The Servants of Twilight (15 page)
Christine forced a smile, and even though it was false it made her face lovelier than ever. Charlie longed to see a real, warm, genuine smile take possession of her.
She kissed her son goodbye, and Charlie could see that it was difficult, even painful, for her to leave the boy under these circumstances.
He walked her to the door while, behind them, Joey picked up his Coke again.
She said, “Should I come back here after I leave work?” “No. We’ll bring him to the store at . . . what . . . five o’clock?”
“That’ll be fine.”
“Then you and Joey’ll go home with bodyguards. They’ll stay the night. Two of them in the house with you. And I’ll probably have a man stationed out on the street, watching for people who don’t belong in the neighborhood.”
Charlie opened the door between his office and the reception lounge, but suddenly Joey called out to his mother, and she turned back.
“What about the dog?” the boy said, getting up, coming out from around Charlie’s desk.
“We’ll look for one tomorrow, honey.”
During the past few minutes, the boy had not been visibly frightened. Now, he became tense and uneasy again. “Today,” he said. “You promised. You said we’d get another dog today.”
“Honey—”
“I got to have a dog today, before it gets dark,” the boy said plaintively. “I just got to, Mom. I got to.”
“I can take him to buy a dog,” Charlie said.
“You have work to do,” she said.
“This is not a hole-in-the-wall operation, dear lady. I’ve got a staff to do the leg work. My job, for the time being, is to look after Joey, and if getting him a dog is part of looking after him, then I’ll take him to get a dog. No problem. Is there any pet store you’d prefer?”
“We got Brandy at the pound,” Joey said. “Rescued him from certain death.”
“Did you?” Charlie said, amused.
“Yeah. They was gonna put Brandy to sleep. Only it wasn’t just sleep, see. What it was . . . well, it was sleep, yeah, but it was a whole lot worse than just sleep.”
“I can take him to the pound,” Charlie told Christine.
“We’ll rescue another one!” Joey said.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Christine said.
“Sounds like fun,” Charlie said.
She looked at him with evident gratitude, and he winked at her, and she smiled a halfway
real
smile this time, and Charlie wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t.
real
smile this time, and Charlie wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t.
“Not a German shepherd,” Christine said. “They sort of scare me. Not a boxer either.”
“What about a Great Dane?” Charlie asked, teasing her. “Or maybe a St. Bernard or a Doberman?”
“Yeah!” Joey said excitedly. “A Doberman!”
“How about a big, fierce Alsatian with three-inch-long teeth?” Charlie said.
“You’re incorrigible,” Christine said, but she smiled again, and it was that smile he was trying so hard to elicit.
“We’ll get a good dog,” Charlie said. “Don’t worry. Trust me.”
“Maybe I’ll call him Pluto,” Joey said.
Charlie looked askance. “Why would you want to call me Pluto?”
Joey giggled. “Not
you
. The new dog.”
you
. The new dog.”
“Pluto,” Charlie said, mulling it over. “Not bad.”
For that one shining moment, it seemed as if all was right with the world. It seemed there was no such thing as death. And for the first time, Charlie had the feeling that the three of them somehow
belonged
together, that their destinies were linked, that they had more of a future together than just their investigator-client relationship. It was a nice, warm feeling. Too bad it couldn’t last.
belonged
together, that their destinies were linked, that they had more of a future together than just their investigator-client relationship. It was a nice, warm feeling. Too bad it couldn’t last.
14
Two revolvers and
two shotguns lay on the work table in the armory. All four weapons had been loaded. Boxes of spare ammunition stood beside the firearms.
two shotguns lay on the work table in the armory. All four weapons had been loaded. Boxes of spare ammunition stood beside the firearms.
Mother Grace had sent Edna Vanoff on another errand. She and Kyle were alone.
Kyle picked up the shotgun. “I’ll lead the attack.”
“No,” Mother Grace said.
“No? But you’ve always told me I’d be allowed to—”
“The boy won’t be easy to kill,” Mother Grace said.
“So?”
“He isn’t fully human. Demonic blood flows in his veins.”
“He doesn’t frighten me,” Kyle said.
“He should. His powers are great and growing every day.”
“But I’ve got the power of Almighty God behind me.”
“Nevertheless, this first attack will almost surely fail.”
“I’m prepared to die,” he said.
“I know, dear boy. I know. But I mustn’t risk losing you at the very beginning of this battle. You’re too valuable. You’re my link between this world and the spirit realm.”
“I’m also the hammer,” he said petulantly.
“I’m aware of your strength.”
She took the shotgun away from him, returned it to the table.
He felt a terrible need to strike out at something—as long as he was striking out in the name of God, of course. He no longer needed to wreak pain and destruction on the innocent merely for the satisfaction of it. Those days were gone forever. But he longed to be a soldier for God. His chest tightened and his stomach twisted with his need.
He had been looking forward to the attack tonight. Anticipation had rubbed his nerves raw. “The hammer of God,” he reminded her.
“And in time you’ll be used,” she assured him.
“When?”
“When there’s a real chance of destroying the child.”
“Huh? If there’s no chance of destroying him tonight, then why go after the little bastard? Why not wait?”
“Because, if we’re lucky, we might at least hurt him, wound him,” Mother Grace said. “And that will shake his confidence. Right now, the little beast believes that we can never really cause him harm. If he begins to think he’s vulnerable, then he’ll
become
more vulnerable. We must first weaken his self-confidence. Do you see?”
become
more vulnerable. We must first weaken his self-confidence. Do you see?”
Reluctantly, Kyle nodded.
“And if we’re very fortunate,” Grace said, “if God is with us and the devil is off guard, we might be able to kill the mother. Then the boy will be alone. The dog is already gone. If the mother is removed, as well, the boy will have no one, and his confidence will collapse, and he’ll become extremely vulnerable.”
“Then let me kill the mother,” Kyle pleaded.
She smiled at him and shook her head. “Dear boy, when God wants you to be His hammer, I’ll tell you. Until then, you must be patient.”
Charlie stood at
the window with a pair of high-power binoculars that doubled as a camera. He focused on the man standing by the white van on the street below.
the window with a pair of high-power binoculars that doubled as a camera. He focused on the man standing by the white van on the street below.
The stranger was about six feet tall, thin, pale, with a tightly compressed mouth, a narrow nose, and thick dark eyebrows that grew together in the center of his face. He was an intense-looking man, and he couldn’t keep his hands still. One hand tugged at his shirt collar. The other hand smoothed his hair, then pinched one earlobe. Scratched his chin. Picked lint from his jacket. Smoothed his hair again. He would never pass for an ordinary workman taking a leisurely lunch break.
Charlie snapped several pictures of him.
When Christine Scavello and Henry drove away in the woman’s gray Firebird, the watcher almost got in the van to follow them. But he hesitated, looked around, puzzled, and finally decided to stay where he was.
Joey stood beside Charlie. He was just tall enough to see out the window. “He’s waiting for me, huh?”
“Looks that way.”
“Why don’t we go out there and shoot him?” Joey asked.
Charlie laughed. “Can’t go around shooting people. Not in California, anyway. Maybe if this was
New York
. . .”
New York
. . .”
“But you’re a private eye,” Joey said. “Don’t you have a license to kill?”
“That’s James Bond.”
“You know him, too?” Joey asked.
“Not really. But I know his brother,” Charlie said.
“Yeah? I never heard of his brother. What’s his name?”
“Municipal Bond,” Charlie said.
“That’s a weird name,” Joey said, not getting the joke.
He’s only six, Charlie reminded himself. Sometimes the kid behaved as if he were a few years older, and he expressed himself with clarity that you didn’t expect of a preschooler.
The boy looked out the window again. For a moment he was silent as Charlie snapped two final photographs of the man at the white van, and then he said, “I don’t see why we can’t shoot him. He’d shoot me if he got the chance.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’d really go that far,” Charlie said, trying to discourage the boy from frightening himself.
But with an equanimity and a steadiness of voice that, given the circumstances, were beyond his years, Joey said, “Oh, yeah. He would. He’d shoot me if he could get away with it. He’d shoot me and cut my heart out, that’s what he’d do.”
Five stories below, the watcher smoothed his hair with one pale, long-fingered hand.
PART TWO
The Attack
Is the end of the world a-coming?
Is that the devil they hear humming?
Are those doomsday bells a-ringing?
Is that the Devil they hear singing?
Is that the devil they hear humming?
Are those doomsday bells a-ringing?
Is that the Devil they hear singing?
Or are their dark fears exaggerated?
Are these doom-criers addlepated?
Are these doom-criers addlepated?
Those who fear the coming of all Hells
are those who should be feared themselves.
are those who should be feared themselves.
—The Book of Counted Sorrows
A fanatic does what he thinks the Lord
would do if He knew the facts of the case.
would do if He knew the facts of the case.
—Finley Peter Dunne
15
Wine & Dine
was located in an attractive, upscale, brickand-timber shopping center, half a block from Newport Beach’s yacht harbor. Even on a Monday, the shop was busy, with a steady flow of customers through the imported foods section and almost as many in the wine department. At any one time there were at least two or three people browsing in the cookware department, inspecting the pots and pans, imported ice cream machines, food processors, and other kitchen tools. During the afternoon, in addition to food and wine and small culinary implements, Christine and Val and their clerk, Tammy, sold two top-of-the-line pasta makers, an expensive set of cutlery, one Cuisinart, a beautiful copper buffet warmer with three serving compartments, and an ornate copper and brass cappuccino machine that was priced at nine hundred dollars.
was located in an attractive, upscale, brickand-timber shopping center, half a block from Newport Beach’s yacht harbor. Even on a Monday, the shop was busy, with a steady flow of customers through the imported foods section and almost as many in the wine department. At any one time there were at least two or three people browsing in the cookware department, inspecting the pots and pans, imported ice cream machines, food processors, and other kitchen tools. During the afternoon, in addition to food and wine and small culinary implements, Christine and Val and their clerk, Tammy, sold two top-of-the-line pasta makers, an expensive set of cutlery, one Cuisinart, a beautiful copper buffet warmer with three serving compartments, and an ornate copper and brass cappuccino machine that was priced at nine hundred dollars.
Although the shop had done uncannily well almost from the day they had opened the doors, and although it had actually become profitable in the third week of operation (an unheard-of situation for a new business), Christine was still surprised and delighted every day that the cash register kept ringing. Six and a half years of dependable profitability had still not made her blasé about success.
The hustle and bustle of Wine & Dine made Monday afternoon pass a lot faster than she had thought possible when, reluctantly, she had left Joey with Charlie Harrison. The crazy old woman was in the back of her mind, of course. Several times she thought of Brandy’s decapitated corpse on the back porch, and she felt weak and dry-mouthed for a few minutes. And Henry Rankin was ever-present, helping bag purchases, putting price tags on some new merchandise, assisting them wherever he could, pretending to be an employee, but surreptitiously keeping an eye on the customers, prepared to tackle one of them if Christine appeared to be threatened. Nevertheless, in spite of the bloody images of the dog that haunted her, and in spite of the constant reminder of danger that Henry’s presence provoked, the hours flitted past, and it was a relief to be kept busy.
Val Gardner was a help, too. With some misgivings, Christine had told her the situation, although she had expected Val to pester her with questions all day long and drive her half crazy by five o’clock. Val seemed to thrive on the smallest adversity, claiming to be “traumatized” by even such minor setbacks as a leaky bathroom faucet or a run in her stockings. Val found drama and even tragedy in a head cold or a broken fingernail, but she was never really upset or depressed by any of the little twists of fate that brought on her histrionics; she just enjoyed being the heroine of her own soap opera, dramatizing her life, making it more colorful for herself. And if she was temporarily without a trauma to brighten her day, she could make do with the problems of her friends, taking them upon herself as if she were a combination of Dear Abby and Atlas with the world on her shoulders. But she was a well-meaning woman, with a good sense of humor, honest, hardworking. And now, somewhat to Christine’s surprise, Val was sensitive enough to avoid dwelling on the crazy woman and the threats on Joey’s life; she held her tongue even though she must have been eaten up by a thousand nibbling questions.
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