Genesis of Evil (22 page)

Norbert Hicks struck a match from the box he had picked up when he had broken into the marina office and turned on the gas pumps. Then he held a middle finger up in front of Birrell’s startled face and dropped the burning match on the deck.

They heard the explosion in Steinhatchee and Perry, and the fireball was visible for thirty miles in either direction. When the fire trucks and police cars arrived the entire marina and most of the boatel had disappeared. All that was left of the thirty-eight-foot cabin cruiser was several hundred pounds of junk floating offshore. The mall proper escaped damage.

Hicks’ Buick Riviera was the only car in the parking lot, which pretty well answered the question of what had happened to Trinidad’s most successful realtor. Sheila Hicks mourned the loss of her husband for several minutes. Then she wondered who she could get to help her balance the checkbook every month. Birrell’s boat was identified by the serial number found on one of the engines. Odd bits of Miami wiseguy washed up onto the beach for several days following the incident.

When Gerhart learned that Birrell’s boat was diesel powered, he wondered what had caused the explosion.

Chapter Twenty

November 27, 2004

Although there was absolutely no proof, Gerhart knew beyond a doubt that the demon in the mall was somehow responsible for the explosion that had destroyed Birrell’s boat and the marina. Between that and the arrest of Reverend Tillotson a few days earlier, it was clear that the demon could now influence events beyond the confines of the mall. When the fire and its attendant mess were sorted out, Gerhart went home and tried to arrange his thoughts.

The German part of him, wallowing in its Teutonic traditions, wanted to believe in whatever it was that haunted the mall and concede that the world was, in all probability, filled with more of the same. His Russian roots wanted to accept the typically fatalistic attitude of the Steppes that everybody had to die from something. At least death by demon was out of the ordinary. The American in Gerhart wanted desperately to defeat this menace once and for all, partly because it was a deeply ingrained American urge to confront this insult to humanity and best it. It was a conflict that only those of mixed heritage could understand.

The three nationalities went into conference. An hour later, after much internal conflict and soul searching, a compromise was reached. The German was allowed to believe in the entity. The Russian was given to understand that dying at the hand of the German’s entity was acceptable, but only if all attempts to vanquish the thing failed. The American promised the other two-thirds of his ancestry that he was going to kick the demon the hell out of Trinidad just like he would any other criminal.

Gerhart stood, squared his shoulders and marched toward the telephone.

Maurice, Claudette, Archie and Gerhart sat around the table in Gerhart’s kitchen drinking coffee and eating prune Danish that the spookhunters had picked up on their way over. Gerhart had decided that a meeting at the police station was less than prudent. It was after 10:30 in the morning and they had been at it for two hours. The spookhunters were certain of their ground.

“Are you sure there’s no other way to get rid of this thing?” Gerhart asked for the fourth time.

“Afraid not,” Maurice answered patiently. “If there is, I don’t know about it.” He raised his head and glanced from one to the other of his friends. “Have I missed anything?”

Claudette and Archie shook their heads.

Gerhart leaned forward on his elbows. “Don’t misunderstand me. I can see the logic. It’s just that I’m not sure how to go about it. If I try to explain it to, let’s say, the Sheriff or the State Patrol, they’ll drag me off and put me in a room with no knob on my side of the door. Besides, I can’t legally do what you’re suggesting. It’s a felony. I’m a policeman for Pete’s sake.”

They sat in silence for a minute. Archie nodded. “We understand what you’re saying, but it has to be done. Let’s assume for the moment that we can talk you into it. Do you know anybody who could handle the job?”

“No. And if I did, I couldn’t ask him to do it. And I sure as hell don’t know how. Do any of you?”

Again, there was a mutual shaking of heads. They sat in silence once more.

Suddenly Gerhart sat up straight in his chair. “I think I know a way to solve the problem,” he said.

Don Curran was tinkering with something under the hood of his truck when Gerhart parked at the curb. He led the Chief into the living room and listened intently as Gerhart spoke uninterrupted for twenty minutes. When he finished talking, Curran raised his eyebrows and stared incredulously at the Police Chief.
 

“Do you really expect me to buy all that shit?” he asked without rancor. “I’ve never heard such a farfetched tale in my life.”

“Neither had I,” Gerhart said, “but I’ve received quite an education during the last few weeks. Believe me, I know what you’re thinking. But what I’ve told you is the truth, as we understand it. This is the only possible way for us to beat the thing.”

Curran looked past Gerhart and stared blindly at the wall opposite the couch where he was seated. A tear rolled down one cheek. He took a deep breath. “It makes sense, in a weird sort of way. I knew Billy wasn’t very happy down here at first, but I was beginning to think he was getting used to it. He’d made some friends at school and was talking about going out for the baseball team. But when he took that job flipping burgers, it wasn’t two days until he was back where he started when we moved in.” He turned to Gerhart. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe there is something evil in that mall.”

“There is,” Gerhart said quietly. “If I wasn’t certain, I wouldn’t be here.”

Curran sighed heavily and wiped a hand over his face. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. Give me a couple of days to set something up. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” Curran stood and held out a hand.

“I don’t have to tell you to keep this under your hat,” Gerhart said, shaking Curran’s hand. “If anybody finds out about this, we’re sunk. In more ways than one. Thanks, Mr. Curran. This may be the most important thing any of us has ever done.”

“Call me Don. And maybe I should thank you. I know it won’t bring Billy back, but if it will finish off the thing that took him away from me it’s worth it.”

Just as the sun sank below the horizon, a bank of gray, greasy looking clouds rolled in and covered the sky like a shroud on a corpse in a cheap horror movie. So the night started out moonless and starless and now, at almost one in the morning, those still awake could hardly remember what natural light looked like. Don Curran had called Gerhart at 4:15 that afternoon, three days after their meeting. Gerhart and the spookhunters stood at varying distances from Archie Maybury’s hearse and wondered when their secret weapon would show up. A half-mile away, barely visible against the phosphorescence of the roiling surf, the mall crouched in the blackness like a huge predator waiting for its next victim.

Maurice stood motionless with an arm around Claudette as both of them leaned against the front of the old Cadillac. Gerhart fumbled absently in a shirt pocket for one of the cigarettes he had quit smoking seven years earlier. Archie made his seventh circuit of the hearse and stopped next to the driver’s door. He reached inside the vehicle and, as if in response to Gerhart’s unspoken wish, retrieved a pack of cigarettes, thumped one out and lit it with a kitchen match. He took a deep drag and blew out a cloud of smoke that made Gerhart think of Mount St. Helens.

“Those will give you lung cancer,” Gerhart observed.

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Claudette said quietly.

Archie ejected another vast cloud of smoke, dropped the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out with his boot. “God, those are old,” he said. “Claude, you know I only smoke at times like this. I bought that pack in Mississippi three weeks ago.”

Gerhart lifted his head. A deeper sound became audible between the thunder of the rollers crashing against the beach.

“Listen. I think he’s coming.” Gerhart said.

They all held their breath until the sound became the throb of a big diesel engine. Moments later headlights swept around a curve in the road and a trailer truck slowed to a crawl, then drew to a stop next to the hearse. The engine was left to idle as the lights were extinguished. Don Curran climbed down from the cab and walked around the hood of the big rig to stand beside Gerhart.

“Well, there it is,” Curran said, waving a hand at the semi.

They all turned to look at the tanker. On its side was a five-pointed star with a large “T” in the center.

Archie pointed a thumb at the logo. “Appropriate, to say the least.”

“It was the only one I could get my hands on,” Curran said. “Just dumb luck.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Gerhart asked the trucker.

“Yeah. I’ve thought about it a long time.”

“Have you figured out how to lock everything down?”

“I’ve got all I need in the cab,” Curran answered. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay. Follow us.” Gerhart waved a hand toward the mall.

Archie slid behind the wheel of the hearse and the others got in the opposite side, Maurice and Claudette in back with the equipment, Gerhart beside Archie. Curran got into his truck and slowly followed the hearse along the road. Five minutes later the small convoy stopped at the edge of the mall parking lot. Gerhart got out and walked around to Curran’s side of the truck.

“Don’t take any chances,” he said. “Once the truck is rolling, lock down the wheel and gas pedal and bail out. Then get back to us as quick as you can. I don’t want you on my conscience, too.”

Curran nodded. “Now?”

“Now,” Gerhart said. He slapped Curran on the shoulder, jumped from the running board and ran around the truck to the hearse. Archie rummaged about in the rear of the old Cadillac. When he emerged he handed Gerhart a bolt-action rifle and a pair of strange-looking goggles.

“What’s that?” Claudette asked.

“A rifle,” Archie answered with a wicked grin.

“I know what a rifle is,” she said with exasperation. “I mean the other stuff.”

“Night vision goggles,” Gerhart said. “Otherwise, I couldn’t see what I was doing.”

“Why not just use the spotlight on the hearse?”

“It’s bad enough having to be out here in the middle of the night. We don’t need to attract any more attention than necessary. If somebody sees us, they’ll probably get curious, and we sure as hell don’t need curious.”

He slipped the goggles over his head and let them hang around his neck, then waved at Curran. The truck sat motionless in the darkness at the edge of the parking lot with its engine grumbling. Gerhart walked around to the driver’s side and climbed on the running board once more. Curran’s eyes were closed and he held his head with both hands.

“What’s wrong?” Gerhart asked.

“I’ve got this horrible headache,” Curran said. “It came on like lightning. I can’t hardly see, it hurts so bad.”

Suddenly Curran threw his head back and dug his fingernails into his forehead. Blood ran down over his closed eyes and across his cheeks.

“Oh, God!” the trucker screamed. “I can’t stand it! Help me!”

There was the sound of a small balloon bursting and something slick and wet struck Gerhart in the face. It reminded him of warm scrambled eggs. He instinctively closed his eyes. When he opened them Curran was gone.

Gerhart stuck his head inside the cab for a closer look and realized that Curran was still there after all.

Only his head was gone.

Blood pumped from what was left of Curran’s neck and his hands twitched in midair above the steering wheel. Gerhart dropped from the running board, doubled over and vomited between his feet. The others, alerted by the scream, ran around the truck to see what was going on. Gerhart wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and looked up with terror-filled eyes.

“His head blew up, Maurice, I saw it! Dear Lord! It just blew up!” Then he slowly dropped to a sitting position and stared at the mall.

Maurice squatted beside him. “The demon did it,” he said. “He must have read Curran’s mind. He knew we were going to do something.”

They sat huddled together for several minutes, stunned at the sudden death.

Claudette recovered first. She looked around at the others and said, “What do we do now? If somebody else tries to drive the truck, the same thing will happen to them, won’t it?”

“No doubt about it,” Archie said. “How do we get around this?”

Gerhart came to life. “How can you all sit here and talk like nothing happened?” Gerhart yelled. “Curran’s dead. Dead! The thing got him, too!” He leaped to his feet, yanked the automatic from its holster and set off at top speed toward the mall. “I’ll kill the motherfucker!” he yelled as he ran.

The trio sat where they were, stunned. Then Maurice and Archie jumped up and dashed after him. Maurice dropped out of the chase after a few hundred yards, but Archie, who was younger and in better shape, tackled Gerhart thirty seconds later. They grappled back and forth on the hard surface of the parking lot for a moment, then Gerhart went limp. Archie released his grip on the policeman and rolled onto his back while both of them gasped for breath.