by Dan Glover
"I do... I've been associated with them for close to ten years."
"And?"
"And what?"
"Can they do what they say they can?"
"You mean find missing people? Yes... I've seen them do it quite a number of times. As far as I know, they've never failed."
"Even if they're dead?"
"Yep... even if they're dead."
"I thought they might be scamming me. They asked for an awful lot of money up front."
"Honestly, Elena, I wouldn’t worry about that. They'll find your brother."
"Can I ask you something kind of personal, Reilly?"
"Sure... go ahead."
"Do you like me? I mean, do you like women? Or are you just into men?"
"Jesus... is it that obvious?"
"Well, yeah... "
Chapter 32—Time Bombs
(And Desires)
Odd... kīla was missing. It was there this morning when he brought the flowers into the sanctuary. Or was it? Now he couldn’t be sure. It was just a little thing... something scarcely noticeable really. Some people might call it a dagger... a dagger of emptiness... others, a stiletto, those unschooled in its art. The knife had been a gift to him, a young and impressionable priest in search of the mystery.
The man who presented it called himself a brujo... a sorcerer, a madman. The brujo lived in the hills surrounding Santo Tomas and when he heard a new priest had come to town, he'd appeared at the door with three things: that knife, the tale that went with it, and his son, Arturo.
Kīla was made of sky iron... a meteorite, or so the brujo said who gave it to him. Entrusted him with it. Made for one purpose... to drive out demons. Pommel, handle, and blade... all melded together as an inseparable mass the power of which transformed negative energy—the three poisons, root poisons... attachment, craving, desire... delusion, ignorance, misconception... aversion, fear, hate—into their polar opposites of love and compassion, blessings and forgiveness, knowing and known.
Kīla was a fundamental part of the ritual. Without it, he was lost. Had his trust been misplaced? The power of kīla made the object untouchable by all but the adept, or so the fable went. When he'd picked it up without harm, the old brujo said he'd known Fletch was now its rightful owner... that only he could wield the power of kīla.
Arturo was just a boy but his father had seen to it that he learned all the rituals associated with kīla. Thinking that he might instead instill the fear of the Lord in the boy, Father Fletch had taken it upon himself to school him and he found a willing pupil, or so he thought. Arturo learned the bible verse by verse. Yet over the years it became clear that his earlier instruction in the art of kīla was by far the more potent of his lessons.
Now the knife was gone. The cleaning woman wouldn’t dare to have touched it. Every time she came close to it, she'd drop to one knee and genuflect to ward off the evil emanating from it... the lust to kill... to release the torment kept bottled up inside living tissue.
Someone had entered the church in his absence and taken it. Thieves, or perhaps worse. Was it the same people who dug up the graveyard? It had to be... McNairy and Forthright, that was their names. He memorized everything about them... made note of their faces... asked around the village about them. They were people to be feared, possessed of an ancient evil beyond reckoning. They were after something or someone... probably him.
Had they discovered his secret? Doubtfully. If so, they'd have confronted him. No... they were dancing around the edges though. Soon they'd have accumulated enough evidence to lead them to the truth. Still, without kīla he was lost, powerless, a castaway on the sea of forgetfulness.
Kīla held the expelled demons in place long enough that they could be successfully redirected and transmuted into purity rather than evil. Without it, even if he managed to drive forth the entities wrecking havoc upon the body, there'd be no way of dealing with the afterbirth... the regeneration... the reintegration. The key found was now lost.
It was time to take action. Walking out of the church and for the first time ruing that he had no way of locking the door behind him, Father Fabulinus headed down to the beach. He'd taken off his collar so that he'd be less noticeable as a priest though anyone in his congregation would know him right off. The squat little bow-legged man was right where he always was, making his way along the sand while singing out his mantra for all to hear.
"Somethin' for de nose, somethin' for de head."
Someone on the beach waved to him but before he could go to them, Father Fabulinus touched his elbow.
"Arturo... te necesito."
"I am all yours, mi Padre... una minuto, por favor."
The man was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, but he could be counted on for certain things. Father Fabulinus watched as Arturo completed his transaction. Blasphemy. That's what it amounted to. But the Lord Himself turned a blind eye to certain perversions in order to cultivate the Word.
"¿Qué puedo hacer por usted, padre? What can I do for you, Father? "
"I am troubled, Arturo. Certain people are here to take me away. Can you help me?"
"Estoy a tus órdenes, padre. Tell me your desire and I will make it mine."
Chapter 33—On the Road
(To Ensenada)
1
The dream had been too real. Even after waking, Danners laid in bed for several minutes blinking his eyes and assuring hisself that it was just that: a dream. Liza slept next to him soft and warm, not cold and purple as in that horrible nightmare.
They'd gone to the beach again yesterday. He knew what Liza wanted... she was running low on her supply. But the something man wasn’t there. They'd waited until nearly dark but the man never showed up.
She'd want to go again today. That went without saying. Now, though, with the remnants of that dream still clinging to him like wet sand, he realized he'd have to go back home... take a chance on procuring some himself. He knew the routine. It'd be easy enough to do. Crossing the border with it was another matter but he'd think of something.
Slipping out of bed and checking her stash, he noted she had about a gram left... enough for today. Scribbling her a message, he folded it and left it there for her to find. If she bought anything from the something man, she'd be dead within the hour. Stay here, Liza, and I'll be back soon.
Though it was only eight in the morning, he left the cabin, careful to make sure Liza was still sleeping. They'd been up late the night before so the odds were she wouldn’t wake for several hours yet. With luck, he'd be back by then.
"Reilly... I need your help."
"Sure, Danners... Christ... what time is it?"
He'd doubtlessly woken the man out of a sound sleep. Reilly was blinking at the early morning sun and rubbing his forehead. Someone behind him was calling him back to bed.
"Who is that? Is that Elena Stamper?"
"Shhh... yes, it is. Now what can I do for you, Danners?"
"Liza is in trouble. I need to get her some medication right away."
"Jesus... is it serious?"
"Yes... do you have access to any pharmaceuticals?"
"No... maybe... I don’t know. What kind of pharmaceuticals are we talking about?"
"Opiates... anything that can mimic the effects of heroin. Or if you can get some of that, all the better."
"I knew it... she's a junkie, isn’t she."
"I don’t like that word, Reilly. She has a problem. Can you help? If not, I'm going to have to drive to Los Angeles this morning."
"Let me make a phone call, Danners. I can't promise anything, but maybe I can come up with something. I know a guy who knows a guy. I'll text you when I find out anything."
Maybe he should start driving. That way he'd have a head start when Reilly told him that no, he was sorry but he couldn’t do anything to help. He could make Los Angeles in two hours if he hustled and be back in time for a late lunch.
The thought of going into Compton on his own held no appeal at all but he'd
do it if necessary. He knew the house. Would they sell to him? If he had the cash. Hell, he'd pay extra if he had to. That wouldn’t be a problem. But what if Liza woke up while he was gone, either didn’t see his note or ignored it, and went down to the beach to buy from the something man? Could he risk it?
Walking back to his cabin and as his eyes adjusted to the bright Mexican sun he could still see her lying there in the dark... her dead body curled up next to him... her beautiful blonde hair in a pool of green puke... the feel of bitter cold emanating from her as he rolled her over while trying to scream out her name as his breath caught in his throat and emerged as a whimper.
No... he couldn’t leave her here, not alone. If he had to go, someone would have to stay with her until he returned. Hank? No... the man wouldn’t understand. It had to be Reilly. But what would Elena say? Jesus... was Reilly really bopping her? Sure looked that way.
His phone buzzed. Reilly was texting him.
Okay, buddy, we're set. Pick me up in ten minutes.
Oh thank Christ. So the man had a plan. Now if only Liza stayed asleep until they returned.
"Where are we going, Reilly?"
"There's a little booth in Ensenada where we can get what we need."
"How do you know that?"
"Trade secrets, Danners... if I told you, I'd have to kill you."
"But is it safe?"
"From what I hear, it's the purest stuff on the planet. Safe? No fucking way."
"Oh... hi Elena. Are you riding along?"
"Hello, Danners. Well, yes. I'm the one
2
"With the connection. Reilly told me about your little problem and I offered to help. Maybe you'll cut me some slack on my next payment?"
"But how do you know..."
"Where to get the junk? My old boyfriend used to buy there all the time. He still sells stuff on the beach so I imagine that's where he gets it.."
"The something man?"
"What? Oh... that's what he says, isn’t it. Something for the nose, something for the head. I remember that now. Cute."
"He's your old boyfriend?"
"Well, yeah. We went to school together. I've known him since we were six yeas old. His name is Tortuga. At least that's what everyone calls him. His real name is Arturo. His friends always called him Turtle."
"How well do you know Tortuga, Elena?"
"Not well... not anymore. After I left Santo Tomas I heard he got into some bad shit. Selling drugs isn’t the worst of it. He's mixed up with the some shady characters around here."
"Does he have something to do with the cult of kīla?"
"How do you know about that, Danners?"
"That's why you hired us, isn't it? Not only to find out what happened to your brother, but to the other children disappearing... right?"
"Well, yes... but I don’t understand..."
"We went to that church you told us about, Elena... the Church of the Five Angels."
"Did you talk to Father Fletch?"
"Yes we did... he's quite a character."
"I think he killed Eduardo. I keep dreaming about that place... that man."
"Me too, Elena... me too. After we talked with Father Fletch, we decided to go back and do a little digging. Literally. In the graveyard back of the church. Someone is burying people there illegally. They're doubling and tripling up on graves... piling coffins one on top of the other."
"Maybe it's the peasants... they're so poor they can't afford burial plots."
"We thought so too, at first. So we went back again. This time, we went inside the church. The good Father wasn’t there but the door was open."
"He never locks it."
"As we presumed... there isn’t even a lock on the door. Anyway, I found a knife under the altar. An odd knife. It looks old. So I borrowed it... just for a day or two."
"But why?"
"I get impressions from objects, like the sack of marbles that belonged to Eduardo. Do you know he used them to divine the future?"
"Eduardo? No... I had no idea. He was just six years old, Danners."
"That's what I'm getting. Anyway, as I said, I borrowed that knife from the church. I put it under my pillow so I could sleep on it. The dreams were awful, Elena. So much hurt. Pain. Misery. That knife... it has a name... it's called kīla. It was given to Father Fletch when he first arrived here in Santo Tomas."
"You know all that just by having it under your pillow?"
"Yes... and more. Kīla has been used in exorcisms for hundreds of years... first in Africa, and then here. Its power is such that the person wielding the knife gradually loses control of their thought processes... they come under the sway of the demon inside the knife."
"Oh, come on, Danners... you don’t really believe in that nonsense, do you?"
"Whether I believe or not has nothing to do with things, Elena. I'm just telling you what I see. That knife is evil. Do I believe in evil as an objective reality in the world? No. I believe everything is composed of both good and evil. But there is nothing good about whatever powers have been imbued within that knife."
"So what do we do now?"
"I don’t know. Father Fletch has stamped his church with his own special touch. He uses his power to cut out the hearts of his victims in order to save their souls from Satan. His following is growing by the day. Soon, he'll be unstoppable."
"Are you sure?"
"Half the time my dreams are wrong, Elena... so no, I'm not sure. If I was, I'd of called in the authorities. As it stands, it's my word against Father Fletch, and as deeply as he's entrenched here, I know who they'll believe."
"So tell me again why we're on our way to buy heroin in Ensenada?"
"Because the something man in Santo Tomas
3
"Is lacing heroin with fentanyl."
"I don’t understand, Danners. What does that mean?"
"Fentanyl's a potent pain killer... about fifty times as powerful as heroin. They use it in alleviating pain in cancer patients. Dealers have been known to cut their product with it to make their stepped-on heroin more powerful. It also means a sure overdose for anyone unfortunate enough to get hold of it. That's why I asked Reilly to find another source."
"Tortuga? Do you think he's responsible?"
"Yes and no. From what I'm getting, Tortuga is mixed up with that cult of Father Fletch... Del Encuentro, they call it... the Gathering. The Father has a hold over these people. They'll do just about anything he says."
"Is the heroin for you, Danners?"
"No... it isn’t for me, Elena. I appreciate you keeping our secret."
"So it's for your partner then."
"I'd rather not say."
"Are they the ones who took Eduardo?"
"Maybe... I don’t know that, yet, Elena. Tell me, were you home alone that day that your brother disappeared?"
"What do you mean by that, Danners?"
"Just what I said... were you home alone, or was someone with you?"
"Tortuga was there for a while. We were friends. I fell asleep and when I woke he was gone and it was late and Eduardo hadn’t come home yet. You don’t think he had anything to do with my brother's disappearance, do you?"
"I'd rather not say, Elena. I might be wrong. Give me—give us—a little more time. Things are beginning to come together now and it won't be long before we know for sure what happened to Eduardo and those other children who vanished. It wasn’t the chupacabra, or the bogey man, or anything supernatural. It was people, just like you and me... people you probably saw every day."
"Okay, Danners... I trust you. And I won't say anything about this trip to anyone."
"Thank you, Elena... for everything."
"Pull in here, Reilly. This is the place. Let me go in alone, Danners. They won't trust Americans."
Chapter 34—Histories
(In Black and White)
1
Jesus but he needed to come up for air. How long had they been shacked up here? A day? Maybe two
? What would Reilly Cooper be thinking? Did the man even know that his mother was as hot as a two dollar hooker in heat?
"You don’t look old enough to be Reilly's mother."
"Oh, I am, honey... I just had him early. I was fifteen when I turned up pregnant. Lord, I thought mama'd kill me dead, sure enough."
"Fifteen? Jesus, Bernie, is that even legal?"
She had that mocha skin that drove him mad and a way of wrapping her body around him that caused time to cease to exist. She'd raised Reilly all on her own after her loving mother threw her out of the house, working two and sometimes three jobs while grabbing fifteen minutes of sleep whenever she could.
"Well, legal or not, Hank, I wasn’t giving my baby up."
"Who's his father?"
"Who gives a shit? No, I shouldn’t be like that. I'm sorry, Hank. He was just a boy I knew in school. Good kid. Went and got himself killed huntin' gators down there in the bayou. His name was Romeo. Seriously. Romeo Gooden. Seventeen years old. Just as dumb as they make 'em. Cute, though."
"That's rough. I'm sorry I asked, Bernie."
"Don't be. That's all a part of me, Hank. The better part. I swore my boy wouldn’t get sucked into the thug life in East Los Angeles. That's where I ended up. I made sure he had the opportunity to get an education. Kept an eye on his ass twenty four seven. Do you know he bought me a house? Sure did. Surprised the hell right out of me. Nice neighborhood. I was able to get a half way decent job too. No more of that ghetto crap for me."
"So how is it a good looking woman like you never married?"
"Most men I meet are looking for one thing... sorta like you, Mr. Lupo. I ain't got time for that."
"Well, if I remember rightly, you're the one who ripped my clothes off, Bernie."
"Blame it on the atmosphere, sweet meat. This place done got to my head. And besides, do you know how long it's been since I had any? Now tell me, what the hell are you doing down here in Mexico?"
"Checking up on friends... Liza McNairy and Danners Forthright. I thought they might need some seeing after."