The Resurrection Pact (Winston Casey Chronicles Book 1)

by Jay Smith

  Maybe I'd say yes. I turned to greet them.

  Tall buildings crossed my view of the sky telling me we were back in Vegas. We went underground, into the loading zone of the Peppermint Resort. Men jumped from the truck as it slowed shaking the pile of bags side to side. The truck backed up and stopped. Finally, the Russians quickly off-loaded their green packages while the foreman held an automatic pistol over me, urging me to my feet.

  "Off, all you clothes now, boy," he said.

  ~

  The elevator only stopped at the top and the doors opened to a circular dining room, its tasteful and expensive décor themed in medieval fantasy. Every chair a throne. Every table round and large. Lush, dark carpets and gold trimmed black iron lattice fences mounted on stone-half walls. The ridiculous luxury of the inside still paled compared to the breathtaking 270-degree view of the Vegas desert and Spring Mountains beyond.

  At the center of it all, with his back to the elevator, Alan Horus sat alone, not just at the table but in the restaurant. The men around him – different from the one around him in the morning – dressed the usual hotel security business wear and scowl.

  I felt quite underdressed in just my red boxer briefs. The marble floor felt wonderfully cold to my naked toes.

  Nazi the Bear roughed me forward through the dining room. In the fresh air, he smelled like someone making vodka in a mushroom farm. Fortunately, one of the goon squad made sure the ugly fuck didn't get past the hardwood floor by the elevator and another guided me toward Horus' table.

  I smelled bad, too. Sweat. Rotting meat. Vomit. Even burning my entire outfit couldn’t scrape it off my or bleed it from my pores.

  But that was the point Alan Horus needed to make. From his tower over Las Vegas far above and away from the killing field he created, sitting in his fine Armani suit, tailored Chinese collared shirt open an extra button to show off his gold medallion and black chest hair. He took a long sip from a mug held by fingers full of gems and gold, pretending not to notice me until I sat across from him in a spot with no setting.

  Poetic.

  "Here endeth the lesson," he grinned. He was freshly showered, curly black hair slicked back over his head. Alone here, flanked by his shade-wearing Republican guard, he looked like a cross between a classic mob boss and a Middle Eastern arms dealer. "Would you like something to eat?"

  I slumped in my chair, putting my wrists on the cool marble tabletop. "No," I croaked.

  "You can relax," Horus said as he picked up his fork to attack the scrambled eggs. "You're not going to die right now."

  One of the goons placed my wallet, Magic Pad and access badge in front of me on the marble tabletop.

  "What about Ezrin?"

  "Well," he gave his breakfast far more interest. "If she didn't do something stupid, she's alive and being debriefed by my advisors. If she was stupid, then she probably found her way into the desert."

  I said nothing as he gobbled something else off his plate.

  "I expected you to be very angry or very scared. Tell me: how are you feeling?"

  I was starving and desperately thirsty. But he knew that. I felt some considerable physical pain and a reality series worth of emotional distress. He also enjoyed pretending not to see me in pain, dismissing me like one of his goon squadees or the lingerie model reduced to decanting his orange juice in a medieval wench costume. I felt a lot of things, but I wasn’t going to show him. I would not give in to the Shadows.

  I had to cough before I could speak. "I guess you're upset about the transaction from Parker's old account."

  "I am not upset. I am disappointed. Treason in the face of the gifts I've given you, the open embrace I offered you here in our enterprise…why?"

  He devoured the last of the toast and turned his attention to a tall glass of orange juice, dripping with condensation. I wanted to go on the offensive, yell at him or something to show I had fight left in me, but there was nothing to be gained from burning that energy now. I needed more information.

  "I understand. Many things in life happen without justification. There are reasons, of course, but seldom are you qualified or even entitled to understand. Why did you get cancer, for example? Why did your father commit suicide? Why is your mother locked away in a dirty old care facility?"

  It didn't bother me he knew that about me nor did it surprise me that he would hit me with it.

  "Why did you marry someone so hysterically incompatible? Why did you give up -- on life so soon? Most important to me: why would someone like Grant Parker hand his life’s work off to someone so -- incompetent?"

  I sat back in my chair. "Why did those people have to die? Help me out here because I can’t get my head around it. Why did Nadeim have to die?"

  "Nadeim died because she chose to help you and that was the second sin after helping Parker. She was executed for treason. I wanted you to see how the world works."

  "Not my world."

  "We’re not in your world, Winston. That's the point you refuse to acknowledge. You are alive because you know things." The eggs disappeared into that smug fuck face that I wanted to punch so hard his teeth would take root in the hand-carved Tasmanian Myrtle chairback. "You know; I sympathize with you. This isn't your fault. Like I said, Winston, Grant Parker put you into something so alien to your nature, so far outside your competence – no offense. That said, you’ve surprised me many times. I thought you'd take a quick buck and run back to Smallville. You held out for more! I put you on the spot in front of five thousand people and you – you were ruthless! The subjects loved you! Then I thought you'd use Ezrin for a quick fuck and I'd blackmail you with photos to complicate your divorce. You made a friend out of Ezrin! Imagine my surprise after the girl did nothing but scowl for two years."

  "Is that because you made her a debt prisoner here? Have someone pimping her out to your executive clients?"

  Horus tapped his fork on the plate "Oh, please. Don't tell me you're buying the whore with a golden heart bullshit. No. She has a very successful, lucrative side business going on here in The Realm. I think you know what I’m talking about."

  "Were you the one who sent me the video of Carla's murder?"

  "Of course not. I had someone in IT do that. I also had one of our interns pay Carla to do one final erotic art film for me. I paid her ten thousand dollars. It was enough to pay off her debts, but I understand she bungled that and only offered her creditor half. Not wise when you're six months behind."

  "And Detective Hinkle? He's one of your actors, too?"

  "Yes. It's always nice to have police on retainer. I assure you he's a licensed investigator with an exclusive contract. He's also a member of the Screen Actors Guild."

  "So where are we now? What's next, Alan?"

  He sat back and scrolled through the latest hundred messages on his Magic Book before returning to our conversation. "Let me speak now as a very powerful man who has complete control of your fate. I trusted you with a sacred ritual that I perform to secure this empire of pixels and illusions. I still believe you can be saved."

  "If I get you back your money." I sat there shaking. Part of it was the cold air blowing down on me from the vent in the ceiling, but I was almost in shock from my experience and outraged to the point that no more words could come.

  "You want to be a hero like your old friend. You can't go to the police. Well, you can, but then before they told you there was no evidence to support your fantasy, Claire Casey will meet a terrible end. Ezrin, too. Also, I won't do anything to stop Grant Parker's involvement in King Kline’s sick child sex ring from going public. I'll feed King Kline's little law dog a file so clear and damning that they'll dig up Parker's corpse from the National Cemetery and hang it in the streets."

  He offered me the stare of a serious, sincere man. I wondered how long it took the sociopath to learn it.

  "Parker knew us both better than this, Alan. He made sure neither of us could touch that money."

  "I don't think that's true. Every cam
paign has a treasure at the end. All you had to do was steal from the dragon's lair. You did, but you didn't escape in time to avoid the breath of fire. No. You can return the inventory and walk away from this. I will even give you a PENNY on each dollar to send you back thinking you had some kind of victory. It isn't a big score, but you'll still be alive and… will seventeen thousand pay for a divorce, after taxes?"

  Part of me didn't believe any of it and that somehow I'd end the meeting flying out one of the big windows. But there was a giant offering an insect a lifeline in the form of a payoff. As Park might have said, that meant he was afraid of getting stung but needed my honey.

  I didn’t have to show my hand just yet.

  "I am curious about that Parker has on you that you’re being so generous?"

  "The fact that you don't know is the only reason you're not in ten different green bags right now piled outside an incinerator. I'll also need to know the encryption to Parker's inventory."

  "What's that?"

  Horus studied my expression which was an honest lack of understanding. He chewed up a bit of sausage as he considered what to do next while staring at me for my discomfort. "The encryption code is worth another six hundred thousand to me. Walk away with the biggest jackpot on the strip tomorrow, tonight even."

  It was my turn to stare at him and ponder.

  "I have something to think about."

  "There's even a choice?"

  "I don't like to make big financial decisions in my underwear."

  "Too bad."

  "I guess you win."

  "That's not how I need you to say it."

  "What, you want me to eat some cat food?"

  "Say it."

  The Russians chuckled among themselves.

  He glared. "Say it, you little BITCH."

  "You win, Lord of Lords."

  The Lord of Lords smiled.

  ~

  The elevator took me direct to my residence floor so I didn’t have to share my appearance with anyone. The elevator doors parted and trouble caught my eye. Another goon stood outside my suite down the hall.

  "Hi. I'm the stripper for the bachelorette party in Suite 1402. Am I late?"

  The door chime sounded as I pushed my way inside. Ezrin was on her way to the door with a baton raised when she recognized me in the doorway.

  "Oh god," she gasped as she put her arms around me. So warm, so soft. My hands full, I moved my arms around her waist.

  "You okay," I asked.

  "They locked me in and killed the network while you were gone. My Book didn't work, my phone… where did you go?"

  "The desert. Did they hurt you?"

  "Only as much as they needed to, I guess. The prod still stings." She showed me a circular burn mark on the small of her back, like someone put out a cigar on her.

  "Jesus!"

  "I am so sorry," she said. "I couldn't protect you."

  "It was Alan's personal goon squad, Ezrin. They were ready for you. It's okay."

  "What happened? Why are you …naked? What did Alan want?"

  "Blood."

  I walked past her and straight into the bathroom, throwing my gear on the sofa as I walked. The full-length mirror revealed how bad things were. A few gray hairs on my temple. My face and arms were lobster red. Swollen right eye, bruises on my chest and arms, and cuts all over my face. The blood on my hands and neck wasn't mine.

  The weight of the situation fell across me hard and I sank to the cold tile floor, sobbing. I felt the hands of the dead on my shoulders and face, The Shadows reaching out from the darkened corners to taste my pain and remind me that they were they to take it all from me if I just asked. Guilt and fear swelled in my head until I thought they might bring on a stroke. Ezrin’s careful footsteps darkened the gap under the bathroom door, but she didn’t knock. She just lingered there a moment before stepping away.

  There was no way out that I could see.

  ~

  The phone rang three times before Claire picked up.

  "Who is this?"

  "It's me. Winston." I was using my pre-paid line in case my cell phone was bugged.

  She shouted "Hold on!" Crackles and shaking noises followed, along with the muffled sound of Claire's angry voice. When she got back on, she launched. "I don't know what the fuck you're doing, Winston. I can't wait for you to stop pouting and deal with all this. Where the hell are you?"

  "Still in Vegas."

  Whatever she said came out sounding like a giant bird of prey swooped in snatched it into the air, screaming the entire time. When I could put the phone back to my ear, she was going on about the police, Carla, and everything else she already wrote in her texts. "And now this morning, you get a shipment delivered when you're SUPPOSED to be making plans to get your things OUT of here."

  "Shipment?"

  "YES. A crate."

  "What kind of crate?"

  "A big, wooden box. What else?"

  "Just put it aside and I'll get it when I can."

  "Put it aside? It takes up half the garage! It's a good thing Randy was here and opened the garage because the freight company was just going to leave it in the driveway."

  "Where's it from? Who sent it?"

  She huffed. "I'll send you a picture. It's from Ebetha. Randy had them put it in the garage. He's working around it." She said it like I was really putting him out putting a box in my garage.

  A moment later, my phone pinged. A photo arrived in my message box. The wooden shipping crate in the garage was about eight feet long if I scaled it right, and four feet wide and high. It wasn't "half the garage" but it was big. It was apparently heavy enough that they moved it on two wooden pallets that they left in the garage. Clownshoe had put some motorcycle parts and a greasy shirt on top of the crate behind one of my old patio chairs that he'd stained with handprints and grime smears.

  Claire's voice growled from the earpiece. "Did you get the picture?"

  "Yes. Thank you. Listen. Do us both a favor and don't tell anyone about it until I can get back."

  "Why can't I say anything about it? The neighbors asked if I was getting new furniture. Is this something from Lucy and Blake?"

  "No. It's from Parker," I lied. "Part of his estate."

  Claire replied, "I was going to open it, but Randy said not to since your name is on it and he didn't want you to accuse me of mail tampering or whatever. What did you buy in Ebetha, Winston? The shipping on this thing was like over a thousand dollars! Did you pay for that? Where did you get the money?"

  "I didn't pay for it. Parker's estate did."

  "Pretty expensive, especially when they were just gonna dump it on our yard. It said 'signature only' but I don't think they cared. Randy signed your name but they didn't check ID or anything…"

  I considered asking Claire to open it, but for all I knew Jean-Paul's body might be inside there. Hell, I wouldn't put it past Huan to booby trap the thing with live snakes.

  "Does this mean you'll be coming home soon? We need to go over some things."

  "I'll do my best," I said wondering how the hell I could manage that.

  Then it hit me. I called Mistress Huan direct relishing the fact it would annoy the fuck out of her.

  PART EIGHT

  Home Again

  "Does it matter if the life we live or the people we love are flesh or digital? If they sustain us in our hearts, aren't they just as real?"

  - Kit, "A Wonderlost Kid"

  (Aeternus Message Board 2015)

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  As soon as the plane landed, I called Diane from my pre-paid phone. It was 10:55pm. I remember because I expected her to yell at me.

  She didn't. "Well, hey there, sonny pro bono. Where are you?"

  "Just got into town. I may have been followed. If not, there are people in town looking for me."

  "What happened?"

  "They drove me out into the desert to watch them murder a dozen people. Now they want Parker's laptop which I left in Ebetha but mi
ght be in a crate that Nadeim shipped to my house by Parker's secret wife who I just watched land in the desert in front of me at 200 miles per hour. They let me escape back here because their keeping my friend Ezrin hostage in the hotel until I get the laptop. I think that's all of it. There was swordplay and sex and other stuff, but...god damn I need sleep."

  Diane cleared her throat and made a few attempts to start a sentence but ended up making odd noises with her throat before managing "Okay. Yeah. That's… how?"

  "They drove me out at dawn, Alan Horus told me a story about how he found diamonds on a dead body in the desert and then twelve people dropped out of the sky in front of me out of an airplane. No chutes. Just… boom. Dead. All of them. Nadeim, too."

  She sighed over the squeak of an office chair reclining. "So. You can't go to the police. And now you put little ole me, working for free on a case involving human traffickers, drug cartels, and Russian mobsters in their sights."

  "You know about that part, huh?"

  "Winston. We need to talk."

  "Glad you agree. I hope to god that laptop is in the crate. If not, we're fucked."

  "Crate? The one shipped to your house?"

  "I was going to go over in the morning, but the clock is ticking."

  "Don't go to a hotel. Come over. Crash on my couch. I have bars on my windows and a lot of guns."

  "It's a date," I said.

  ~

  Diane lived a modern townhome at the fringe of Steelton, just south of town and half way between the airport and Claire's house. My plan was to go marching over to the house and get right to it, but my body told me otherwise. I took a cab stopping off at a coffee shop along the way. I bought the driver a giant cup of caffeine, too.

  Diane Walton used to be called "The Wall" in high school. Six-one and broad in stature, she was always blocking someone's sun or way to the goal in field hockey. She was also a trash-talking, action-oriented warrior of a human being. Aside from being one of the only female gamers in my neighborhood growing up, she was brilliant with computers and had an eye for details. I couldn't remember a time I didn't see her in sweats or a basketball jersey. She always looked like she was hustling in off a court or field, ready for the next thing even if she were a little tired.