She handed me the card. It was sketch of a man meant to resemble Jesus, his face turned heavenward, his arms parted wide, a clock in the center of his chest.
The time on the clock was three minutes until twelve.
The logo for the Church of the One-Hundred-and-Eightieth Second.
She stared at me. “You recognize it, don’t you?”
“Yes.” And I did something then that I’d never done before.
I told her everything.
This is not SOP with me, understand. Usually Parsons and I try to feed the information to the families in bits and pieces so as to make the sordid whole a bit easier to swallow, but this woman, this good, graceful, lonely woman had moved something in me, and I felt she deserved nothing more than the whole truth.
She listened stone-faced, the only sign of her grief and rage the way her folded hands balled slowly into white-knuckled fists.
I finished telling her everything, then poured myself some more coffee while the news set in. I still couldn’t get that underneath-things-smell out of my nose.
“The police checked out that church,” she said. “I could at least remember some of the details of the card. The church denied that any of their ‘apostles’ had ever seen or been in contact with Jimmy.”
“Can I keep this?” I asked, holding up the card.
“Don’t see why not.” She stared off in the distance for a minute, then shook herself from her reverie, looked at me, and smiled. She looked like someone had stuck a gun in her back and told her to act natural.
“I still have that damn VCR we got for him,” she said. Her voice was so tight I thought the words might shatter like glass before they exited her throat. “Still wrapped up in birthday paper. They don’t even make the damn things anymore. Still got that tape of The Searchers, too.”
I reached over and took hold of one of her hands. It was like gripping a piece of granite. “At least that’ll give him something to look forward to.”
She nodded, and for the first time I saw the tears forming in her eyes.
“I don’t so much mind what they robbed me of,” she said. “Seeing him grow up, mature, riding a bike for the first time...I don’t mind that so much. But for him...I very much mind what those bastards robbed him of. Childhood ends all too soon anyway, but to be...to be stripped of it like that, to have it expunged, to never, ever experience it...that’s worse than simply robbing a boy of his childhood. It’s a hideous form of rape in a way, isn’t it?”
“We’ll get them for this, Mrs. Waggoner. I swear it.”
She wiped her eyes, looked at me, and tried to smile. “I don’t doubt it for a minute.”
I readied myself to leave and take her back to the safe house. To my surprise, she didn’t want to come along.
“I, uh...I don’t exactly look my best right now,” she said. “I want to clean up a bit, put on a good dress, you know.”
“Of course. I’ll have someone come for you later this afternoon.”
“Around five would be wonderful.” She took my hand and kissed me once on the cheek. “Thank you, Carl. I don’t know what kind of a life my son and I will have from here on, but at least we’ll have one. Together.”
I smiled at her as best I could and nodded, then quickly trotted out to the hover-car and took off.
I didn’t want her to see how badly I was shaking.
Something had clicked into place while she was speaking to me.
And when she’d craned to kiss my cheek, that underneath-things-smell was on her.
And I recognized it for what it was.
And the implications scared the hell out of me.
* * *
“Detective Sherwood.”
“Ian, it’s me.”
“Carl. How goes the spirit-saving business?”
Usually I’d have had a snappy reply, but not today. Sherwood sensed something in my silence and asked: “Okay, you’re in no mood for jokes. How serious is it?”
“It may just be my imagination running wild with me—”
“You don’t have an imagination, pal.”
“Everyone’s complimenting me today, first Parsons, now you, I feel giddy.”
“There you are.”
“Look, Ian, this might be damned serious. I need you to get your hands on some records for me, can you do that?”
“I’ll need a couple of good reasons.”
I listed three.
Now it was Sherwood’s turn to be silent.
“Still there, Ian?”
“Uh...yeah, yes, I’m just...wow.”
“Like I said, it might just be my imagination, but if it isn’t—”
“—if it isn’t, a lot of people are going to be in deep sewage.”
“I figured.”
“How far back do you want me to check?”
“Start with a week ago, going through today.”
“I’ll dispatch some plain-clothes in an unmarked car to keep an eye on the place.”
“Tell them not to apprehend, just follow.”
“So now you’re my boss?”
“Please, Ian? This one feels bad.”
He sighed in resignation. “That last name was W-A-G-G-O-N-E-R?”
“Must’ve been your junior-high spelling bee champ.”
“National finalist.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I’m kidding...but then I’m the one with the sense of humor.”
“I gotta get new friends.”
“No one but us’d have you. Call me back in an hour and I’ll let you know.”
* * *
“Cindy?”
She looked up from the dishes, surprised to see me. “Yes?”
“I want you to tell me about the place where Brother Tick-Tock takes all new apostles.”
She stared. “That’s private. Sacred.”
I came toward her. There must have been something in my eyes, because she turned slightly pale and backed up a few paces.
“You listen to me, Cindy. That boy who came in here today, Jimmy, you know him, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, like I said.”
I had her backed to the wall. “Tell me about Lord Relativity, then.”
This caught her off-guard, but at the same time seemed to perk her up a bit. “He is the One and True God of All Moments, available to His followers on-line at all times.”
“And what does He say to His followers?”
“Nothing. We simply log on and become One with His Presence.”
“You...you feel him, then?”
“Yes, his thoughts and the beating of his heart. Lord Relativity was inspired by Jesus. It was in His Seventh Year that he became aware of His greatness, and in His thirty-third year, he falls into the ashes of cyberspace and emerges reborn.”
“Reborn. At age seven?”
“Yes. Praise His name and the etherealization of the New World He promises all.”
I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Where does Brother Tick-Tock initiate the new apostles, Cindy?”
“That’s a secret, I told you.”
“Then try this: Unless you tell me where this sacred place is, I think someone is going to try and kill Brother Tick-Tock before the day is over.”
“No! Without Brother Tick-Tock to guide us, to interpret what Lord Relativity thinks in His Cyber Palace, we will be lost and—”
I slapped her. I couldn’t help it.
I didn’t know how much time might be left.
“Dammit, girl, tell me!”
“CARL!”
I turned to see Parsons standing in the kitchen doorway. He looked livid. “How dare you strike her like that!”
“I don’t have time for your subtleties, my friend. Have you talked with Jimmy yet?”
“A little.”
“There’s a huge hole in his memory, right?”
“Yes.”
“One that you’re going to have to use hypnosis to fill in?”
“Probably.”
<
br /> “Let me save you a little guesswork. You’ve got the latest incarnation of Lord Relativity up there.”
Cindy gasped.
Parsons tilted his head, looking confused. “How do you know—what do you mean the latest incarnation of—”
“Get on the horn and see if any seven-year-old boys have disappeared in the last three days, then call Detective Sherwood and tell him to get a squad over to the address Cindy is about to tell us.” I glared at her. “Well?”
“How can that man be Lord Relativity? He exists only in cyberspace, where all intellect and electricity meet to form a new consciousness and—”
I drew back to hit her again—I’d use my fist this time.
“Because Brother Tick-Tock and the elders of the church have been kidnapping little boys, drugging them, then hooking them up to medical equipment which is tied into the church’s mainframe server so that followers like you can get online and commune with Lord Relativity. I have no idea how many times they might have done this, or how often your precious lord rises like a phoenix from the ashes of cyberspace, but I do know that Brother Tick-Tock may be dead soon, and if you don’t tell me where the sacred initiation site is, it’ll be your fault.”
Parsons must have heard it in my voice, because he did not contradict what I said. We try never to lie to or use threats with people here, but if what I suspected was true, there was no time.
“Are you telling me the truth?” whispered Cindy, looking so scared and broken I almost took her in my arms.
“Yes, Cindy, I am.”
She gave me the address.
* * *
On my way to the address Cindy had given, I put the hover-car on autopilot while I tidied myself up and removed the detective’s shield and ID from the glove compartment—a gift from Sherwood at the police department. Sometimes I had to impersonate a detective in order to gain access to certain people. Thus far I’d never been called on it, and Sherwood had always promised to take care of any problems that might arise should I get busted.
I hoped he was a man of his word.
My phone beeped and, the car still on auto, I answered.
It was Sherwood.
“You nailed it, my friend,” he said. “One call to the church, two from. All within the last twenty hours.”
“Your plain-clothes boys there?”
“They are, but I don’t think anyone’s there.”
“I’m listening.”
“Right after you left, she called the local precinct and was connected to the Records Division.”
“Unlisted phone numbers, legal name changes, private addresses and the like?”
“Two cigars for you.”
“Parsons called you, right?”
“I’ve got two cars on the way, and as soon as I hang up I’m on the way my own self.”
“See you then.”
I broke the connection and landed right in front of the upscale condo and went inside to find the security guard at the desk unconscious.
Not bothering to remove my gloves, I checked the computer for Roger Buchanan’s (a.k.a. Brother Tick-Tock’s) apartment number and then grabbed the first elevator.
The ride to the twentieth-floor penthouse seemed to take forever.
When the door opened, I came out with my gun drawn. Across from me stood the door to Brother Tick-Tock’s personal initiation space where, I suspected, he’d seduced both boys and girls into the fold.
The door was open.
I nudged it farther with my foot and slipped in, my gun in front of me.
There was no sound.
I went from room to room, until at last I came to a large set of oak doors that had to lead into an office.
I opened them slowly and quietly.
Brother Tick-Tock sat in a plush chair behind his desk, a small splotch of blood staining the center of his shirt.
I could still smell the shot in the air.
Not unlike the dying aroma of gunpowder that I’d sniffed in Joyce Waggoner’s sad and hollow home.
I walked over, very slowly, to the person sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk.
Joyce Waggoner was still holding the gun, an automatic with silencer attachment.
There was no doubt in my mind that it was one of the untraceable weapons her husband had bought.
It took a moment for her to register my presence, and when she did she simply shrugged and smiled. “He didn’t deserve to live, not after all he’s done.”
I stepped behind the desk and felt for a pulse.
Brother Tick-Tock was still very much alive.
I came back around and took the automatic from her hands. “You called in the tip, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” She lifted up her open handbag. It was stuffed to bursting with platinum credit chips. The smallest one I saw was a thousand.
“Jimmy got away from them somehow,” she said. “I was so stunned to see him, to know that he was alive, that I just...I just held him a lot last night. Made cocoa. But then I got mad. I called the church and told them that I knew they’d taken my son from me and I was going to make them pay. They called me back, Brother Tick-Tock himself here. I hung up on him and he called right back. He offered...he offered me a lot of money to keep quiet. I don’t have a lot of money to live on anymore, you see, and Jimmy, well, he’s going to require a lot of care and...and...”
“So you said yes to a deal?”
“Yes. But then it occurred to me that they might try to...to take Jimmy back when they came with the money.”
“So you took him to the VR temple downtown and called us to come get him?”
“I wanted him to be safe, somewhere they wouldn’t dare try getting to him.”
“How many men from the church showed up at your house with the money?”
“Only two. One of them slapped me, threatened to hurt me if I didn’t tell them where Jimmy was.”
“So you killed them both? Shot them?”
“How did you know?”
“I caught a whiff of gunpowder on you when you kissed me good-bye.”
“I thought you seemed awfully sharp.”
“Where are the bodies?”
“In the cellar. I have no idea how I’m going to get rid of them...of course, I guess that’s all moot now anyway, isn’t it?”
Brother Tick-Tock moaned but did not regain full consciousness.
Then I heard another sound.
A whimper; very small, very thin.
Behind a door to the left of the desk.
Not taking my eyes off Mrs. Waggoner, I backed toward the door and kicked it open with my foot.
On a bed not four feet away lay a small boy, dressed in winter clothes, tied to the bedposts and all-too-obviously drugged.
I looked at the child.
Then Mrs. Waggoner.
Then Brother Tick-Tock.
And I thought then of Jimmy, of the childhood he’d been robbed of, of the dust on Mrs. Waggoner’s mantel, of the hysteria that the parents of this new boy must be feeling, and a last thought, unbidden, came to me: How many times had Brother Tick-Tock done this? How many seven-year-old boys had he kidnapped, drugged, and then hooked up to the church’s computer so the followers could log on to see the Reborn Lord Relativity?
In this age gods, like their followers, can be easily manufactured.
I stepped into the room and saw all of the children’s toys that littered the floor—balls to bounce, fire trucks, tiny robots, puzzles; a kiddie’s paradise.
Then I saw the bank of monitors from the corner of my eye.
I turned to face them.
There were eighteen in all, most of them showing very small rooms with very small occupants on medium-sized beds.
None of the children were alone.
I will not describe the depravities these children were being subjected to by their roommates. I had to turn away for a moment before I threw up.
I saw a second door, set between two bookcases on the far side of
the room. I walked very slowly over to the door and pushed it open. A winding stone staircase led downward.
On autopilot myself, I picked up one of the small bouncing balls, a blue one, and tossed it down the stairs.
I turned back toward the monitors and stared at the one in the center.
It showed a stone archway where a stone staircase ended.
I waited, forgetting to breathe.
A few seconds later, the blue ball bounced from the stairs onto the monitor screen.
I stared again at the empty, glassy eyes of the children on the other monitors, wondering if they knew their degradations were being recorded.
I had been wrong about what was really going on.
In my worst moments, I’d never imagined that I’d ever encounter anything as unspeakable as this.
I knelt down for a moment and pulled open a set of drawers under the monitors.
Hundreds upon hundreds of digital video discs were stored there, identified only by labels such as: LARRY, age 6, blonde; Little Boy Blue; Jessica, age 4, brunette; Little Miss Muffet.
So all of this, all of it—the church, the temple, the cyber-crusades of Lord Relativity and Brother Tick-Tock—all it was an elaborate front for a child pornography ring.
Then I noticed a label on one of the discs: ONE USE ONLY; red and noisy.
There were at least twenty more with the same label.
ONE USE ONLY: New cyber-speak for snuff movie.
All of this flashed through my mind in a second, and, knowing that Sherwood and his men would be here any minute, I made a decision that I knew would change the man I was for the rest of my life.
I came back into the office. “Mrs. Waggoner? You with me?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t ask questions, just listen and answer ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ all right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a heart condition of any sort?’
She looked at me, puzzled. “No...?”
“Do you have any sort of condition that might endanger your life should you suffer a form of body trauma?”
“No.”
I exhaled, nodded my head, made sure my gloves were still firmly covering my hands, then took her gun from her hands and shot her in the shoulder.
Halfway Down the Stairs Page 4