi’s concubines, or you will not be able to pay the exorbitant fees they charge for the drugs.” He kept quiet, making eye contact with the people seated in the galleries. ”Trust me, the day will come when you too shall sit chained to a table at a drug lab, only to be disposed of like yesterday’s trash once they have no more use for you.”
The crowd mumbled as McGill handed the microphone to Peter Di Mardi.
“Hi, everyone, my name is Peter Di Mardi.”
“Hello, Peter,” the crowd responded in a single voice.
“My dad is the famous Grand Master Joe Di Mardi and he’s a fake, a scamster and a fraud.”
Joe Di Mardi tried to grab the microphone from his son. “What would you know you lazy bum, homeless piece of…?“
Bruce grabbed Joe Di Mardi and dragged him off to the side of the stage.
“It’s true!” Peter shouted. “Want to see a cool trick?”
He pressed a button on a remote and a fireball erupted from somewhere beneath the stage and morphed into a smoky angel clutching a large sword. “I am your master, the lazy bum,” Peter said in a mocking tone and the angel’s mouth opened and closed in unison with the words.
The crowd oohed and aahed. Someone sniggered.
He pressed another button and a powerful blast
of wind from a hidden turbine made the apparition disappear. “Simply time everything with the laser lights and you can get some powerful effects that seem supernatural.”
A pimply teen stood up and hurled a stone at Joe Di Mardi. “You’re a damned fraud.”
McGill stepped forward, his hands held up. “Now, now. Whoever hath no sin let him cast the first stone.” He waited for the murmuring crowd to calm down before continuing. “We have a debriefing session at the Holy Trinity Church in two hours’ time. You will get a chance to talk to professionals about these traumatic experiences and be reunited with your families. I suggest you go back to the commune, gather all your belongings and join the rest of us to hear the truth about these…,” he waved a hand, trying to find the right word. “Illumenex assholes.”
He switched off the mike and tossed it to Joe Di Mardi. People in the crowd stood up and followed him, flocking outside until the entire theater was empty.
Peter Di Mardi stood on stage, shook his head slowly, then pressed a button and all the lights went off. “It’s all over, Dad,” he mumbled. He jumped down the stage and joined Alexa and Neil who were waiting for him, patting him on the back as they led him out.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Clark County detention centre, Las Vegas
Alexa sat at the table, drumming her fingers as she scrutinized Joe Di Mardi with a penetrating stare. “So we’ve come full circle, Joe.”
His steel-grey eyes darted around, his childlike face a study of innocence. “What do you mean, Captain?”
She stood up and casually sauntered around the table, stood behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. She could feel him cringe beneath her touch as she massaged his shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Di Mardi. You liked harming innocent young woman like Mika Wattana, for example, and now an innocent young woman like me is going to harm you.” She tucked her fringe behind her ear and leaned over his shoulder, whispered in his ear. “I would call that full circle, wouldn’t you?”
Di Mardi shook his head adamantly. “No, no. You’re wrong. I had nothing to do with the girl.”
She stepped away from him, considered his answer. “You’re still sticking to your bullshit story, Mr. Di Mardi?”
He shook his head. “We never touched anybody.”
His full red lips were pursed into a determined line. It looked like he was pouting like those kids posing for selfies.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Tell us about the drugs. Who supplied you?”
Di Mardi sighed. “Look, Captain, no disrespect or anything but I think I’m going to need to talk to my lawyer before answering anymore of your…“
Alexa took Di Mardi’s hand, weaving her fingers through his. “Joe, you don’t mind if I call you Joe, right?”
He smiled uncertainly. “No, that is fine.”
Joe Di Mardi looked down in surprise as Alexa bent back his pinky finger, then screamed when he heard it crack.
Alexa smiled, her face close to his. “I don’t think we have time for all these legal shenanigans, Joe.” Alexa smiled sweetly, pinning his hand to the table. “Now tell me before I have to break another one. Who supplied you?”
Di Mardi whimpered, looking around helplessly at the other faces in the room. Bruce folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. Neil shrugged.
Alexa started bending back his ring finger. “This little piggy went to market, and this little piggy took a break—“
“Okay, okay, it was Ortell!” he shrieked, slamming his healthy hand on the table, like a wrestler tapping out.
Neil stepped forward. “Inspector Bradley Ortell, Vegas PD?”
Di Mardi nodded, whimpering. “Yes, he leads a drug trafficking syndicate, corrupt cops and a bunch of lowlifes he uses to protect his operation.”
Alexa let go of his hand and folded her hands behind her back. “Tell me more.”
The man was whimpering, holding his injured hand against his chest. “We gave our disciples the drugs to get them hooked. Once they were hooked, Ortell started charging them money, they made bucketfuls of cash.”
“And what did Ortell give you in return?”
Di Mardi blinked, a tear rolling down his cheek. “They helped us in…, various ways.”
“How?”
Di Mardi glanced sideways as Lamont put a hand on the table, shaking his head urgently.
Di Mardi whimpered. “She broke my damn finger, Benjamin, what do you expect me to do?”
Benjamin Lamont nodded sympathetically. “I know, Joe. You’re in pain. Let me take it from here.” He glanced up at Neil. “Could someone get him some pain medication or something? Can’t you see his suffering?”
Neil shrugged and Bruce examined his nails.
“Anyone?” he asked, desperately.
“What did Ortell do for you?” Alexa asked, turning to Benjamin Lamont.
Lamont dropped his chin on his chest, sighed. “Whenever we needed some uproar sorted out at the commune, he would help us out.”
“Uproar?”
“Yes, you know. Someone who rebelled against our authority, stuff like that. When we needed someone taken out of the commune, we called him.”
Alexa snorted skeptically. “What else?”
Lamont fidgeted with the collar of his cloak. “If the disciples couldn’t pay their bills, Ortell fetched them to go work in the lab.”
Alexa strode over to Lamont and grabbed him by his chest, shaking him. “Enough with this disciple shit, already! They were a bunch of brainwashed kids who were taken from their families and lured into your sick little—“
Neil grabbed her shoulder. “Relax, Alexa.”
She pushed Lamont back in his chair and took a deep breath, slowly dropping her hands, palms down, trying to calm herself down. She looked up. “So you had nothing to do with the murders?”
Di Mardi shook his head, whimpering. “No, nothing,” he sobbed.
“We have hundred of witnesses willing to testify that you brutally murdered men and woman on the stage, even little babies,” Alexa hissed.
Di Mardi grimaced, turned his face away, like a baby that didn’t want the food that was being fed to him. “That was all an illusion, Captain. Half of your witnesses were stoned out of their minds.” He glanced at Benjamin Lamont who looked up at Alexa and said, ”Do you mind if I confer with my colleague?”
“Why?”
Benjamin licked his lips. “Look, at the moment we’re up for running a cult, maybe a bit of drug trafficking. I’m planning on turning state witness, see if I can somehow get my sentence lightened. I want to find out if Joe is with me.”
Alexa shrugged. “Go aright ahead. Can’t see it helping much, though.”
“Could we have some privacy for a moment, Captain?”
Alexa looked up at Neil and Bruce.
“I’ll tell you everything, I swear,” Lamont urged.
Alexa snorted, stood up and ambled out of the room, followed by Neil and Bruce. She led them around the corner, then stood in front of the mirrored one-way window, studying the two men as they spoke urgently to one another.
Bruce switched on the intercom to the room. “Let’s listen in.”
“…on this journey with me?” Joe Lamont asked.
Lamont nodded. “I’ve been with you from the beginning, Benjamin.”
Lamont put his hand on Joe Di Mardi’s, gave it a squeeze. “And you believe in the righteousness of our mission, in the new journey we will be undertaking?”
Alexa cocked her head to one side. “What the hell are they talking about?”
“Will our disciples follow us too?” Di Mardi asked.
Benjamin Lamont smiled. “I don’t see that they have much of a choice, Joe.”
Benjamin Lamont put his hand in his pocket as Alexa yelled, slamming the window with her palm. “No, stop!”
“See you on the other side, brother.” Di Mardi stood up and leaned toward Lamont.
Lamont stood up as well and kissed Di Mardi on his lips. �
��Until we meet again,” he said as Alexa rushed around the corner and yanked open the door to the holding room.
She turned her face and held her arm in front of her eyes as both men’s heads flared up into an eye-blindingly bright light, a chemical halo of intense radiance surrounding their heads as they held onto each other in a final deathly embrace.
Fifteen seconds later, the light started petering out and she took her arm away, risking a glimpse.
Lamont and Di Mardi lay slumped on the table, their charred torso’s and heads still smoking, fused into one.
Like brothers in arms.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Hyatt Regency Hotel, Phoenix, Arizona
Bradley Ortell heaved the bulky duffle bag off his shoulder and dropped it on the bed. He unzipped the bag for the umpteenth time that day, double-checking that all the cash was still in there. He was paranoid, things had gone pear shaped fast. He picked up a wad of cash, fingered the notes, then tossed it back in the bag and zipped it up again.
He had gotten out in the nick of time, collecting his stash from the apartment in East Chapel and moseying on out of there a day before the stupid Interpol bitch cleaned out his operation. He always trusted his gut; it had saved his hide countless times before.
He stood in front of the mirror and started undressing, glancing at the duffle bag on the bed. He would enjoy a late dinner and then get back on the road again before the APB’s got round. The border would be empty and personnel tired and bored, crossing the border late at night was always the safest bet to get to Mexico with the least amount of fuss.
The twenty-odd-million dollars in his bag ought to ensure a good retirement. Help him set up a new base somewhere, maybe South America. He still had his contacts, still had the recipes. Who knew, maybe there was another stupid cult somewhere that needed some drugs?
In the future, he would be more careful though. It was stupid that Di Mardi wanted the girl’s body mutilated in that way. Di Mardi had said he wanted to teach the other’s a lesson, show them what could happen if they ever came up against him. That needless incident had started this whole chain of events.