The Whittier Trilogy

by Michael W. Layne

  He turned off the light in his room and walked over to the window where he parted the thick curtain panels just enough to see the parking lot below.

  Trent was surprised to see Zana and her male friend illuminated in the blue-white light of the parking lot’s overhead mercury vapor lamps. The two of them didn’t move, but stood staring up at Trent’s room even as a light misty rain began to fall.

  Trent recalled an old stage performer’s adage that warned newbies who tried to sneak peaks at the audience through the backstage curtains. If you can see them, they can see you. Trent had never forgotten that piece of advice, and as such, he was sure that Zana and her friend could see him watching them, even though they made no indication of it at all.

  Oddly, instead of feeling anxious about his stalkers, Trent actually grinned. If Zana had been there by herself, he might have motioned for her to come up, but there was no way he was going to make that play with her skinny male friend still hanging around. Still, he thought that it couldn’t hurt to go down and at least talk to them. They didn’t appear to pose any physical threat, and he found it hard to believe that they would be packing any serious weapons.

  He walked back to the bed, quickly slipped into his jeans and a T-shirt and put his shoes on.

  By the time he opened his door and walked outside, Zana and her friend were gone.

  Now that he was dressed again, he wasn’t feeling all that tired anymore even though it was almost two in the morning. He wondered where his two little admirers had gone so quickly. It had taken him less than a minute to put on his clothes, and the second he had stepped outside he had a pretty clear view of the full parking lot and the street leading to the strip—but there was no sign of either of them.

  The rare bout of drizzle was always welcome in the desert, but the asphalt was still so hot that any water touching it instantly evaporated, leaving the parking lot and the gutter near the manhole cover where Zana and her friend had been standing completely dry.

  Trent shrugged and opted to go back inside before getting any wetter.

  He closed the door to his room behind him, double checked that it was locked, then stripped out of his clothes and slid into bed. He turned on the TV and watched a few minutes of a show about a pawn shop that was located, strangely enough, only a few miles away from the Lucky Imp.

  The exhaustion returned before the first commercial even aired, and Trent struggled to stay awake as he thought about Zana one last time.

  Being with the goth girl was not in the cards tonight, but he had a sense that they would run into one another again sometime soon, and the next time that happened, Trent wouldn’t let her get away so easily.

  Chapter 10

  FOR THE LAST WEEK or so, the Hunter had observed the black-haired beauty, noting her routines both above and below ground. But as luck would have it, on the night he had ordered his men to gather her finally, she had deviated from her established pattern, and they had failed in their mission.

  His men would be punished, of course, but instead of being annoyed, the Hunter felt a shiver run the length of his body. The girl’s unpredictability was a sign of how good the hunt would be with her as a part of it, and he was more convinced than ever that the woman would not disappoint.

  It was too bad she would not survive the hunt—but at least her chase would be delicious. Its final crescendo when she was at last cornered and left with no other options but to fight for her last breaths would be as savory as meat from the most succulent of endangered animals and just as profitable.

  The promise of an attractive female was already generating a buzz with his clients that would hopefully continue to build. Once they had a chance to inspect her in person, he was sure they would be even more thrilled. They would inevitably argue and debate about how long she would last and how far she would get—and then finally each of them would try to outdo the other with increasingly more audacious bets.

  Lesser men might have been stressed by the situation, since the Hunter had not actually captured the woman yet. But there were still four days before the hunt, and he was sure the perfect opportunity would present itself soon. The only problem he would face would be trying to take her when she was alone, because the woman was rarely by herself.

  But secrecy was paramount to the continuing success of the hunt. Although the woman’s friends—her little pack of wretches living like wild animals beneath the streets—might be allowed to suspect the woman’s fate, they could never be allowed to know for sure.

  In addition to his continued excitement about the woman, the Hunter had another reason to be excited tonight. While tracking the girl, his men had come across another possible addition to his hunt.

  Mr. Walker, who called himself a mentalist, was a man completely apart from the dregs of society with which the Hunter normally dealt. Just the thought of including someone of Mr. Walker’s caliber made the Hunter practically giddy, but before he allowed himself to dream too much, he had to conduct some more research.

  From what his men had told him, he already knew that the mentalist was resourceful and clever, but the Hunter also had to make sure that Mr. Walker would not be missed by some caring wife or doting set of parents. An investigation into the performer’s disappearance would be unavoidable, but the police would never think to look for the missing mentalist in the dark world that existed under Vegas.

  As long as Mr. Walker wouldn’t be missed too much in the real world, there was a serious chance that the Hunter would be able to work both him and the girl into the upcoming hunt.

  Chapter 11

  EVEN THOUGH THE Lucky Imp wasn’t the nicest hotel in Vegas, it had a damn good breakfast spread as far as Trent was concerned. And it was open until 10 a.m. with fresh orange juice, assorted bagels, hard-boiled eggs, ripe fruit, and healthy cereal.

  Trent filled up his plate and got in his fair share of carbs and protein to start the day.

  The best news about his gig at the Lucky Imp was that he didn’t have to go to work until 10 p.m., which left him with plenty of time to lounge around or to explore the areas surrounding the strip. He had been to Vegas often enough that the mega hotels and their overpriced shops didn’t really interest him that much anymore. But the little stores here and there just off the strip were another matter, and he never knew what to expect just wandering around the side streets of the town.

  After breakfast, Trent strolled over to the strip, then turned off and started exploring. He took his time browsing up and down the side streets just off the main drag and soon stumbled upon a new age shop with glittering chunks of expensive looking rocks and crystals in its window. The neon sign in front of the shop read, Psychic.

  Unable to resist the lure of a fellow practitioner, he entered the shop. He figured he’d either encounter some sleaze trying to fleece tourists for their money, or he’d run into one of his own kind—someone who knew they weren’t actually psychic, but who tried to help people with their talents anyway.

  The sound of chimes announced his arrival, and in a few moments, a short, older, black woman shuffled out from the back of the shop to greet Trent. She was dressed in a flowing purple dress that went down to her ankles, and she wore a strand of large yellow beads around her neck.

  Trent was in his civilian clothes, instead of his black suit and tie, but he got the sense that she sized him up immediately as someone who was also in the business.

  “Good morning,” the woman said with a large smile. “I assume that you are not here to get your palm read!”

  The woman started laughing, and Trent immediately liked her. She had a natural way about her, and her laugh made him feel at ease.

  “Thought I’d drop in and talk shop for a bit. Just being neighborly,” he said with as much of a smile as he could muster as the carbohydrate coma from breakfast started to kick in.

  He noted that the store was empty, although he suspected that business didn’t start booming until after nightfall in a town like Las Vegas.

  �
��You a street magician?” she said, as she looked him over and invited him to follow her to the rear of her shop.

  “Hmm. Now that I think about it, I’m not so sure,” she said before Trent could answer. “I’m thinking maybe you have your own show, probably at one of the hotels. Oh. But not one of the big ones, I’m afraid. I’m so very sorry.”

  Trent was impressed. She had pegged him in less than thirty seconds. Not bad, he thought.

  “I’m performing over at the Lucky Imp for a week. Doing a mentalist show,” he said, as they both sat down on metal fold-out chairs with puffy cushions secured to them by thin cloth strips.

  Her back office was filled with paperwork and bundles of raw herbs and flowers—the types used for all sorts of semi-medicinal purposes, he suspected. The combined smell reminded him of a field of wild flowers.

  “The Imp’s a nice enough place, I suppose,” she said. “Clean. No junkies. No pimps. The owner cares about it, even if it doesn’t look that way sometimes. Name’s Doreen, by the way, although I’m sure you’ve figured that out already.”

  Trent grinned and put out his hand in greeting.

  She took his hand in both of hers and gently shook it.

  “I’m curious what the giveaway was,” she said. “Was there a note somewhere around here with my name scrawled on it?”

  “No offense, but your handwriting’s way too hard to read from a distance,” Trent said. “Your business cards out front by the cash register were much more legible. Name’s Trent, by the way, although I’m sure you knew that as well. I’m pleased to meet you, Doreen.”

  “Trent,” she said. “I like that name.”

  Still holding his hand, Doreen tilted her head slightly to one side, as if she were listening to a far away sound.

  “Since we’re getting acquainted,” she said, “I’m sure you know that I’m not a real psychic. But I am damn good at reading what’s really going on with people. And I can tell that you’ve seen some things, Trent. Recently, I’d say. Things you’d probably rather forget. Are you doing OK, honey? If it will make you feel any better, I can read your palm and tell you everything’s going to be all right!”

  Trent laughed lightly even though she was a little too accurate with her reading for him to find it all that funny.

  “I had…a strange time about a month ago,” Trent said. “Up in Alaska. But everything’s fine now. I’m just here to make a few bucks, take it easy, not worry about anything strange, and then get the hell out of Dodge. Looking forward to heading back home and having a staycation for a week or two.”

  “Well, you know that you’ve come to the wrong town to get away from strange things,” she said, at last releasing his hand.

  “Maybe that’s true for tourists,” Trent said, “but I’m not much of a gambler, and I won’t be sampling the Vegas night life this time around either. My shows end around one-thirty in the morning, and after that I’m pretty beat. I expect my stay here to be wonderfully restful and boring.”

  “I wish you luck with that…Mr. Walker,” she said with a smile as the chimes announced the arrival of a customer. Doreen stood up from her chair and smoothed the wrinkles from the front of her dress.

  Once again he was impressed. She had not only somehow deduced his last name, but she had also held on to that piece of information until they were ready to part ways. Doreen was both clever and patient.

  “It has been completely my pleasure,” Trent said as he stood up and walked with her to the front of the store, where a chunky woman with short black hair was eyeing a pair of earrings inside a glassed display.

  “And I don’t mean to bother you when you’ve got a customer waiting,” Trent said, “but where’s the closest place around here I can get a decent soy latte?”

  “The best coffee around is at Sunrise Coffee over on East Sunset,” she said, “but unless you feel like taking a cab, I’d just hang a right out of the shop, go down to the main strip and follow it about three blocks. Coffee shop at the Mirage called the Roasted Bean. Best lattes on the strip.”

  “Thanks, Doreen,” Trent said. “I’ll be seeing you around. Hope you get some good business today.”

  As Trent turned to walk away, he caught a glimpse of a newspaper behind the cash register. It was open to a page that displayed a large ad for the Lucky Imp.

  He laughed as he pushed his way through the front door and stepped outside. Trent had no doubt that if he had checked the details of the ad, he would have seen his name and photo both prominently featured. He smiled as he walked away from Doreen’s shop, happy to have been on the other end of a cold read for once in his life.

  Taking Doreen’s advice, he made his way back to the strip, taking note of the various people already out and about. Even though it was only early afternoon, some of the rougher elements were already active. A wiry, sickly looking man stood on the sidewalk across the street from Trent. The man was dressed in a light blue polyester suit and looked almost too cliché to be the pimp that he really was. But Trent knew that even though the man may have looked a bit comical, he was probably as hard as nails and ready to kill anyone who crossed his path the wrong way.

  Despite the lights and glitter, Las Vegas had its dark side, and Trent knew that the pimp was only a very small part of it.

  Chapter 12

  NOT MORE THAN a few yards away from the pimp, two women stood chatting with each other. One was a skinny blonde in obscenely short shorts with long legs that were appealing only because of her youth. In another couple of years, Trent had no doubt that the girl would grow to be puffy and unattractive.

  Her friend next to her motioned a lot with her spindly hands as she recounted some story, probably about her last trick. She wore far too much makeup, and in the daylight she looked more like an animated cadaver than a young woman in a black leather mini-skirt.

  Despite their chosen occupation, the women weren’t bad people. They were just unfortunate players in a seedy town that didn’t care a single iota about them. In Vegas, everyone ended up being a player of some sort, whether they gambled with chips in a casino or with something far more serious like their bodies or even their lives out on the streets.

  As Trent stepped out onto the sidewalk that ran along Las Vegas Boulevard, he recognized a familiar dark shape in his peripheral vision. As he walked past a store window, he looked to his side and saw the reflection of Zana’s friend from the night before following him. Behind him, Zana herself was strolling along with two other young men, also dressed in black, behind her.

  Trent had hoped to run into Zana again at some point during his trip, but he hadn’t thought it would happen this quickly and not in this manner. Now that he was listening for their footsteps, he could clearly tell that they were getting closer, slowly closing the gap.

  He had the feeling that they were getting ready to make their move soon. He had no idea what that move would be, but he didn’t want to wait around to find out.

  He turned to look back at them, and as soon as he made eye contact with Zana, the whole lot of them broke into a run and headed straight for him.

  Without even thinking, Trent bolted down the closest side street. Even as he did so, his logical mind was telling him that he should not have left the relative safety of the main drag. He knew that running was the illogical thing to do, but being tracked like that by a group of people had awakened some animal instinct in him that had taken over and had forced him to flee.

  As he sped along, the analytical side of Trent noted that he was running much faster than he remembered being capable of in the past. His legs and his lungs felt strong, and when he looked behind him, he could see that he was putting some serious distance between himself and the crowd of goths with every stride.

  After another couple of blocks, he turned down a small alley that abruptly dead-ended at a high chain linked fence that blocked any passage to the road on the other side.

  Trapped, he hit the fence once with his fist, then scanned his surroundings for anythin
g he could use as a weapon.

  Zana and her friends turned the corner and came into view close to a full thirty seconds later, huffing and trying to catch their breath. Trent could finally get a good look at his pursuers.

  The young man from his show the night before hadn’t changed his clothes, and because Trent was downwind from the group, he was also pretty sure the guy hadn’t bathed either. Despite the man’s stench, Trent would have no problem taking him in a fair fight, one-on-one.

  One of the other young men was clad in black jeans and a black cut-off T-shirt, and he looked more like a bear than a man. He was large and tall, with big shoulders and a little bit of a hunch as if he was used to trying to appear shorter than he really was.

  The third man was short and balding, and he cursed out loud as he tried violently to catch his breath.

  And then there was Zana. She was wearing the same tight black jeans and parachute cord belt from the night before and the same silver Ankh necklace on a black leather cord, but she had changed her shirt to a slightly tighter black tee that perfectly hugged her young breasts and accentuated her small waist.

  Even when faced with the potential of being outnumbered in a fight, Trent still couldn’t stop thinking about wanting to have sex with this woman, although given the situation in which he found himself, he imagined the feeling was probably not mutual.

  Still, he had been up against worse odds than this in his life, like the time he had offended a gang member who had been a volunteer at one of his shows. Trent had no idea that revealing the man’s inner animal to be a chimpanzee would be that much of an embarrassment. When the gang member cornered Trent in the parking lot after the show, Trent diffused the situation with some fast talking and a few nonsensical replies that had the guy so confused he finally gave up and just started talking to Trent as a real person. Turns out, the man’s girlfriend had just dumped him, and the two of them had ended up hanging out for the next couple of hours trading shots of Jägermeister and complaining about women.