The Faceless One (34 page)

“Oh,” she cried, the dust making her cough as the man drove off, his tires squealing.

Esther realized that her fingers were tingling, almost as if the package were electrified. She both loathed it and wanted very much to see what was inside. She looked at the side of the box, running one pink nail along the opening tab.

no

She looked around, sure someone had spoken to her.

that is not for you

Terror seized her, and her heart began to beat much too fast.

look

Compelled, she turned in a circle, surveying the property. Her eyes fell on the old toolshed near the edge of the property.

there

Trembling, Esther Nadel, grandmother of Ronnie, Shari, and Andrew Nadel, walked rigidly to the toolshed.

She stopped before the door, and she could smell the odors of paint thinner and insecticide, wood rot and mildew.

And something else.

Something terrible.

“Please,” she said, tears streaming down her face, “please don’t make me go in there.”

go

And so, she took the package inside the shed and there she stayed.

Stan headed down Honolulu Avenue toward Montrose. He had had no real direction in mind, just waiting to see if the Big Boss was going to snuff him out. He had continued along, almost cringing, waiting for that final blow.

None came.

He had an idea, an inkling from his last brush with the Big Boss. It knew that he would be blamed for the murder of Richie, the gas-station employee, and the people at the motor home. It knew that he was used up, exhausted to the point of collapse. It figured that he would be no trouble and that his eventual capture and subsequent fall from grace would be amusing. It had no intention of killing him—it was more fun to watch him live. If he should decide to end his life in suicide, that was fine, too.

It had not counted on Stan’s remaining a detective, even in this dark time.

He had intended to kill whoever had accepted the package at the Slater house. When told they were not home, it confirmed what his instincts had been slowly concluding. Had he been at his peak, he would have known before being told that that old lady did not belong there. It was in her body language, her speech, everything. She had been afraid of him but not territorial. She had no children to defend, so she hadn’t been more confrontational. The Slaters had a son; he knew this from Daniel Slater’s file.

And it was in thinking of this lack of children that a tiny piece of an ever-expanding puzzle had clicked into place. The Big Boss was after the kid. It was part of the information that had been stolen from him: first aid in regards to children.

Jesus, a kid. Could he kill a kid? The Slater child was only five, much younger than his own kids. Could he do such a thing? It was obvious the Big Boss had big plans. He was sending this shit cross-country and was capable of some major-league mojo. Stan didn’t know much about magic or mystical entities, but he recognized the callous use of power. It didn’t matter if it was a mob boss or a pimp or some fucking creature from Planet X—this thing was powerful, and it liked to fuck with people.

The kid was pivotal, for some reason; otherwise, why save him? It was obvious he couldn’t kill the Big Boss. But a kid … Physically, no problem. But how about mentally, morally?

Some said it was better a hundred guilty men go free rather than imprison one innocent man. But if the death of one innocent might save dozens, maybe thousands (millions?) of innocent lives? Wasn’t that a principle of war? And wouldn’t he also be saving the child, in a way? Preventing him from being used and degraded as he himself had been? Wouldn’t a quick death be preferable?

God, yes. He would be hated, but it was the right choice.

He tried to think more, to plan, but he was so bone-achingly weary. He pulled into a parking spot under a large tree. It felt cool and dark under there. Safe. He wanted to sleep, to shut out the nightmare, if only for a while. Part of him hoped he might never wake up.

As he drifted off, he saw Jesus beckoning to him. Jesus was one of those 3-D postcard Jesuses, with blond ringlets and bright blue eyes. He led Stan up a stairway toward the Golden
City, where an imposing old man and a white dove waited. The dove looked beautiful, but its features were coarser than a dove’s, and its beak was far more powerful, more predatory. And the old man, he almost looked Asian. It was the Trinity, but not the way Father Thomas had described them. He thought this bunch looked a bit ragtag, which he realized was pretty blasphemous on his part.

“What?” he asked.

They just looked at him. Jesus almost seemed embarrassed.

Stan wanted to ask them how they could let such a thing as the Big Boss hurt so many people. This wasn’t something man-made; this was their turf.

Jesus held up three pieces of silver, like a magician in Vegas. He made them disappear into his palm, which began to bleed.

“And now,” Jesus said, “ ‘the Sacred Mystery of the Hounds of Naboth.’ ”

Stan leaned forward. He had always wanted to see this trick.

Jesus, the old man, and the not-dove got into a top hat, which seemed to swallow them up. Stan had to admit it was a pretty good trick.

The hat rose and inverted. Out of it drifted a single white feather, its end as golden as sunlight. Riding upon it were the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, each now as small as a peanut. They seemed to wave as they floated toward him. He raised his hand to his eyes because the brightness of the feather was blinding. Blood dripped from his hand. He looked at it and saw there was a deep puncture. Why hadn’t he noticed it before?

The feather drifted into his open hand and seemed to float on the blood pooling there. As he watched, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost transformed into three bullets in his bloody palm.

He awoke with a start and was surprised to find that he felt stronger, as if he had eaten well and slept for the better part of a week. He saw by the dashboard clock that he had been asleep for only three minutes.

Three minutes.

Three bullets.

He could do it.

Three bullets.

Saturday morning, and Steven decided he had had quite enough of New York. If it hadn’t been for the need to see to Daniel’s estate, he would have been happy never to travel here again. True, Friday had been a good day. Bobby had been released from the hospital in Southampton at nine, and Pollard had surprised them with a trip to the Bronx Zoo. He didn’t invite himself along, just gave them passes and the use of his car service. Steven could tell he was genuinely sorry about what had happened at the memorial, but wanted to give them something pleasant to end their trip on. Steven had to admit that was a class move.

And they had had a wonderful time. Both Steven and Liz figured Bobby would go crazy for the elephants, which had always been his favorite animal. He surprised them by announcing he loved otters best, and insisted they see that exhibit first.

Afterward, they were informed by the driver that Pollard had left a generous gift certificate for one of New York’s best pizza restaurants, rightly figuring that Bobby loved pizza.

All in all, it had been a good time for all of them.

Just the same, he was glad to get away and back home.

As the cab pulled in at the United Airlines terminal, they were surprised to see Jake Sparks waiting for them at the curb. The big man waved as Steven tipped the driver, then helped them pull their luggage from the trunk. Steven noticed with envy that Sparks wasn’t perspiring at all, probably all those years on desert digs. New York in summer was probably like a cool spring day to him.

“Hi, Jake!” Bobby beamed at the big man who had reunited him with Bonomo.

Jake grinned. “How are you doing, kiddo?” he asked.

“I’m fine. We get to go home today! Are you going to our house?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid. I just need to visit with your dad a minute.”

Bobby nodded. Steven looked at Jake curiously as he pulled him to the side. “What’s up?” Steven asked, praying that Jake wouldn’t cause them to delay their departure.

“I heard that Max Tully might show up,” Jake said. “I figured you might need somebody to run interference.” Sparks cracked his knuckles and grimaced like a hero in an action movie.

Steven laughed. “Damn, Jake, I’m going to have to start paying you as a bodyguard.”

“Naw, I like digging for old bones too much.”

A cab pulled up, and they could see Max Tully start to exit. Tully’s driver yelled something at him, and he hurriedly paid the man.

Jake gave Steven a nudge. “Get inside. I can stall him. He won’t be able to follow you past the security checkpoint.”

Steven squeezed Jake’s arm. “Thanks, man, I owe you one—again.”

Steven hurried over to Liz and Bobby, who stood with their luggage. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing the suitcase and the garment bag.

“What’s going on?” Liz said, frowning at the scene behind him.

“Tully again. Jake’s taking care of it.” He hustled Liz and Bobby into the terminal.

“Mr. Slater, wait!” he heard Tully call as the glass doors closed behind them. Steven looked back. Jake was restraining Tully. Tully was yelling something at Jake, and the big man pushed him back against the cab. Steven could see an airport security guard rushing over to the commotion. He hoped Jake would not get into too much trouble on their behalf but was thankful he was there.

The line for check-in was long, and Steven kept glancing back, wondering when Tully would burst through the entrance and begin berating them.

They reached the counter after waiting twenty minutes. There was still no sign of Tully. They checked their bags and headed for the metal detectors. They loaded their carry-on bags and spindly Bonomo onto the conveyor belt and walked through. While Bobby waited anxiously for his bear to emerge, Liz’s purse was examined by a grim-faced man with a wand that would detect explosives or accelerants. Steven thought he heard Tully call to him, but by then they were cleared to go to their gate. Steven looked back but saw no sign of Tully or Jake Sparks. He hoped Sparks had not been arrested. He wondered how quickly they could get their phone number changed.

It was a good ninety minutes before their flight, and they decided to get lunch at one of the fast-food places located near the gift and duty-free shops. Although there were many to choose from, and they had just had pizza the night before, Bobby chose a place called Papa Tony’s Pizza ’n’ More. Steven looked at Liz and she nodded. The little guy had been through enough on this trip—what was one more meal of pizza? Steven bought Bobby a slice of cheese pizza, a Caesar salad for Liz, and a calzone for himself. They sat around a Formica table with bright red chairs, Steven and Liz putting the carry-on luggage on the floor between them.

Bobby ate his lunch happily. True to form, he scraped off the cheese and tomato sauce and ate that, leaving the crust behind. No amount of coaxing could get him to touch the baked-bread portion of his meal.

“That’s for Bonomo,” he insisted. “He doesn’t like cheese or sauce.”

“True symbiosis,” Steven said, grinning at Liz.

“Maybe Bonomo would let you have a little,” Liz tried. “He doesn’t seem very hungry.”

“He’s shy about eating in airports,” Bobby said. “We might have to take his on the plane.”

“We’re going to have lunch on the plane,” Steven said. “Maybe they’ll serve something he likes.”

Once or twice, Steven glanced up, sure that he would see Tully advancing on them, puffing on his pipe like a runaway locomotive. But the man never materialized, and Steven began to relax.

“He’s not coming,” Liz said, as if reading his thoughts.

Steven smiled at her. “Have I been that obvious?”

“Maybe not to anyone else.”

“Tully’s got it in for Daniel for some reason.”

“Uncle Daniel?” Bobby asked.

Liz looked at Bobby. “Yes, honey.” She looked back at Steven. “Jake Sparks will handle Tully,” she said.

“Why doesn’t he like Uncle Daniel?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah, he was pretty ticked off on our behalf. I hope Jake didn’t get arrested.”

“Why doesn’t he like Uncle Daniel?” Bobby asked again.

“As long as they weren’t actually brawling or destroying property, the police would probably just tell them to leave the premises,” Liz said.

“Mommy, why doesn’t he like Uncle Daniel?” Bobby asked, frustrated at being ignored.

“Some people just don’t like other people, sweetie. There are all kinds of reasons, and not all of them make sense.”

“But Uncle Daniel was a good guy,” Bobby protested.

“I know he was, baby. I guess Mr. Tully doesn’t know that.”

Daniel was not the saint you think he was, little brother
.

Steven pushed the thought away, but Max Tully’s wheezy and self-righteous words reverberated in his head, like a tune you can’t stand but can’t stop replaying on that radio station in your skull.

Daniel was not the saint you think he was, little brother
.

Surely Tully was mistaken. Daniel was no saint, but he was not someone with a skeleton in his closet. The aptness of the expression made him shiver, and he thought once again about the circumstances of Daniel’s death. Someone had hated him with a fervor that was both monstrous and frightening. To maim him like that, invest so much time and effort in displaying the body, this was a person who was more than a murderer. This was a crime of the converted, the offering of a believer to some dark god.

What if Tully was the murderer?

Jesus Christ, how could that have slipped by him? Roberts had asked if anyone had hated Daniel, and he had thought no one did. Now the thought of Tully sharpened in his mind, coming into focus with such finality that he felt sure Tully was somehow involved with the murder of his brother, if not the sole perpetrator.

He was trying to think of a motive for Tully’s murdering his brother, and it came to him suddenly. Jake had said Tully was obsessed with early belief systems, hoping to find power objects from those early religions. From what he knew, a lot of those religions seemed to involve blood sacrifices. What if Tully had murdered Daniel as a part of such a ritual—maybe to “power up” one of those artifacts he craved? In fact, the more he thought about it, the more the murder of his brother seemed to be a cult-type slaying, which would jibe with Tully’s subscribing to such beliefs. And Tully was a fairly big man—if he took Daniel by surprise, he could have overpowered him, done those … things to him.