The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) (15 page)

Max wasn't thinking and blew it when he said automatically, “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent, we will show you our best southern hospitality! The Missus does so love a dinner party. Seven o'clock sharp, bring a friend and there's no need to 'Yes sir' me, Mr. Faust. But, here I am getting ahead of myself, I deeply apalagize, for completely forgettin' my manners.” He extended his pudgy hand. “Ah am Alowishus Ulysses S. Grant Abercrombie of the Baton Rouge Abercrombies, Mayor of this fine town, and I am at your service, sir. My friends call me Big Al, and I'm sure we will be great friends, Mr. Faust.” When Max took the offered hand, the Mayor grabbed it in a vice grip and pumped it vigorously.

Max was a little dazzled by the mayor's enthusiasm, but he didn't miss Big Al's not so subtle hint. “I'm pleased to meet you, sir. Please, call me Max.”

That obviously made Big Al's day. “Why thank you kindly, sir! ‘Tis an honor to be on a first name basis with a man of your august personage! Please call me Big Al.”

The mayor turned and called to Jason. “Jason, please be expeditious in your verifiyin' and then we can all take our leave and let Max get some rest, he is looking a bit flushed from all the excitement tonight, and I am sure he would like nothing better than to put this little kerpuffle behind him!”

The mayor turned back to Max. “I bid you good day, sir!”

“Uh, thanks,” said Max. “I bid you good day as well.”

The Mayor spun one more time and strode regally back to his black limo, where his driver still stood, waiting to assist him back into the tight fit of the stretch limo. At the same time, Lieutenant Jason, got into the police cruiser. The limo backed out of the parking lot, followed quickly by the cruiser scattering the six, now standing, bodyguards.

“Mr. Faust! Would you have a few words to say to your fans? What do you think of what happened here tonight? What are your impressions of...”

Max whirled on the blonde reporter who had snuck back up on him during the Mayor's address and yelled, “No! Go. Away!”

She didn't blink an eye. She said, “Well then, can you tell your loyal fans if you are writing again and if there will be another record out soon?”

Max turned back to the six bodyguards who had closed in on him from behind and flinched a bit at their nearness. Even though Max was taller than all of them, up close, the guards were even more intimidating than the Chief. Each had on a crisp black suit and tie, with matching short haircuts and very large shoulders. Max said to the shotgun-toting man with curly black hair, black eyes, and a slight ironic grin on his face, “Can you help keep these leeches away from me?”

“Yes sir.” He nodded to the other bodyguards, and they were immediately in motion. Two of them linked their arms under the reporter's armpits, picked her up, and, disregarding her vociferous objections, carried her away. Two others went after the cameraman who was busy filming this, undoubtedly award winning, shot. In short order, they had stripped him of the camera, popped the hard drive and memory stick out of the camera and returned it to the cameraman along with a receipt. He was obviously angry, but held his tongue as he walked away, smoothing out his wrinkled clothing. The fifth bodyguard had gone after another of the cameramen that had been keeping a bigger distance. That man saw doom approaching, turned, and ran.

As Max and the one he thought of as “Shotgun Man” watched the other bodyguards, Mike walked up besides Max from the side of the motel.

“Mr. Faust, sir,” said Shotgun Man.

Max turned and hesitantly took Shotgun's extended hand. The bodyguard said, “Paul Haze, a pleasure to meet you sir. Mr. Feegan sent us to help you out with this little... kerfuffle.” The whole time he spoke, Paul maintained his ironic half-smile.

“Uh, thank you, Paul. Just call me Max.”

“I would prefer to call you Mr. Faust if it is all right with you, sir.”

“Uh, okay,” said Max uncertainly.

Mike introduced himself to Paul, who shook his hand cordially. “That was great timing, Paul. How did you get here so fast from New York?”

Paul said, “We didn't come from New York, sir. We were working in New Orleans when Mr. Feegan reassigned us here. We would have been here quicker, but we had a few loose ends to tie up first.”

Max said, “I appreciate your quickness, but you didn't really have to run all the reporters out of here at gunpoint.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Faust,” he said ambiguously. “Several reporters left with pictures and film, would you like us to take measures to keep any of this from the news?”

Max brightened. “You can do that? That would be great!” Then, Max had another thought, “You're not going to shoot anybody, are you?”

Paul's amusement didn't seem to waver, but his words were completely deadpan, “No sir. We have quieter ways of dealing with reporters.” The other five men returned, and Max noticed again just how tough they all looked. Scars, grim faces, wide shoulders. They just sort of naturally loomed. These were not guys you would knock back a beer with. On top of that, Paul's words and demeanor sent a little chill through Max.

Max said, “Uh, what sort of way? I'd hate to have anyone get hurt.”

“No, sir. We have connections that will make sure no networks will carry this. There might be a few local papers here and there, but for the most part, it will be kept quiet.”

Max was relieved, but he was still a little uncertain. “Okay, then please do what you can to keep this low profile.”

“Yes sir, I'll make the call.” Paul stood there looking like he was privy to some joke that no one else knew about. It unnerved Max. He wondered uneasily what the joke might be.

Max anxiously added, “Don't hurt anybody, okay?”

“No, sir.”

Max and Mike retreated back to the room. Paul and his men refused an invite to join Max in the room, they preferred to stay outside and run interference if and when any more reporters showed up.

When the door shut, Max turned to Mike. “Do you think he meant, 'No, sir, We won't hurt anybody.' or 'No, sir, we can't follow that order'?”

Mike looked at him levelly. “I don't know. That Paul guy looks like he enjoys his job way too much. I'll tell you, I thought the Sheriff was scary, but your bodyguards are downright terrifying.”

“Chief, not Sheriff,” said Max automatically, but he agreed with Mike wholeheartedly. He briefly wondered if it would be better to send them away. He had just wanted some bodyguards to run interference, not trained assassins.

Later that evening, spurred on by his earlier discoveries about his assets and this evening's festivities with Tony's thugs, Max decided he absolutely needed to know more.

He found the listings he wanted online. A lot of people seemed to provide the services he needed, so he picked a couple at random, made some calls, and got things rolling.

Early the next morning, as the tired sun was just pulling itself over the trees and barely pushing through the low clouds, they were driving to the mansion. Mike was watching the black cars that followed them down the country road in the vanity mirror on the sun shade. “So what mercenary company did your money manager hit up for your men-in-black back there?”

Max shook his head, “I have no idea.”

Mike turned in his seat and looked at the black cars tailing them. “They're pretty spooky. I wouldn't want to meet one of them hanging around in a dark alley.”

Max glanced up into the rear-view mirror. “I think you'd be more likely to find them hanging around a mafia boss.” Mike nodded his agreement.

They drove in silence for a moment, and Max started feeling an enjoyable sense of anticipation building within him. First, he wanted to see what his followers thought when he pulled a U-turn on the highway and headed back for a mile before taking the turn. He had found that it was the only way to find the turn-off. The first time you passed it, it wasn't there, and you had to go at least a mile past before making the U-turn, or it wouldn't be there either. Secondly, he hadn't told Mike anything about the mansion. Even though Max had forgiven Mike (mostly), he was still mad at his friend for siccing the reporters on him. He couldn't wait to see Mike's face when he met Old Bone, Joshua, and hopefully one or more of the ghosts. Sweet revenge.

Max drove through the gate leading to the mansion. Mike looked around at all the flood debris. “This place looks like a dump, Max. You sure you want to keep it?

“It grows on you, Mike.”

As they pulled into the roundabout in front of the mansion, Mike got his first clear look at it. He whistled, “Wow Max, you really know how to pick 'em. The whole building is leaning to the right! I think a bulldozer would be the main piece of equipment you would need to renovate this place.”

“Nope,” said Max as he parked the car. He and Mike got out of the car. Max leaned back against the car, scrutinizing the ramshackle mansion.

Mike came around and stood next to Max without a word.

The more time Max had spent in the house, the more it felt like home. He said, “We are going to fix this building up, no matter what it takes. Like I said, it grows on you.”

“Yeah, like a fungus.”

“It's not that bad!” From where they stood, they could hear the sound of music wafting faintly from the house. Max almost laughed imagining Mike's face when he saw Old Bone. He wrenched his mind back to the conversation. “Just needs some paint, maybe some siding, new windows, and roof. Throw in a little yard work and it will be good as new.” Mike snorted his opinion of that statement.

The two black cruisers containing Max's new bodyguards pulled in behind them. As Mike and Max watched, the guards all got out in unison, doors opening and closing at virtually the same time. Mike whispered to Max, “I wonder how long they’ve been practicing that move?” Max wondered too.

Max eyed the advancing wall of tough, and when they were closer, he pointed to the house. “Here it is. What do you think?”

The men spread out, checking out the grounds, leaving only Paul to close with Max. With his Mona Lisa smile still intact, he said, “I'm not paid to have opinions, sir.”

Mike chuckled. “You just don't want to hurt Max's feelings.” Paul's expression didn't change, he just stared at Mike for a moment and then said to Max, “Sir, my men will complete a thorough search of the grounds and will take up stations around the house. Two will be out front to intercept anyone trying to enter the estate. Do you have a white list of people for us to let through?”

“Uh, no, sorry. No one visits me here anyway. Just have your men call me if someone shows up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Max turned and walked up to the front door. The music seeping out of the house grew louder. He went to grab the handle and stopped. He turned to Paul. “Paul, I would like you and your men to stay outside for a while.”

“Sir, I believe it is in your best interests for me to enter first and check the house for threats.”

Max had no desire to see what Paul's reaction would be to the house's inhabitants. He said, “No need, Paul, I will be fine.”

“Sir, if I am to do my job correctly, I need to check out the house.”

Facing down Paul's intensity, even through two sets of dark sunglasses, was tough for Max, but he really didn't want him in the house. He said, “Well, that is the way it is going to be for a while, okay?”

“No, sir. My job is to protect you, and that means even from yourself. Believe me when I say, sir, whatever you have inside that house, I will be discreet.”

Max closed his eyes for a moment. Paul had easily assumed he had something illegal going on inside. He realized that he just didn't have the energy right now to fight with this scary man. He sighed. “All right, Paul, but there are a couple of... people in this house that are quite, um, out of the ordinary. They are weird, but not dangerous, so do not shoot them!”

“Sir, I rarely shoot people. Situations don't often require a gun.”

From Paul's look, Max, had no doubt that he would enjoy not needing a gun to kill someone.

“Still, the order stands, Don't kill anyone. Okay?”

Paul didn't even blink. If he was in any way impacted by Max's continued insistence that he not kill anyone, it didn't show. “Yes sir.”

Max turned back to the door and was about to go in when Mike said, “Max, who's here? You didn't mention anyone.”

Now it was Max's turn to give the enigmatic smile. The thought of the upcoming surprise for Mike pushed away his doubts about Paul. He innocently said to Mike, “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Mike looked at him suspiciously but didn't say anything. Max opened the still-unlocked door, and the first thing that greeted him was a wave of sound. “Bad Moon Rising” by Three Dog Night shouted over the loud whiny-whir of a shop vac. It didn't seem likely to Max, but maybe Josh was cleaning. The second thing to greet Max was the rancid-sour smell of pot smoke and perhaps something else. Paul pushed by Max into the front hall, stopped a few steps inside, and scanned the dilapidated area. Mike and Max followed Paul inside, and Mike had to raise his voice to be heard over the racket. “Damn, what is that stench?”

Max looked at him, amazed that his friend couldn't recognize old pot smoke, but then he realized that, unlike himself, Mike had never left small town Minnesota where they had grown up. Max also realized that it wasn't just pot smoke, it was all the other smells that still inhabited the house: mold, decay, age, dust and other things. He had almost gotten used to them. He said, “Don't worry about it, it's nothing toxic... I hope.”

“You are just filling me with happiness here, Max.”

Max just gestured. “Don't be a baby, come on.”

Max headed to the music room, unconsciously singing along. “There’s a bad moon on the rise...”  He was half afraid of what he was going to see. The other half held an eager anticipation of Mike's reaction. Somehow, Paul entered the room first. When he got there, he stopped. Mike came next and stopped next to Paul where he slapped his hands to his eyes and said something like, “Auughhhh!” A half second later, Max was standing in the room next to them enjoying the same sight that greeted them. It was a lot to take in.