Chapter Fifteen

Lester crept down the hallway, crouched low and hugging the wall. His left hand held one of the Glocks out and at the ready, while his right arm was cocked, holding the other and prepared in case whatever tripped the alarm managed to be behind him. He moved quickly to the kitchen and brushed the lace curtain aside, enough to peek out towards the street. An older model truck was about 30 yards away, idling in the street, lights on but unoccupied. Hardly subtle, Lester thought, but a quick getaway sometimes trumped stealth – and he was sure whoever was there didn’t realize Lester was maintaining an alarmed perimeter and coming out armed.

There was a doggie door in the kitchen, so Lester gently pried the flap back enough to scan the area in front of the place. There was no movement or sound around him, but in the distance, he saw a shadow. Under the far streetlamp, a burly man scuttled across the street towards the car. The older man was oblivious to the fact that Lester would hesitate little to squeeze a couple of rounds into his knees and then ask a few questions while he bled, but it would never devolve into that since he was in his truck and on his way to neighboring block to deliver the morning edition.

Clicking the safety back on both the guns, Lester took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead and eyes. He wasn’t drawing people out after him, he was moving farther away from finding out where the Bullocks were and keeping an eye on David. Lester grabbed his things and wrote a note for Jamie, thanking her for her hospitality and apologizing for his hasty departure. Wrapped in the folded paper was a stack of $20 and $50 bills, and the mention of a down payment towards the next time he came to town. He planned to make Somerset and the Bullock home by dawn, but as well as that would work out for him, he had not expected agents Kroger and Radley to be gone without a trace.

---

Inside the Bullock’s home, there was not a single indication that Radley or Kroger had been there. The equipment and proof of occupancy by way of food wrapper and trash were all gone. Lester didn’t spend too much time inside, especially if the missing Bullocks were really being looked into by the FBI. Nothing said suspicious more than a black man in a missing white couple’s home in the South, no matter how progressive people thought or what the true circumstances were. The last place Lester wanted to go was anywhere near David, but since he was out of touch with Harry and now the two agents were gone, having an ally around would have to pay off more than the threat of putting Bullock in jeopardy.

After switching out for another rental car, Lester ended up back at Tommy Liu’s. Tommy had never made a response to the message Lester left for him, but that didn’t trouble him until he pulled up and saw the splintered frame of the front door. Unnoticeable from far, Lester could see the door had been knocked in and later reset to conceal that fact, so only a person close enough to open the door could tell. Lester immediately pulled a gun out and ducked in the entryway. He slowly pushed the front door open and tried to survey the inside. As the door opened slowly, it revealed an interior that had been tossed and rifled through. And in the center of the room was Tommy, hanging from the overhead fan, his hand tied behind him and feet no more than an inch from the ground that could have anchored him.

Lester felt sick to his stomach. Not because he’d never seen a corpse dead in that manner, but because his friend Tommy had died helping him, and he was responsible for it happening. He could tell himself that Tommy would have taken care of a threat and known what to expect from a dangerous situation, but that was no substitute for the truth. The piss and shit had not soaked through Tommy’s pants that much, and Lester figured he had not died too long ago, even though the blood was pooling in purple bands at Tommy’s wrists and neck where he was bound. The place had been flipped pretty seriously, and Lester ran into the back end of the house through more debris and broken pieces of cool kitsch looking for one thing only – David.

There was no blood, no body, and no sign of David, which may have made Lester comfortable if he’d been riding a more optimistic streak, but given the wreckage, there was a good chance that David may not have escaped or hidden or avoided the trouble that Tommy dealt with. There was no time to reason it out, as a bullet whizzed past his head. Lester fell backwards as plaster and chips of paint sprayed on him where the slug hit the wall. He’d managed to find himself at the back of the main hallway and used his falling momentum to get close enough to the back bedroom and crawl though the doorway, where he scrambled to kick the door shut.

“Mr. Phfister,” said an unfamiliar voice,” please come out and talk with us.”

“Nah…you’re welcome to come back here. I promise I’ll let you tell me who sent you before I kill you as quickly as possible.”

The voice shouted from beyond the door. “Sure, well come back there. We’ll talk.”

Lester had gone into the attached bathroom and broken the towel bar from it’s mount. He stood with it, ready to swing backhanded at the first person who come through the door, and drew one of the 9mms. He was lucky to hold his grip on it as a shotgun blast tore the door apart, leaving only the bottom half still closed and intact. To spilt the door, whoever was holding the shotgun had to be close, and Lester knew that having one person in between him and however many others there were out there gave him the benefit of cover. He flung the towel bar out into the hallway, where it hit the wall and careened down the corridor, causing the man there to squeeze off a shotgun round into the ceiling. As the man was startled, Lester spun around low and saw the temporarily distracted gunman, who was helpless to defend against the three quick shots Lester fired into his midsection.

Shots flew overhead through the doorway and through some of the surrounding wall as Lester waited outside their line of fire until they stopped to reload. He went over to the half-door, which had even more holes in it, like something out of a cartoon where it resembled a hunk of swiss cheese, and was able to see the dying man in the hall, who in an unintentional last effort dropped his shotgun far enough away that Lester would have to risk venturing out just to get it, and even still not be sure how many rounds were left in it. “I still wanna talk,” Lester said. ”I hope you’re still planning to come on back.”

“C’mon, Lester, we don’t want to kill you. If you tell us what we want to know, we may only leave you for dead.”

Lester recognized Kroger’s voice. He and Radley weren’t at Bullock’s because they were probably trailing him.

“So somehow you intercepted my call and came here. That was your big plan?” Lester tried to get them talking, stalling for time to come up with some options. A flat out gun battle would not end up in his favor and he needed to find an advantage. “How did you dipshits ever get hired in the first place?”

“Now now, Lester, who’s the dipshit here? We didn’t need to intercept the call, just to see where you were dialing and then run a trace against the registered address. And besides, you didn’t even know parts of your agency had been compromised,” taunted Radley. “Your own stupid luck delayed this by dropping off Bullock before you arrived. Our other people came ‘round for his parents. We were just the clean up crew in case our intel was correct that you or your partner had picked up Bullock and made it to Somerset.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you’d found him, either,” Lester challenged.

“Like I said, we’re just clean up, and you’re a loose end. Even though we’re all operating as cells, some of us got together and figured out that we create the infrastructure, not handlers or desk jockeys or politicos. There’s money to be made and power to be had out of all of this. And when you look at the shit coming down the pipe…well, there’s no such thing as good or evil. It’s just whoever holds the key to the door. We’re the gatekeepers.”

“Fucking arrogant is what you are,” said Lester. He had found something of use in the bathroom – a can of Lysol, and shook it heartily. He flipped over the wastebasket and put it inside. “You going to come here and finish this or what?” Before they could answer, Lester lobbed it into the hall on the other side of the door. A few shots were fired, but only out of surprise. But Lester wanted to add to that surprise, and fired a few times until he hit the aerosol can, which shot the crude projectile down the hallway, giving him a chance to spring up and see where Kroger was at down the hall and fire until the clip emptied. Kroger groaned and fell down.

While he was decent on the draw, the Glock itself was not a terrifically accurate small caliber gun by Lester’s standards. He was lucky to have hit Kroger, his skill surpassing the average German gun’s calibration. Not that he’d have been much better off hitting him had a Beretta been available, but Lester was somewhat impressed that the lightweight composite gun worked so well in his favor.

“What’s that Kroger?”

Lester smiled as Kroger sputtered blood, coughing and fighting for his last breaths. Radley checked him, but there was little he could do to keep his partner alive. Angrily, he fired down the hall, and his accomplice did too. When the salvo stopped, Radley tried to compose himself. “You know Lester, you’re not such a bad guy, but now that you’ve gone and shot my partner, I feel obligated to return the favor.”

“We’re not even close to even for what you did to Tommy,” he snarled. “I only wish it was you Dex.” Lester took the empty clip out and tossed it into the hallway. “I only wish it could have been you.” He cleared the chamber and threw the gun into the hallway as well. “I’m coming out now, so don’t get all twitchy.” He slowly put one hand out, then the other, and slowly moved into view. He stood palms out, raised high, hoping that they were not the shoot first, shoot more later type. “Let’s just be cool, okay?” He raised his hands slowly, putting them behind his head submissively.

Dex and the other agent had their guns raised, but as Lester slowly went down the hall, stepping over the dead man and showing his lack of aggression, they relaxed but didn’t completely lower their weapons. “That’s close enough, Lester,” Radley said. “You’re too dangerous to allow any closer.”

“Normally I’d take that as a compliment, but seeing as how I’m surrendering, your flattery is not quite overwhelming me.” Lester stopped as they instructed, and slowly went down on one knee, then the other. “Look, take me to your leader or whatever and we’ll figure this out, okay?”

Radley still held his gun, but lowered it to his waist, while the other man looked to him for instruction. He nodded, and the nameless agent holstered his gun and reached for plastic tie cuffs to bind Lester.

“You’re not going to torture me like you did to Tommy,” said Lester.

“Radley paused and thought about it. “I’m undecided on that Lester.”

Lester’s hand gripped the other Glock tucked into the collar of his shirt behind him, unseen by either of the men. In one motion, he drew it and fell forward, firing twice at Radley, hitting him in the hip and chest, which made returning fire even more difficult as he raised his gun back at Lester. The other agent fumbled the ties and tried to go for his weapon, but Lester already had the drop and shot him three times, knocking him back and into the corner. Lester got up and stood on Dex’s wrist until he dropped the gun he clutched on his way down. "Wasn't asking. I was telling you you're not going to torture me."

“You’re not going to get away with this,” he spat. “We are everywhere.”

“Then I won’t have any trouble finding you. This one’s for Tommy.”

A shot rang out in the silent afternoon. And something stirred in the back.

---

Ivy had gone to The Roxy (which just goes to show that every North American town has a club with said name) per John Cabbage’s invitation Tuesday night and settled in at a booth with John and some of the locals he knew. She had enjoyed The Big Dirty Band, but admittedly wasn’t very into rock music. She had nursed the cider they’d bought her but didn’t keep close to the pace the rest had maintained. Cabbage was a good fellow, and his buddies were decent, blue collar workers who every once in a while liked a cold drink and the hot atmosphere of a live show. Ivy was just interested in watching them interact, telling jokes and sharing tales about the misfits they were when they were wild and younger.

Occasionally, some bold young man would come by and try to strike up a conversation with Ivy, who would smile politely but not have any interest. Those who didn’t get the hint were often intimidated by the stares of Ivy’s de facto chaperones. As it neared midnight, the group thinned out until it was just John and Ivy. She hadn’t said much during the course of the evening, but now that they were alone, she felt like she could talk to him in a frank, uncensored way that his friends had prohibited. While he was little less than a stranger to her than his buddies, she felt what she was going to talk to him about wouldn’t be dismissed.

“Do you think it’s weird to put stock in your dreams?”

“No, not really,” he said. “You have to have something that drives you or motivates you.”

“I don’t mean, like, your dreams, and you want to be an actress or fashion designer. Like having a dream that seems like its trying to tell you something.”

“Well, what’s your dream telling you to do?”

“I feel like I have to go somewhere. Is that strange?” Ivy took a sip of the cider, which was no longer cold and was starting to get flat, but she made no face or indication.

John scratched at his beard and smiled. “You’re just not the type of person who stays anywhere for very long, are you?”

“Well, no, but…”

“You have to figure out where you want to be, not where you need to go.”

Ivy was about to protest, and explain her many years of traveling. She was going to tell him about the lake, and the voice that felt like it was turning her waking hours into daydreams. But that didn’t matter when she took in what he said, and realized that she not only needed to figure out where this place was that was now consistently in her dreams as well as get there. Maybe it was the place that would make her want to stop traveling. She didn’t know, but she would find it and stop her gypsy-like existence, either taking root there or at least staying until she’d decided on the place.

“I guess it never crossed my mind to see it like that. I’ve always felt compelled to move on and never was at ease, but it was going that I though was pushing me. I never though about heading for someplace because I was thinking of staying.”

“Well, wherever you think that place is, try and stay.”

They smiled, and she reached for his hand and squeezed it. He put his paw over her hand and patted it comfortingly. “It’s late for an old man like me. You kids can stay up all night, but I’ve got to stagger back to my cave and hibernate.” He pushed himself along the curve of the booth and stood. “You’ll be okay if you stay?”

“Sure…I think I can handle your town.”

Ivy smiled and Cabbage turned, lumbering off through the thinning crowd, waving to her without looking as he made his way out. She crinkled her fingers in a small wave back even though he didn’t look back. The club was changing over as the live bands stopped, and The Roxy turned into Cavern Shadow, a darkwave and fetish club. The interaction on the street was limited but both sides looked disdainfully at each other. It was as though the daywalkers were having their last hurrah and heading home as the nightcrawlers congregated under cover of night. Hard, mustached men and frail, pale man-children locked eyes as they crossed, each thankful they were not the other. Ivy figured she’d stay a short while longer just to watch some of the freaks and take in the spectacle of elaborate makeup and clothing.

While the darkly dressed denizens seemed to be socializing and greeting each other as they entered, a group over by the bar was doing no such fraternizing. Koben ran his long, stick-like fingers over his bald head as if he was petting a cat. He and Ulrich had made Ivy at the studio the night of the storm and after losing David Bullock at the restaurant, split from Morgana and Turel to follow her. They were certain that this young girl had some knowledge of Bullock’s whereabouts, and were not leaving until they’d found out what they wanted to know. Ulrich sat stoically like a gargoyle in sunglasses next to Koben, who’d stopped fondling his head and was now tracing the scars on his face that ran down his jaw. Koben was pissed at Morgana for not showing up as they’d discussed, and Turel was still crying over getting hurt. Feeble, he thought of them. Weak, fragile souls who frightened at the first sign of resistance. That was why he preferred Ulrich’s company, though he rarely spoke, it still made him feel like he was with somebody dependable.

Ulrich nudged Koben and pointed at Ivy, who was watching the first wave of kids hit the dance floor. The club was nearly as full as when the bands were playing earlier, and crossing the room took some zigzagging and navigating, as a straight line would not make it through. They made their way to the table where Ivy was still and stood in front of her view of the club.

“Hey man, what’s up,” she asked.

“You come with us,” Ulrich said.

“What?” Ivy was actually tiring politely rejecting the suitors who’d come along all evening.

Koben spoke. “He’s not going to ask you again. And I’m not going to ask you at all.”

Ivy had wished she’d left with John, or had him around because the two night goons were crossing from creepy into scary.

“Men seem to have the worst manners.” The voice came from behind them, just loud enough to cut through the music blaring on the soundsystem. Koben turned around slowly to see who’d said it, but Ulrich just dropped to the ground. The base of a glass mug slamming against the back of his head was not hear over the music, but it’s effect were clear. Koben was swiftly gripped by his groin and went limp. He would have doubled over but he was grabbed by the throat and held up, then thrown up against the wall next to the booth hard enough to allow him to join Ulrich motionlessly. “Only a lady knows how to treat a lady.”

It was smoky and the lights were pulsing, but Ivy knew she’d seen the woman before. Pam was unaware until she’d gotten that close to realize she’d identified Ivy as Dave’s (and her) crush as well. That moment of recognition like two dogs sniffing each other’s assholes was amplified by the energy between the two of them as both Ru and Hrel sensed each other’s mark on the women. Neither knew they were each being hosted, but the angelic residue from Pam and Ivy’s contact with them was like looking at a motel comforter under black light.

“Those guys are going to keep bothering you if you stick around. Why don’t you come with me?”

“You know Brother Dave,” Ivy asked although she knew the answer.

“Oh, intimately.”

“What are you doing here?”

“That’s a long story…but I’m not surprised that I ran into you.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“He’s probably back in Somerset…I think he’s looking for a friend. Come on, I’ll explain.”

Pam took Ivy outside by the hand. Ivy’s grip was so dainty, and Pam felt a surge of strength as she acted as protector to this young ingénue. Outside the club, there was a Town Car waiting for them and they got in. Anton turned to Pam. “Did we take care of everything?”

“Pretty much. Now pull into that alleyway.” Anton tuned the corner and then crossed the street into the alley.

“This’ll take just a moment, Pam said.” She and Anton got out, and went to the trunk. He opened it and Pam looked down at the hogtied bundles.

“You were right. Your friends were here. And I kept my word and didn’t tell them you told me so.” Anton lifted Turel out and pushed him into a trash can. He was still unconscious after the beating Pam had put on him getting him to reveal the spot Morgana was squatting in in Seattle. Anton pulled her out next, and Morgana was in similarly bad shape, but with duct tape on her mouth.

“If I ever see any of you again, I will kill you, and you know I’m serious,” Pam said as Anton pushed her on top of her fallen comrade. “You understand, right?”

With the one eye that was not swollen shut, Morgana blinked in affirmation. Trunk closed, they drove off.

“I’m Pam, and this is Anton,” she said, formally introducing herself to Ivy. “We need to find Dave, but we think if we find his…uh…friend Ru first, that can help us. Do you know Ru?”

Ivy held her fear back, and flatly answered “no”. This Pam, she worked with Dave, but she was able to find her and knew about Ru, who she’d told no one about – it was not necessary for her to share her experiences with her. But Brother Dave would be able to help her.

“My name’s Ivy. Are you going to Somerset?”

“I think I’m going to have to,” said Pam. “But I hear it’s real nice…there’s a beautiful lake there. Lake Cumberland. Its on the other side of a pair of hills in a valley. I know this is odd, but do you want to come with us if we go?”

Ivy couldn’t say no having heard Pam describe the place from her dreams. “Yeah, I think that would be a fun little adventure. I need to get my things, but we can go right away.”

“Well, Anton, you heard the lady…”

---

Lester went into the back bedroom where he’d heard the sound. It was coming from the bathroom. From behind the shower curtain, there was movement, and Lester brushed it aside to find a groggy David Bullock. He was wincing as he held his head. “I’ve got a concussion,” he said.

“What happened,” asked Lester and he looked at the caked blood that crowned Dave’s scalp.

“Tommy said I needed to hide and keep quiet because he thought some people were coming, but before I could say anything, he totally clubbed me, and then I woke up in the shower just now. What’s going on?”

“We’re disappearing for a few days, and then we’re going to Somerset to meet up with Harry…hopefully. And once we get together, you’re going to take us to where you found Ru…or where it found you.”

Lester keyed in a message to Harry, who he hoped would check one of the different email accounts he was sending it to. The message was SAY HI TO NANA, and it went out to Harry’s work and two personal accounts, as well as a voice mail on the customer service line through the Department of Weights and Measures that Harry could access. If he happened to get the message, it told him to log into a specific account they’d shared the password to where Lester would send information. He had no idea where Harry could be or what his situation was, but hoped that Harry could make it to Somerset and meet him by Sunday. It was only Tuesday night, and Lester knew that he should stay out of Somerset until the last possible moment, just to keep him and Dave out of the crosshairs of any of Radley’s pals.

“Dave, how do you feel about car museums and fresh blueberry pie?”

Fictional Reality

So imagine my surprise when I saw we are posted upon by none other than Brother Dave himself...except it wasn't completely.

A (or the) real Dave Bullock stumbled upon our tale after the ubiquitous self-Google. Here's his site and more about him. If there are any Lesters, Harrys, Pams, or Ivys, check in with us!

Chapter Fourteen

As a captive, one could easily find himself in a prison much worse than Tommy Liu’s house. Tommy’s house was a sanctuary combining the best elements of East and West. At first glance, it was extravagantly simple, yet it contained many artifacts of mystery and wonder. Dave could have amused himself with a puzzle box, the Zen garden, a vintage Galaga arcade machine, or even countless stories from the amiable Tommy, but all he asked of Tommy was a pen and paper. Lester reassured Dave again before he left for Somerset that staying with Tommy was a protective measure. Dave knew it was protection he would not be able to deny.

“Lester, whom do you really work for?”

“Lester? Yeah, we don’t want to confuse Tommy. You can call me Lester.”

“You’re not going to tell me.”

“Dave, as off-the-wall as all this angel stuff is, it doesn’t even matter who I work for anymore. Right now, I’m working for you, Dave.”

“But you’re calling the shots.”

“Some people are good at talking into a camera to a bunch of people they can’t see. Some people are good at dealing with situations. I’m one of those guys who deals with shit. People are after you, Dave. And my bosses and our buddy, Mr. Face, don’t want anything bad happening to you. No one has caught up to us so far, and I ain’t about to let that happen. Tommy’s good people. You’ll have fun here. If anything happens to me, he knows what to do. I just need to figure out what’s going on in Somerset. Our guys were supposed to meet up with your folks.”

“Can’t you just call your guys?”

“I wish I could. Our organization is a little compartmentalized.”

“It sounds like your corpus callosum is severed.”

“That’s the left brain-right brain bridge, right? Yeah, it definitely feels a little like that sometimes.”

After Lester left, Dave fired off a text message to Pam. Last he saw her, she was being whisked away by Hrel, and he had yet to respond to her text from a few days earlier. The contents of the message:

I m ok. Safe I think. Want 2 see how this plays out. What happened with Hr31?

Dave didn’t get the instant response from Pam he was used to. As tragic as it was to see Misty go, Dave would never be able to forgive himself if anything bad happened to Pam because of their closeness. Dave resumed his quiet meditation and waited while Tommy listened to a Bach fugue in the next room on a sound system both Harry and Lester would have appreciated.

---

As much as he loathed the idea, Lester forced himself to get back in the car to make the final stretch of highway to Somerset. He was really digging the vibe at Tommy’s pad. Hopefully Lester would be able to get a little more perspective in Somerset without too much of a hassle. Then he could get back to catching up with his old friend. On the surface, Lester played like everything about his current operation was a major inconvenience, but the fact was he and Harry had stepped into something huge—much bigger than any geopolitical shenanigans they had pulled in the past. Dave’s knowledge and his encounters with Mr. Face were telling Lester that a war between inter-dimensional beings was real, and the conflict had found its way to Lester’s home turf. His duty to humanity now trumped all other allegiances.

As he arrived a few hours later in Somerset, Lester wasn’t sure what he would find at the house in which Dave Bullock grew up. He was looking forward to sitting down with Mr. and Mrs. Bullock to find out what his colleagues had told them about David and his role in global security. Maybe Mrs. Bullock would have some fresh-baked blueberry pie, and she would offer Lester a piece. One of the few things Dave mentioned about his parents was the awesomeness of his mother’s blueberry pie. Lester was really getting his hopes up. When he finally rang the doorbell, he was surprised to see a much younger man open the door dressed strikingly similar to how Lester himself was dressed.

“Uh, can I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Bullock, please?”

“Uh, they’re not here. Sorry.”

Before the man had a chance to close the door on him, Lester spouted out a string of numbers and letters.

“ECHO-FOUR-DELTA-NINER-OH-NINER-CHARLIE-TWO-NIINER-OH-DELTA-OH-FOXTROT-BRAVO-ONE-CHARLIE-ALPHA.”

“OH-SIX-EIGHT-FOXTROT-FOXTROT-ALPHA-DELTA-DELTA-FOXTROT-TWO-TWO-CHARLIE-BRAVO-DELTA-OH,” the man replied.

They were on the same team. The completion of the code proved it. The man at the door was now more surprised than Lester.

“Well, holy Seahawk shit! You must be one of the Seattle guys. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Things changed a little. May I come inside, please?”

The house had been transformed into a command center with laptops and satellite networking equipment strewn about. There were slices of pizza but no slices of blueberry pie. Lester’s heart plummeted.

“Let me guess. Someone got to the Bullocks before you guys did.”

“If you know something about it, we could use all the help we can get. I’m agent Dex Radley, by the way.”

“Lester Phfister. I’ve got our man, Brother Dave.”

“Wait. He’s here now? I’m not sure here is the safest place for him.”

“Don’t worry. He’s in a safe place, and it ain’t here.”

“Where?”

“I’m keeping that one to myself. Unlike management, I like to paint the big picture for folks, but in this case, I really can’t risk anyone drawing a map to Dave. But you’ve got to let me know everything about his parents.”

“I’m with you. Well, Agent Kroger and I showed up Saturday morning to brief the Bullocks on their son and, of course, to keep an eye on them. They weren’t here, so we waited. We knew Claude would be giving a sermon the next morning. He didn’t show up to church on time or at all. Now the FBI is involved since we’re talking about missing persons.”

“FBI?”

“Don’t worry. Since it’s code 624, we’ve got overall jurisdiction. There was no forced entry. Both cars are here. We haven’t found any DNA evidence. Our timeline has them here Friday night. The only lead we have came from a neighbor down the street. He heard a car stop in front of the house around three A.M. well before we showed up on Saturday. The bad guys have them, we’re sure of it. We haven’t been contacted by the bad guys in any way to try to make a trade. It seems it was Claude and Agnes Bullock they were after. As usual, management doesn’t tell us if they have any significance other than they’re David’s parents.”

“Shit. I can’t go back now. We ran into some busters back in Washington. I’m sure they’re talking with their friends out here. The timing of this really has me rattled. We find Dave and Dave’s parents around the same time they do. Something ain’t right.”

Lester and Dex traded more details as Lester toured the house. He had to laugh a little when he arrived at Dave’s room. Dave had been holding back. It seemed the old Dave had much more in common with Lester than the new Dave. When it was all over, Lester promised himself he would get Dave on the basketball court, take him to a Rush concert, and of course show off the Nova. Lester was really missing the Nova.

Lester knew the Bullock house was off limits now. He made a big but necessary gamble by coming in the first place. Lester made a concerted effort to conceal his and Dave’s whereabouts. That meant staying out of contact with management. Running into another set of agents wasn’t the problem. Lester convinced Radley to keep quiet about bumping into him, at least for the next forty-eight hours. It was the fact that the Bullocks were abducted that left Lester a little uneasy about what eyes and ears might be aimed in his direction. When he got back to the rental car, Lester called Tommy on the encrypted mobile phone Tommy gave him.

“Hey, Tommy, it’s all fucked up over here. I’m not going to be able to make it back for a little while. I’ve got a little fishing to do, and it ain’t fish we’re talking about. How’s our boy?”

“He’s a little dull. I think you over-hyped him. He just meditates and writes.”

“He’s probably writing his memoirs. If you get a chance to read it, let me know if I’m portrayed in a positive light. This could become an historical document, and I don’t want to go down in history looking like a piss bubble.”

“Sure thing, Les. I’ve got my white out handy. I promise, you will come across as no less than an asshole.”

“I really appreciate that, Tommy. Stay cool. I owe you mucho for this. The drinks and women are on me when I get back.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got everything I could need or want. We’ll see you soon.”

“Peace.”


If he was being watched now after visiting the Bullock house, Lester could not even contemplate leading his pursuers back to Dave, the man of the hour. The ability to play host to an angel was a quality in short supply according to Dave. Those with the gift were often drawn together by nature of their connection to the higher plain. This attraction was a dangerous link to have if anyone of the few were to be discovered. The link to the exposed person would become a liability, bringing death or much worse at the hands of any demon supporter aware of the significance of the exposure. Much worse could mean possibly becoming a tool for demonic purposes.

Lester wandered aimlessly around town looking for signs that he was under surveillance. His paranoia was a finely tuned instrument, and nothing extraordinary struck him as he shopped for souvenirs and ended up buying a porkpie hat. He made his own appearance a little more extraordinary. If they were following him, Lester needed the bad guys to reveal themselves. He didn’t want them to lose track of him as he led them to nowhere in particular.

Lester found himself a couple hours later west of Somerset in Bowling Green. He had always wanted to see where Corvettes were manufactured, and his proximity gave him an excuse to visit. Lester found a quaint coffee shop downtown and asked his waitress if she knew of any good bed and breakfast establishments in town.

“Honey, if you’re looking for the best bed in town, it’s mine. I can make a mean omelet too, so I got breakfast covered for you.”

Lester wasn’t expecting such hospitality. The middle-aged woman wasn’t unattractive, but Lester didn’t want to put anyone at risk if he didn’t have to. He especially didn’t want to endanger a woman who apparently lusted after him.

“I appreciate the offer, Ma’am, but I’m no good like that. I couldn’t impose on a fine woman like yourself.”

“Honey, don’t flatter yourself. I should have chose my words better. My son and I run a B and B.”

Again, Lester hesitated for he had a growing affection for the woman who took care of his dining needs for the past half hour. Thinking back on the day’s events though, nothing, other than his circumstances, convinced Lester that he really was being watched. A couple good nights of sleep in a warm bed were dangling right there in front of him. Jamie and her son would be good company too.

“Well, if your omelets are as good as this blueberry pie, how can I say ‘no’? Show me the way.”

---

During the drive over to Jamie’s, Lester called Tommy again on the secure mobile phone.

“Hey, Tommy, can you put Dave on? We’ve gotta talk next steps.”

“Sure thing, piss bubble.”

“Did you read his memoirs? It’s that bad?”

After a brief pause, Dave came through on the other end of the line.

“Hello.”

“Dave, I’m sure Tommy already told you about how I can’t make it back. Your parents are missing, and I’m worried someone might be trying to follow me back to you. So I’m having them follow me somewhere else. If they show up, then I’ll know who we’re dealing with and possibly who abducted your parents. If they don’t show, we can continue on with the Cumberland expedition. Is there anything else I can take care of in Somerset in the meantime aside from trying to find your parents?”

“My parents know nothing. I can’t believe they got sucked into this.”

“We thought maybe they would use your parents to flush you out, but they don’t seem to be making any demands or leaving any clues. This whole thing is frustrating as hell.”

“You can’t really do anything else. Just try to find them.”

“I’m trying. I’m hoping the other guys make a play, but it’s not looking good.”

Lester felt bad after talking to Dave. There wasn’t a lot he could do except wait around like bait on a hook—waiting at Jamie and son’s B&B. Jamie’s Victorian house seemed a bit ostentatious for a waitress and single mother to be living in, but Lester soon found out from Jamie’s son, Colin, the house had been in the family for four generations. Lester insisted on staying in the smaller and less accessible of the two available rooms. He vowed to be as unobtrusive as possible. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by too many country comforts. The sixteen-year-old Colin had a similar build to Dave’s forcing Lester’s hesitation to resurface. He was putting these people in peril possibly. The fact that Colin looked a little like Dave made him even more of a target if those after Dave somehow made it out to the B&B. Now Lester was hoping his paranoia would be unfounded.

The encrypted phone wasn’t the only thing Tommy provided to Lester. Tommy lent Lester a few spy gadgets just in case he’d need them. There were a couple remote micro-cameras which Lester set up at strategic locations leading up to Jamie’s house. Lester was using them as sensors for early intrusion detection. Jamie’s house was in a fairly unpopulated area away from a main road, so Lester wasn’t expecting a lot of traffic. Lester was also strapped with dual Glocks and a heap of ammo. There was a shotgun in Lester’s suitcase.

Colin offered to barbeque for dinner, and of course, Lester couldn’t decline. After a meal of mutton that put to shame the barbeque Lester had back in Kansas City, Colin discussed the problems he was having with girls, and Lester imparted what wisdom he could to the awkward boy while they sat on the porch waiting for Jamie to return from her shift. When Jamie finally made it back home, she found her son and Lester had formed quite a friendship. Colin got back to cleaning up.

“You’re not a musician, are you?” Jamie asked Lester.

“No, ma’am.”

“It’s just the hat and all. I thought you might be a jazz musician or something.”

“No ma’am.”

“I appreciate you taking the time to hang out with my son. He doesn’t get a lot in the way of male role models.”

“It was my pleasure talking with your son tonight, Jamie. He’s a fine young man, and if he doesn’t tell that Allison girl he likes her soon, I’m going to have to whoop him.”

Jamie laughed. “Yeah, he’s not much of a ladies’ man yet, but that’s part of his charm.”

The three said their good nights, and Lester settled into bed. It didn’t take long for Lester to fall asleep in the overly decorated little room. Lester dreamt of a sprawling unimaginable bass line thumping and undulating to the beat of one hundred skeletons in a giant fish bowl. The skeletons were scraping to get out of the bowl while the bass line grooved and curdled the thick water in the bowl. The whole time during the dream Lester kept telling himself, “I’ve got to remember this when I wake up. This is the greatest bass line of all time.” Shortly after three in the morning, the alarm in Lester’s phone that was set to go off when someone tripped the micro-cameras sounded waking Lester from his near perfect dream. Lester grabbed his Glocks.

“Motherfucker.”

Chapter Thirteen

Pam was startled by the deformed looking man in the motorized wheelchair. Sure, he looked like a crumpled pile of burnt shit, dressed in dirty rags and twisted in the most uncomfortable position, but it wasn’t his appearance that made her shiver. He called her name as she passed by, and he was nearly invisible until he spoke. But when he did, it made her skin crawl. It was almost vulgar, like a curse, the way he said her name.

Columbia Street was not terribly busy on a Monday afternoon, and after spending a whole day locked in her apartment expecting somebody to burst through the front door, Pam went outside with a determination to not hide from the trouble that seemed to be crossing her path. The iced coffee and scone she was holding nearly dropped when she heard her name called. The way that he forced “Pamela Brody” out sounded like his tongue was fighting with his breath, and saying the words seemed to be only slightly easier exhaling.

“Jesus Christ,” Pam exclaimed. “The fuck happened to you?”

Hrel quivered, which would have likely passed for a laugh, but it just made his warped frame wiggle in the wheelchair.

“Accident,” he said, the c’s sounding like s’s whistling through the toothless gap in his mouth hole, which is what is mostly resembled.

The nicks and cuts on her knuckles had faded, but there was no way that Pam had done all that when she beat him. She started to back away from him, and his wheelchair lurched forward after her. Hrel’s wheelchair jerked backwards and he rolled about three feet before coasting into the wall behind him, which made him pop up and then slump forward. He lifted his head slightly, enough for Pam to see his yellow eyes, which slowly closed like a curtain falling, and then his neck seemed to give out, dropping his head down onto his chest. Pam stood there for a moment, waiting to see if Hrel would stir.

Suddenly, a bolt of pain flashed through Pam’s head, and she cringed in anguish as her brain felt like it was soaked in gasoline and thrown into an open fire. She crumpled to her knees and clutched at her head, squeezing it so hard that it might possibly stay intact against what felt like an explosion in her skull that was trying to blow it apart. She pitched forward and saw the street and buildings from a completely tilted angle. A thin ribbon of blood came from her nostril and slid down the side of her face, where it was usurped by the spilt coffee spreading on the sideway. Everything went black.

---

By twilight, Pam stirred. She was laying on her bed, and the smell of curry from the Indian restaurant across the street was blasting through her open window, stinging her sinuses. She rolled over onto her back, aware she was awake, and then became aware of her throbbing head. It was like a hangover times a thousand, far worse than the following day of any drug bender she’d been on. At least there’d be some naked body rolled up next to her or a pile of evidence on the table pointing to the good times that had been, but this was just all misery. Every muscle in her body ached as she got up and staggered into the bathroom. Each step she took was like walking up a sandy incline carrying a car on her back. In her medicine cabinet was an unmarked prescription bottle, which she grabbed and took a handful of pills from. She dropped them in her mouth and swallowed dryly. Cupping her hand, she caught some water from the faucet and washed the Vicotin down. It wasn’t coming out any different, but the water was like ice sliding down her throat.

Pam pulled her tee shirt over her head and undid the fly of her Dickies, stepping out of the pants until she was in her underwear. She turned on the bath, and clutched her panties like a frat boy, clumsily pulling them off. The water in the tub filled up around her, making a reservoir in-between her legs until spilling over and rising along her thighs. Soon, the levels met and covered her legs, waist and then up to her ribcage. She was exhausted and had to turn the water off with her foot, which pushed the spigot around until it was off. Resting her foot on the lip of the pedestal tub, her arms draped over the side until it felt like too much effort and she reeled them in to soak in the hot water.

The pain will go away she thought like a mantra. The pain will go away. Maybe the sixth or seventh time she said it, it didn’t sound right in her head. It had…echo? No, that wasn’t right. But it wasn’t just her in her head. Pam was silent for a moment. The pain will go away. That sounded normal. But when she heard it again, it didn’t at all. Because she hadn’t said it.

Hrel did.

---

”What in the fuck!”

Pam’s shock was understandable, even to Hrel. She clutched a towel to cover herself, and had a knife out defensively as she cowered in the corner of the kitchen.

“I said you have nothing to fear because I can’t hurt you.”

Pam looked around wildly. Where was he? How did he get in? And why couldn’t she see him?

“Because I’m in you mind,” Hrel said. “Because the only way I can be here is to exist through you.”

“Get out of my fucking head,” she screamed.

“There is no me, there is only us.”

“GET OUT!”

Hrel was silent, and hoped by not speaking Pam would calm down. There was a minute of silence, and Pam started to lower the knife.

She asked, “Are you gone?”

There was a brief pause, but Hrel replied, “No.”

Exasperated, Pam slumped to the floor. The knife slid out of her hand and she started sobbing. “Why,” she questioned. “Why is this happening?”

Hrel, lacking concern for expressions of compassion just addressed Pam’s question bluntly.

“I could no longer control Walter’s body…it was too far gone, and you were then only possible candidate to host. If I didn’t make the jump, there’s no telling how long it would be until I could come back, let alone find a host.”

“Who’s Walter,” asked Pam as she brushed tears away.

“You don’t have to say it. If you think it, I’ll hear it, just like how you’re hearing me. Real as you think it is, this is only in your head. And Walter was a good friend. Sadly, he died about nine years ago, but he was such a valuable asset, to let our work together be finished so suddenly was something I couldn’t allow.”

“In the wheelchair…that was…Walter?”

“Yes. He had a massive heart attack, but I couldn’t let him go. It’s not normal, but we had been bonded together for so long, I was able to actively control him physically. When his essence departed his body, I was left with it. Held up pretty well until you busted up his face. And then there was that car…”

Pam had stopped crying and was calmer, well, considering she was having a conversation with a voice in her head. “What car?”

“I got clipped pretty hard by a car yesterday. Shattered Walter’s pelvis and both legs. I was lucky that somebody saw and called the paramedics. Got that wheelchair at the hospital when they left me in the morgue.”

“How?”

“Same way I was able to animate him since he died. But the damage to his body was too massive to continue using it. He held up pretty well over the years, but just couldn’t take any more punishment. I was losing control and had to make a choice. Normally, a hosting is not so…forced. You’re also a hard mind to penetrate. I can’t control you and I can’t hurt you, but I can stay as long as I need to and you can’t force me out. It was not my plan, but I think we need to make it work until I can find Ru. Then, I will leave you be.”

Pam grunted and strained her muscles, from her pubococcygeus and anus, to her abdomen, up to her sinuses. Any physio-muscular contraction she could make she tried in a futile attempt to eject the angelic spirit from within.

“Satisfied,” he asked her.

“No,” she grumbled, lifting herself up and heading back into the bathroom. She hung up the towel and thought for a second about getting back in the bathtub. Adrenaline had taken care of the aching but soon the pills would have to pick up the slack. Pam popped the drain and headed out, briefly stopping in front of the mirror. She scowled at her reflection, and gave herself the finger. Take that, you angelic prick, she thought. On her bed, she rubbed at her temples, waiting for some relief.

“Rest until you feel good enough to eat something,” Hrel suggested.

“I was getting something earlier until you fried my synapses, asshole.”

“You’re just feeling the residual trauma from Walter’s body. Your nervous system thinks it has 23 broken bones, a lacerated spleen, one collapsed lung, and severe facial contusions. That’s not usually how it works moving from host to host, but again, it was jump or disappear from this plane.”

“I wish you did.”

---

The following morning, Pam did feel better, but didn’t like the feeling that even when she was by herself she wasn’t alone. She did her regular morning routine without interruption, and headed out around 10am for coffee and something to eat. Making her way back from Cherry Street, Pam retraced her route from the day before, and came across the spot she’d seen Hrel. Walter’s corpse was gone, as was the wheelchair, but some of the tattered rags were in the gutter, where Pam spit upon them.

She smiled and asked, “What, you’re not an early riser? I’m paying respect to your buddy.”

Hrel didn’t answer, but Pam left it at that. Wherever parasitic spirits go when they’re not trying to move into your head and turn you into their own personal transport, she didn’t bother to find out. The place was a limbo of sorts, between their dimension and Earth, and splitting their consciousness between the dimensions was not something that was shifted between quickly. It was much like standing on a ladder, feet on one rung and hands stretched to another, but instead of being wholly connected and simultaneously touching both, it was more like a circuit being completed. She had not been addressed by Hrel nor had he responded for quite some time and Pam was wondering if he was just going to swoop in from the ether and start talking at random. And no sooner than she wondered, he spoke.

“We need to find Ru.”

“Okay, she said, “so where is he?”

“It is possible that the Grufties know…”

Pam had no idea what Hrel was talking about. “The who?”

“You have seen them once before. Those vault creatures who showed up before I did that night before...”

“Before I stopped that big mouth of yours from flapping. And I’ve seen them twice.” Pam went to freeezer and opened the door to look at the bag she’d saved the severed fingertips in. “I don’t think they want to see me again.”

“Nonetheless, we should start with them before we start looking aimlessly.”

“Or…we can go to Somerset and find David. Maybe he knows how to get in touch with Ru.”

“If things are as bad as I think they are, we’re going to want to stay from there.”

“Is something bad going to happen to him,” Pam asked. She didn’t let on that she was hoping it would.

“Very possibly. Only Ru knows for sure. Call this number and tell Anton you are Walter’s niece. He’ll come pick us up and do whatever you ask him to. And he’ll be persuasive if they don’t feel like talking.”

“I’m not worried…I can be persuasive.”

Chapter Twelve

Harry lifted the eighth-grader’s bloodied head and then rammed it back down into the concrete. He repeated these steps in unison with the pumping of blood through his atria and ventricles. The eyes of the crimson face opened and the boy spoke. Harry halted the thrashing. The soothing voice that came from the boy’s lips belonged to Harry’s Nana.

“Young man, you need to learn to control your temper.”

The boy sat up dripping with blood from every orifice in his head. Most of the holes had been created in the last few minutes.

Harry addressed Nana Turquoise in the body of the beaten boy, “I had to punish him.”

“What authority are you, Harry, to think you are omniscient enough to make some decision concerning his education? You’re going to teach HIM a lesson? You’ve nearly killed him. The school would have suspended him, I’m certain, but you couldn't wait.”

“That’s no punishment.”

“Harry, this boy has a mother. How will she feel now? His father? His siblings? You didn’t even ask him why he did what he did.”

The boy stood up. He was both taller and heavier than Harry. Blood continued to ooze from his head and coat his entire body. The next words to leave his mouth transformed from Nana’s to Bernard’s deep francophone voice.

“You are a killer, Harry. You can’t contain this part of yourself. You are an executioner without his mask. Sooner or later the reaper will come for you as well. It won’t be a heart attack or a stroke at the end I can assure you.”

The face of the boy began to morph into something entirely inhuman. A muzzle began to push out from his face. His teeth lengthened and sharpened. His eyes reflected light unnaturally. The voice that came from the new monster contained equal parts of the Missouri drawl that belonged to Harry’s social worker from his teenage years and an unidentifiable timbre that filled the ears like an unholy dirge.

“Come play our game, Harry. You are the master of violence. Now it is time for you to die by the sword.”

The monster snapped at Harry. Harry awoke in a spasm. Angie was looking down at him caressing his brow with the sun behind her.

“It’s over. It’s okay.”

She had been watching Harry sleep for the past two hours. She was still in awe of all the disorder Harry had wreaked on Dolph’s operation just a few hours earlier.

“I’d say you had a nightmare, but it’s early afternoon. How about an early-afternoon-mare?”

Harry smiled up at Angie. He figured they were just north of the Montana-Alberta border near Glacier National Park. Harry fell asleep at the edge of sunny meadow after a long hike away from their purloined vehicle. The engine had seized up after losing too much oil. The rock-infested ride away from the Fallen Angel had taken its toll on the oil pan. The series of events leading up to the tormented nap left Harry in need of a quiet moment. The couple was in no hurry to get back to the rest of the human population.

Harry’s streak of vengeance that began the day before ended the moment he found Angie alive. The day before, Harry was a vortex of controlled rage after breaching the surface of the lake. The anger, mostly aimed at himself, bounced off in all directions sparing no one in its path. Harry methodically waited as one-by-one he encountered a half dozen members of a search party. Many of the men Harry quietly extinguished were combat veterans, but their paychecks were too small in comparison with Harry’s hatred. A snapped neck yielded a M16 and a bowie knife. A slit throat yielded a Dragunov. A head shot yielded Harry one less pest to worry about. Harry was working his way toward el jefe, Dolph. In Harry’s mind, Angie was dead. Everyone involved was to pay the ultimate price.

After the untimely death of his parents, Harry was able to cultivate a Zen-like control over his emotions over time with the loving support of Nana Turquoise. On occasion, this control failed spectacularly. Almost no one knew about the explosive surprise hidden deep within Harry. Lester had seen a glimpse of it only once in the time he had known Harry. They were working a rare overseas psychological operation. It was a job to plant the seeds of rumor involving a three way relationship between a powerful international capitalist, the C.I.A., and a popular film actress. Harry’s explosive incident had absolutely nothing to do with the job. In fact, it could have placed the outcome of the job in jeopardy. Harry and Lester were walking down a crowded street when Harry saw a man fiercely beating his young son apparently. Harry went straight for the man and dragged him to a secluded alley. Lester was along for the ride; for once, Harry would be the heavy. Harry didn’t just beat the man. He changed the landscape of the man’s face. Lester couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This was Harry Turquoise—the man who wouldn’t let Lester kill a spider? Harry was always the guy who wanted to try diplomacy first. Lester was almost afraid to step in to stop the violent demonstration.

In the seventh grade, Harry’s maelstrom roared out in full for the first time. He and his friend, Nolan, were having an intense conversation outside of class in between periods. Nolan rocked back and forth on his skateboard as they discussed the advantages and disadvantages of the various character classes in Dungeons and Dragons. Nolan was partial to sorcerers. Harry liked to play as a ranger mainly. The boys were quite enjoying themselves when an eighth-grader walked by and kicked Nolan’s skateboard out from under him. Nolan hit the ground hard—hard enough to leave a golf ball-sized knot on his head. Additionally, both bones in Nolan’s forearm fractured when they were sandwiched between his body and the ground. Nolan was in a great deal of pain, and Harry was flabbergasted. He had never seen such a show of disrespect. The bully just walked away like nothing had happened. Harry didn’t know the eighth-grader personally and doubted Nolan knew him. Harry had to do something to balance his environment by returning the seemingly random act of violence. He grabbed Nolan’s skateboard, ran up behind the eighth-grader, and took a full swing at the boy’s head. The boy dropped to the ground. But Harry wasn’t finished. He sat on top of the larger boy and began to punch him in the head. Everyone around just watched in disbelief. When a couple physical education teachers finally arrived to pull Harry off the boy, they found Harry pounding the kid’s skull on the pavement.

Harry’s counsel was able to get the attempted murder charges dropped, but Harry was expelled. He was in the system from that point on. Everyone had their eyes on Harry. When Harry’s specially-assigned social worker saw he had a straight A student with “killer” instincts, he knew just the life path to send Harry down. The only obstacle that kept Harry from ultimately doing government wet work was Nana Turquoise. Hers was the voice of peace. Nurture outweighed nature or possibly earlier nurturing in Harry’s case. Social engineering became Harry’s new path.

“Thanks for keeping a look out. I needed the nap.”

Harry felt he needed to somehow apologize to Angie for dealing so much death.

“All the bodies back there—it’s not really me. I thought you were gone, and I reacted.”

“Harry, if you hadn’t done what you did, I’d still be under their control. I’d still be with Dolph.”

“Are you disappointed I didn’t kill him?”

“I think I understand a little the archaic code you’re basing your decisions on.”

“It’s just when I saw you alive, it all left me. The fight, the rage—it evaporated. Logically, it didn’t make sense considering you were acting like a… like a…”

“Like a whore, Harry. You don’t know what it’s like to feel the full power of a caduceus. I was lost for a long time, and Dolph showed up to guide me out of the desert. I honestly thought he cared about me, and I was willing to do anything for him. I see, now, how wrong I was.”

“Well, when we get back to civilization, we’ll just say you were deep, deep undercover. You’ll have plenty of stories for management.”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Harry. My fight, my rage—I don’t think it was ever there for me. Somehow I deluded myself into thinking I was doing something to make the world a better place. I don’t pretend to know anymore.”

“I understand. I don’t fully agree that you were deluding yourself. That would mean I’m deluding myself. But I understand.”

Harry just began to focus on the fact that he and Angie had been holding hands for the duration of their conversation. He squeezed hers, she squeezed back, and they sat by the meadow, enjoying the sound of nothing man-made.

“About getting back to civilization—how are we doing that exactly?”

“I sort of have an idea of where we are. I think I can get us back to a highway. Hopefully, we can hitch a ride.”

---

Dave and Lester were parked outside a restaurant in Louisville. The restaurant’s sign contained only sinographs. Dave neglected to mention to Lester anything about Pam’s text message. Dave didn’t bother to mention that he ran into quite a colorful character back in the bathroom of the rib place.

“Why are we in Louisville? Is there some other restaurant you’re interested in checking out?”

“Partially correct, Dave. Right now, I can’t really trust anyone. But I know I can trust Tommy Liu. Tommy and I go way back. Even though he’s retired from the company now, I’m sure he’ll still help out an old friend. This dim sum place right here—it’s his. And let me tell you, Tommy knows dim sum. I’ve never had a chance to stop by until now. And the way I see it, I don’t really know anyone in your home town. Wherever Tommy sets us up will be a perfect out of the way safe house. We’re close enough to the action, and safe amongst friends. I can’t find that kind of service in Somerset. I’m sure your folks are nice and all, but we can’t risk an extended stay. I’m supposed to ensure your safety. You said you thought Mr. Face had another idea.”

Dave could see Lester’s point. He thought since his parents were in Somerset, that’s where Hrel wanted him to go. Now that he thought about it after seeing the type of people that were after him, it made sense to let Lester survey the situation in Somerset first. Somerset had more significance than simply being Dave’s hometown. It’s proximity to Lake Cumberland was what made it special.

“Yes, I don’t believe he wanted me to reunite with my parents. He wants to use me again. The fissure in Lake Cumberland is one of the most heavily trafficked portals between our part of the universe and the portion in which the angels and demons reside. My genetic make-up has structured my brain in such a way to make me more receptive to hosting these beings. This was a trait I believe I inherited from my grandfather. Hrel may want me for one of his allies.”

“Whatever you say, Dave. I am in the dark on this one, so I have to count on you to know what Face wanted. I still think we should at least stop by to see good old Mom and Dad. It ain’t right for a boy to be away from his folks for so long. Now, let’s eat. I have to warn you—Tommy might call me by some other name when he sees me. People like me—we have all kinds of names. Just play along.”

The restaurant was very different from what either man had been accustomed. Instead of secluded dining nooks for parties from two to six people with a few central public tables on display, there was a large open banquet hall filled with large round tables and a few smaller tables. It was more like a wedding reception than a restaurant. A handful of Chinese women roamed from table to table pushing steaming carts of little snacks. Lester didn’t hesitate to what he was craving after being seated.

“Hey! Hey! Over here.” Lester waved to one of the women.

“The bau, please. And send over the girl with the chicken feet. Also my friend here needs something without any meat. Xie xie.”

The woman placed a tray of four little white balls on the table and stamped the piece of paper on the table. Lester dug in and grinned widely as he ate. Before he had chance to take another bite a sharp-dressed man interrupted.

“Lester Phister, the Phist. I don’t believe it. How the hell are you?”

“Tommy Liu, it’s good to see you old buddy. I thought I’d swing by to check out the place while I’m on a little business.”

“I’m not in any trouble, am I?”

Both men laughed, and Lester stood up to give Tommy a warm hug and handshake.

“Tommy Liu, meet my latest baby-sitting project, Dave Bullock.”

Tommy shook Dave’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dave. You’re in good hands here with Lester. He taught me everything I know now about the Moog synthesizer. And he’ll keep you in stitches while the guys who are after you will be needing stitches.”

“Tommy, this place is fantastic.”

Lester paused and then gave up on the small talk.

“I hate to put this on you with such short notice, but after close, I need to talk to you about a little favor you can help us out with.”

Tommy had a concerned look, but the friendship ran deep. Lester had performed many favors for Tommy in the past.

“Sure thing, Les. We can meet in my private office. Whatever you need, my friend.”

“Sorry, Tommy.”

“No need to apologize. This is a wonderful surprise. The truth is, I’ve been missing some of the more exciting aspects of my old job.”

---

Marv sat in a bar Missoula waiting. A small Hispanic man had been sitting next to him for the past half hour. The man finally looked over at Marv and surprised him by saying something.

“HEY, BRONCO!”

Marv was puzzled. He was waiting for a man named Bronco, and here was a man calling him Bronco.

“Uh, I’m not Bronco. I’m waiting for Bronco.”

“THEY PAY YOU TO WAIT, BRONCO?”

“I’m not sure we should continue this conversation.”

“HEY, BRONCO, TELL THAT TO DOLPH, BRONCO.”

A chill went down Marv’s spine. He had been sitting near the notorious Bronco for the past half hour.

“I apologize, Mr. Bronco, I was confused.”

“HEY, BRONCO, STILL CONFUSED. NO MISTER. FUCKIN’ METALLICA.”

“Here’s the disposable phone. Dolph will contact you shortly.”

“MASTER OF PUPPETS PULLING YOUR STRINGS.”

Marv left the bar uneasy of his status with Dolph and now Bronco. A short while later, the phone rang. Bronco answered.

“FUCKIN’ HELLO.”

Chapter Eleven

Dave studied the text message Pam sent and wasn’t sure what to do. If he started to text back, Lester would probably stop him, ask who, what, why he was sending a message and then spend twenty minutes talking about needing to be invisible to everybody. When Lester came back, Dave politely excused himself to the bathroom, looking more for privacy than relief. He knew Cohen wasn’t Lester’s real name, and it was clear that he was in trouble ever since the Denny’s, but what else had Pam come across?

He entered the bathroom and realized there was somebody in the stall, so Dave stood in front of the urinal and made like he was pissing while operating the cell phone one-handed. In the stall there was grunting, and Dave tried to pretend the other person wasn’t there. He pulled up the menu and navigated to reply, when the stall door opened and the man inside sighed and flushed the toilet. Aware he was pretend peeing, Dave put the phone away and made as though he was in the bathroom honestly.

The man from the stall stood next to Dave at the sink. He was wearing old Oakley sunglasses and had long, greasy back hair. The man was definitely Hispanic, probably one of the Indian people from Mexico or Central America, thought Dave, and the thin moustache and wisps of chin hair only made the look even more clichéd. Dave could have easily pictured the man in some ancient hunting garb on the hot jungle steppes. The man turned to Dave.

“HEY, BRONCO!”

The voice was almost as cartoonish as his look. It was a seriously thick accent, but Dave understood what was being said. The man was facing Dave, and he could see the well-soiled jeans and vintage shirt worn without irony, along with the overall sense of dirtiness the man conveyed. Somewhere, a rickety produce truck was missing it’s driver. Dave wasn’t sure the man was talking to him even though they were looking at each other, and didn’t respond.

“HEY BRONCO, YOU LIKE METALLICA?”

Every syllable was stressed, ME-TAL-LIC-A. The man had earplugs in, and there was an old CD player stuffed in his back pocket.

“HAMMER OF JUSTICE CRUSHES YOU! MASTER!”

Dave was speechless.

“ALRIGHT, BRONCO. HEAVY FUCKIN’ METAL!”

The freak threw up some devil horns and bobbed his head as he left. “OH SHIT, MAN…METALLICA,” he said.

Dave stood there befuddled for a moment. Invisible? No fucking problem. I’ll call her when we get to my parents.

---

From the time she was born, wanderlust was neatly imprinted upon Ivy.

Ivy’s father was an Air Force colonel, who was tasked with decommissioning ICBM missile silos and facilities when the Russians finally ran out of gas and dropped out of the cold war. Because he was assigned to domestic service, he opted to take his family with him from location to location rather than leave them in New Salem, Kansas, about an hour southeast of McConnell AFB where he was first stationed. It wasn’t easy at first, as they had trouble feeling like they had a true home, but after the first year it was like they were on a protracted vacation.

The RV held most of their essentials (as least, that which wasn’t left on the base in storage for their ultimate return), but the various officer’s quarters provided that hotel-like feel to their travels that added to the traveling experience. The number of sites to visit kept the family moving at least twice a year, but there were stretches in between that allow them to explore the surrounding towns and counties. Ivy’s father felt that she would have a far more enriching childhood seeing the country rather than growing up in one place, and with the time he was able to spend with his family already less than he wanted when they were in Kansas, to be circulating around the country would diminished that even further. Yet for all his efforts to be a good father, there was still a disconnect between Ivy and her dad. As you could guess, little girls and psychology of the military don’t quite mix.

At first, Ivy was withdrawn, but when she was old enough to understand why the family kept moving, she embraced the idea. She fancied herself an explorer, a visitor from another planet who was studying the customs and culture of Earth. Ivy didn’t like the jets and bombs and guns, so she pretended that she was secretly disarming their attack capabilities, using mind control to force her “Dad” to decommission the weapons locations. Eventually she would send a message and let them know if it was okay to make contact with the humans – friend or foe, they’d be disarmed and pose less threat. In the game she had created, the military was looking for her and she had to move every time they got close, which was always since she stayed on their bases and operated under their noses.

Ivy kept a diary once she was old enough to write, detailing mission successes and making observations on her travels. Even when she’d outgrown the nuisance of the framework, she still kept a log of her journey and wrote about her thoughts and particularly interesting dreams. She had just finished making some jewelry and had packed it to be sent to her friend Kayla back in Florida, and was settling in to write a little before going to sleep. When her father retired, they moved to Orlando, and the few years before she was legally able to up and go were difficult being trapped in one spot. Kayla was her one true friend back home, and helped her sell some jewelry online and to mall boutiques. Ivy hoped that it would take off more, so that she could worry less about selling at local swap meets and farmer’s markets and try to have a dependably steady income wired to her wherever she went.

For the time being, Ivy was staying at a motel, which was a little more extravagant than she’d usually spring for, but she’d been particularly tired the last few days, and given the warm British Columbia weather, a little air conditioning and a semi-comfortable bed wouldn’t be too bad. Since leaving home, it was a lot harder traveling, and with enough money saved, Ivy thought maybe she’d buy an old VW microbus so she could travel easier and have that nostalgic comfort like when she was a child, living on the American highway.

In bed, Ivy had already set the plain spiral notebook aside for the time she would put her thoughts to paper. She undressed down to her boy-shorts cut underwear put on a small men’s ribbed tank top, the kind her father would call an “Italian undershirt” before sliding into the sheets. Flipping towards the middle where her last entry had been, it was written nearly a week prior when she had just arrived in Seattle. When she took unexpected breaks between entries, Ivy would reread what she had done before moving on, but this time she didn’t even look back. There was too much to write.

I feels like haven’t had a few minutes to catch my breath in the last week, and seeing as how I have a lot to put down, I guess that’s right.

I really like the Pacific Northwest, and having been in Vancouver for three days now, I think that the northern latitudes are my favorite. I had not planned to leave Seattle so quickly, but I just felt…compelled? Lately, it seems as though I’m in a constant state of sleepwalking. Its like, I remember things but feel like I’m viewing them outside myself. There’s even been a couple of instances where I’m not sure I what I’ve done actually happened or was part of a dream – more on that later.

So I partly accomplished what I wanted in Seattle, and that was to see Brother Dave. God, I was such a geek! “You really motivated me to try and make a difference and follow what I believe in.” – ugh! He totally must have though I was such a lame ass. Even his producer chick was looking at me weird. I really would have liked to talk to him about his thoughts on destiny and alternate reality. I guess I could swing back through and try and see him at the studio, since it wasn’t too hard to get in there.

Saw some beautiful places, although I really wanted to go to the top of the Space Needle, but didn’t seem to have the time. Another thing to put on the list “to do” before I die. Magnusson Park was great - saw the Sound Garden, which made such an odd, unearthly sound, but was calming. I probably spent half a day there, watching the sun set and listening to the wind playing the sculpture as my soundtrack. I’m glad I went there after Astoria and Portland, because the quaintness of those places would have been lost in the grandeur of Seattle’s presence. Yeah, Seattle and grandeur – maybe that’s a big much, especially compared to Vancouver, which has the same urban vibe as Seattle, but just, I don’t know…a Canadian twist? Like I said, the whole northwest is terrific.

Met up with the one and only Johnny Cabbage today at Zabba’s, which is a local electronics shop. We talked to Ms. Živojinović, who runs her late husband’s shop and she’s surprisingly on board to let us make a couple of videos to put on the internet that we hope will make business increase. Ms. Z. (can’t write that out again) is going to let us borrow some of the camera equipment and her grandson to shoot it. Johnny is being a good sport, since we’re going to make him do some pretty silly things in the name of art and commerce. He also spoke to her and they want to pay me for my help, which I didn’t expect at all. I don’t think it’ll be much, but anything helps. Me, I just saw his commercial and knew he had more left in him – even if it means being goofy! And I just hate to see the little guy lose.

Johnny invited me to see The Big Dirty Band tomorrow night, and he said we’ll “drink some brews and talk shop”. Fortunately the legal age is 19 here, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t really drink. He was with the Royal Mounties years ago, so I’m sure he’ll make with some stories once he has a few drinks in him too.

Ivy forced out a yawn as if her body was waiting for a pause writing. She stretched and arched her arms and back like a cat on a sunny pane. Her eyes felt momentarily rough, and she blinked a few times to lubricate them, and rolled her neck for good measure. Before she fell asleep she wanted to get down what was most on her mind from the last week.

Last night I had another weird dream, and I say another because it’s starting to become a regular occurrence since I got here. I’m in a rowboat in the middle of a lake, and the water slowly starts to recede until the whole thing is just a dry valley. In the distance are some old wooden buildings, and it looks like a ghost town. The sky above looks like a storm, except it’s sunny out. It’s like a vortex of clouds and light, but there’s no funnel like a tornado. It just spins and gets bigger and bigger. The ground starts to shake and clumps of dirt and earth start to float upward towards the vortex, but suddenly it’s as if the ground rose up and got slammed back down like a blanket being shaken out. The dirt settles and the spinning vortex shrinks and disappears. I’m about to get out of the rowboat but I see that water is seeping through the ground, and soon the lake is filling itself back up.

It’s nighttime but the sky is a very bright purple. There’s no moon, but the night sky makes it bright enough to be able to see. There’s a current now and I’m watching the boat head towards the far end of the lake where two hills are. In the water I see two small dark points near the boat. As I move along, they follow, but they’re not fish or a reflection. Someone is talking to me, and knows my name.

“Ivy, where are you going,” the voice says. I tell it “I don’t know”, and then I hear laughter. It’s not malicious and I’m not scared, but I don’t know that I trust whoever is speaking. The voice says, “I wouldn’t trust me either,” and I ask how it knows what I was thinking. I hear the voice again, but this time it’s like a thought, and it says to me, “You know what I’m thinking.” I talk back to it, but my lips don’t move, and I hear myself saying the words even though the sound is not coming out of my mouth. “No, I don’t,” and then I say “Ru”. “Yes,” the voice says. “See, we do know what the other is thinking.” The rowboat beaches itself on the shore where the two hills are, and I get out of the boat.

That was the first dream. And the next time I slept, it continued.

I’m walking up the path between the two hills, and I see behind me is Brother Dave. He speaks, but it’s in that voice again, not his. He says on the other side of the valley we will see his friends and enemies, and then he stops talking and keeps thinking at me. “If you take my hand and we cross together no harm shall befall you.” I think to him that I will protect him, and that without me he can not reach the peak. Over the top there is another vortex, and when I turn to show Brother Dave, he’s gone and I’m standing next to myself. I think “Ru, will they welcome us or want to us us,” but there’s no answer. I turn back to look at the peak, and I think to myself that I have to keep them from finding out that I know they’re coming, and when I’m thinking that, it’s like my thoughts and Ru are now one in the same, because I’m alone now. The closer we get to the top, the smaller the vortex is, until it’s almost gone. And as I crest the peak, the valley below fills with light that blinds us and I wake up.

Ever since that first night, I’ve been having “conversations” for lack of better term with “Ru”. Sometimes there will be a few words of information about something I’m looking at, or a suggestion of where to turn or direction to head in. When I ask questions they’re never answered but I seem to find the conclusions one way or another through Ru’s command. I want to be scared but somehow I’m not, even if that means I’m losing my mind. If that’s what it is, it’s strangely comforting and not jarring like I‘d expected it would be. Perhaps there will be more tonight, and I can’t shake that feeling that I’m sleeping with one eye open. Or not entirely awake during the day. There’s a surreal quality to the dreams, but in the last couple of days, there’s been a dreamy quality to reality. We’ll see.

Ivy yawned again and put her notebook on the ground near her tote. The light went off and Ivy lay there in the dark, waiting to see what would happen next.

---

After the Fallen Angel had been flooded and sustained considerable damage, a training class was set up for the various henchmen and lackeys. Dolph wanted to be certain that his “employees” were able to manage some level of reasoning and analysis in addition to utilizing their criminal backgrounds. Even though Harry had absconded with Angie, some things, Dolph felt, were unacceptable.

Marv, the top bootlicker in the organization, stood across from Dolph, who was seated at his large desk that was the base of a once mighty tree.

“Marv,” Dolph said, “as you know, we had a very serious security breech, and two of our guests left the premises contrary to my wishes.”

“Yes sir, I am aware,” consoled Marv.

And Marv, you know that I had big plans for those two, yes?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“And yet,” he lingered on the word. “They did.”

“That they did, sir. That was terrible.”

“Marv, I want you to make sure that this training class we have is not another waste of time. If we can’t get adequate scum to do our work, we’re either not looking hard enough or we don’t belong in this business.”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Who was the guard assigned to our guests?”

“That would be Nunzio Nutzzi. He’s in the infirmary with a broken nose that Mr. Turquoise gave him.”

“Shoot him in the knee.”

“Sir?”

“In the knee. Shoot him in the knee.”

“Yes, sir. Which knee sir?”

“Use your discretion, Marv.”

“And, Marv,” he added, “call in Bronco.”

Marv was at the double doors of Dolph’s office and turned around to address his boss. “Sir, what should I tell him?”

“I want him to kill every member of Mr. Nutzzi’s family. But first, I’d like him to come here and find Harry Turquoise and that turncoat bitch-whore.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Marv. I’ve changed my mind. Shoot him in the left knee.”

Chapter Ten

“I’ve told you practically my whole life story. You even know my real name. I’ve entertained you for the past twenty-four hours. I ran out of jokes back in South Dakota, so I went back into the recesses of my mind and dug up material I used back in the third grade. I’ve educated you on some of the greatest recording artists ever to exist. You gotta give something back. This cat stops purring if he doesn’t eat. If you talked more, I wouldn’t have to talk so much. Thus I wouldn’t have to drink so much water. Thus my bladder wouldn’t be on the verge of exploding.”

As much as Lester enjoyed talking, the one-sided nature of his transcontinental monologue was starting to get to him. Dave’s catatonia was the biggest iceberg Lester had ever attempted to melt. Every now and then, Dave would let a little smile slip. This was the trickle of fuel Lester’s speech had been running on for the past day on the road and during stops for grub and gasoline. The one thing for which Lester could give Dave credit was that he kept his eyes open. Knowing someone was awake to receive his words of wisdom kept Lester from drifting off to sleep and off the highway. As they approached Kansas City, Dave finally started to open up.

“I haven’t seen my father in seventeen years.”

“See. There you go. That wasn’t hard. It’s not the funniest story, but you’re getting the idea now.”

“My father would want you to believe God created all of this. He created you and me. And our purpose in life is to love Him and bring glory to His name.”

“He’s on a roll, folks. He can’t be stopped. Please, David, continue.”

“It’s not the case. It’s not true.”

“Yeah, it’s all some big accident. My mama would whoop me if I didn’t make it to church. She’d get up out the grave and whoop me if she could, if she saw how I spent my Sundays now. I know where you’re coming from, chief.”

“It wasn’t an accident. It looks like an accident. The Big Bang, evolution, everything we know of through science, for the most part, happened.”

“Sounds like an accident.”

“But the demons started it. The dark ones. It was their grand experiment. They originated from a place of constant conflict with competing destructive forces. Without rest for eons, they fought to dominate and expand their reach.”

“Okay, you’re starting to lose me, Dave.”

“When they encountered the angels, they suffered their first defeat. It was their concept of dominance over all versus the angel’s oneness of all. It was the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object.”

“Are you talking about guys with horns and tails fighting guys with wings and halos?”

“No. Both forms do not occupy mass and volume in the way you and I expect conscious beings to exist. They’re not spirits that we could ever see. They exist on a higher dimensional space. They can easily perceive us, but we could never perceive them without their drawing of themselves into our space. In order to continue their conquest, the demons needed a weapon powerful enough to wipe out the angels. They essentially needed their own angels to infiltrate and destroy the space of the angels. They concocted the idea of creating a universe where any life that developed to a level that could transcend its own space would have to be brutal enough and powerful enough to take on and defeat the angels. They would recruit and control these life forms to build an army against the angels. They created the spark that developed into the world you see before you.”

“So the devil made us? Not God? Who’s telling you all this?”

“Ru.”

“How do you know this Ru guy ain’t lying to you?”

“The possibility is there. It abandoned me at what I believed was a crucial moment. I still don’t know why. But I believe.”

“So what’s the rest of the story?”

“The demons had no way of knowing if their experiment would work, but billions of years later, here we are—human beings. To the chagrin of the demons, the angels found us first. They fell in love with us. Out of nothing came something they could never have imagined. There is much more to our species and animals in general than you know. Most people can only get a glimpse of their evolved selves when they are asleep. The portion of ourselves that operates on a different level of space stays locked within us during waking moments. But when we sleep, it expands beyond the boundaries of our bodies intersecting with others. A few enlightened souls can maintain awareness of this phenomenon during intense meditation. They can control the expansion of the soul while awake. This ‘soul’, the angels feel, is the closest kin they’ve found across the many universes they have traveled. The angels do not know of their own origins. Human beings give them a clue of what they might have been. They shepherd some of our strongest souls to join them. We are simply that compatible. You see the one thing we seemed to have gained by developing the way we have, that the angels don’t have, is freedom of choice. And they’re fascinated by this. Everything they do is focused on achieving oneness. We can choose to shun the oneness. And we do so constantly. The demons on the other hand also are destined to behave one way. Like the angels, they can’t make this fundamental choice. One demon can only concentrate on its individual rise of power over the universe. The only reason a lesser demon works for the greater demon is to preserve its own existence and perhaps one day destroy the greater demon to take its place.”

“I’m still picturing a little guy with horns and tail holding a pitch fork on my right shoulder and little guy with wings and a halo holding a harp on my left.”

“It’s true, as humans, we can go either way because we can choose.”

“So where does Ru come into the picture?”

“It is one of the three of the seventeen who first came to our world. It was with me. I saw many parts of our planet with Ru. We were securing possible points of entry the demons could use as shortcuts to our world. The demons seeded their creation with tangible and intangible objects to act as tripwire alarms and possible gateways for easy access to collect their future army. Ru had a knack for locating these objects.”

“Hey, Dave, this is a great story, but there’s a good barbeque place just off of 70. In the mood for some ribs? Of course you are.”

Dave shrugged his shoulders. Lester had food on his mind, but he didn’t laugh Dave out of the car like most people would have after hearing everything Dave had to say. Maybe he’d seen enough to think that Dave could be right. He asked the right question back in Seattle. He knew Hrel. Ru mentioned that Hrel and others sometimes worked with or assisted state authorities. Lester seemed to be one of the good guys.

Lester screeched into the parking lot.

“Dave, go ahead and order. I’m going to do what I should have done four hours ago.” Lester was about to burst, but he had one more thought for Dave that couldn’t seem to wait. “You know, sometimes folks like to wrap themselves in a blanket of righteousness so they can do some pretty fucked-up things and have some basis to justify it. I can’t believe there is a set of perfect beings out there striving for oneness. If you’ve seen it and been touched by it, than you can know evil first-hand, my man.”

Lester ran into the restaurant and headed directly for the restroom. Dave ambled slowly into the modest and aromatic establishment. After he found a seat, he pulled out his mobile phone. There was a text message waiting for him to read.

---

Beneath one of the many lakes in Montana, Harry wanted to ignore the large mass that stood before him. But something about the gun holstered beneath Bernard’s immense coat made Harry think twice about testing his luck.

“Was it the nut sack? It must have been the nut sack. That thing is just getting too much press these days.”

One of the tricks Harry picked up from Lester was to not to appear bothered when finding oneself at a physical disadvantage. Keep the illusion of friendliness alive to let the other guy know that he might really be the one at the disadvantage. Bernard wasn’t laughing.

“For your safety, Mr. Turquoise, come with me.”

Somehow, Harry wasn’t buying that Bernard had any concern for his safety. They began walking towards the antechamber but then Bernard pushed Harry, and they veered to the right. Harry needed to find an opportunity to make a move.

“I must say, Mr. Turquoise, you performed quite predictably—right up to the moment when you decided to damage our property. Vandalism, Mr. Turquoise, really? Such a futile attempt to change whatever fate you believe awaits you.”

“The strength of that glass was on my mind all night. I made a bet with myself that I couldn’t break it. I lost. Who’d have guessed? I owe myself a car wash now.”

They moved higher into the honeycomb of the lakeside structure arriving at a room with a dazzling pool that fed an aquatic cave that Harry assumed led to the lake. There was scuba gear, underwater welding equipment, and a miniature submersible watercraft. Near the pool were three men bound to chairs. Another man with a submachine gun ensured the captives behaved well. As Bernard and Harry moved closer to the men, Harry realized the captives were his friends, Dolph, Greg, and Gary. Bernard began to explain the situation to Harry.

“Mr. Turquoise, we are quite familiar with your background and understand that extracting information from you through physical torture would yield nothing for us. I will ask a question. You will answer. If your answer is not to our satisfaction, we kill a man.”

The three men began to loudly protest.

“This is bullshit! This is fucking bullshit! I just met this guy,” Gary pleaded.

“You better tell them what they want to know, motherfucker.” Greg shot at Harry.

Bernard reassured the men, “Mr. Turquoise has a very noble heart. I don’t believe he wants anything bad to happen to you. Am I correct, Mr. Turquoise?”

Harry nodded.

“Mr. Turquoise, the question is simple. Where is Ruahadavalat?”

“I honestly do not know.”

Bernard walked behind Gary, pulled out his pistol, and shot Gary point blank through the back of the skull.

“Again, Mr. Turquoise, where is Ruahadavalat?”

Greg was sobbing. He knew death was close.

“No more killing! If I fucking knew where he was, I would fucking tell you!”

“We’ve stirred your soul, Mr. Turquoise. But I believe you’re not telling us everything.”

Harry knew it was hopeless for Greg. He looked around for anything.

“He’s gone. He left. I don’t know where he is. That… is… the truth.”

Bernard put a bullet into Greg’s head.

“You’re not listening to me!” Harry screamed.

Bernard’s gun was pointed at Dolph’s head. Harry was resigned to see Dolph die. Then Dolph spoke to Bernard.

“He doesn’t know.”

At least Harry convinced the condemned man. Then Dolph addressed Harry.

“You really disappointed me, Harry. I was really getting to like Shane Hardy. He seemed like a man who knew how to have fun and who wouldn’t allow anything get in the way of that fun. I had no idea, until Bernard clued me in a moment before he tracked you down, that you were the man we were fishing for.”

Bernard’s gun was now pointed at Harry. The other gunman untied the ropes that held Dolph to his chair.

“Can’t we buy you, Harry? Don’t you have a price? We thought Angie would be the ultimate prize. She was convinced. It was her idea as a matter of fact. We let her run with it. And here you go, protecting something about which you haven’t the slightest clue. We took a risk trying to bring you here. Now we’ll have to cut our loses. Bernard, take Harry back to the room he damaged, where we’ve left Angie. They can drown there together. I’m anxious to see what you two will do in the moments before releasing your souls from their flesh.”

Sobriety struck Harry quickly. With the gun now pointed at him, Harry could focus entirely on rescuing Angie Ahern. It would require much improvisation, but the twinkling of a plan was forming. Bernard began marching Harry back to the bluebird room maintaining a safe distance behind.

“So, Bernie, where you from? Montreal? Nice? Ivory Coast? Switzerland? I’m horrible at placing accents.”

Bernard was tempted to entertain Harry, knowing he wasn’t long for this world, but he also didn’t want to let his guard down.

“Okay. How about this? If you don’t tell me where you’re from, I’ll kill you.”

Bernard laughed this time. Harry laughed along with him. When they were in the hallway leading to the bluebird room, Harry started a new line of conversation.

“So my partner loves Steely Dan. Just loves them. But he’s never read Burroughs. So he had no idea that a Steely Dan was a dil…,” Harry trailed off as Bernard moved closer to hear what Harry was saying.

In less than a second, Harry pivoted forcefully into Bernard stripping the gun from Bernard by violently twisting his arm. Harry’s free hand with laser precision dealt consecutive blows to Bernard’s solar plexus and liver. Then Harry instantly moved his aim higher to strike Bernard’s neck. The stunned Bernard was open for Harry’s elbow to knock him unconscious.

Harry dashed down the hall to the bluebird room to find the door locked and slowly leaking at the seams near the bottom. He saw that there was a keypad to enter a numeric entry code. Harry ran back to Bernard to try to wake him. After slapping Bernard a dozen times, Harry realized the man was dead. Harry was familiar with Dim Mak but had always doubted its efficacy. Harry had inadvertently stumbled upon a deadly combination. With no time to dwell on the fact that his joke had come to pass, Harry sprinted back to the door. There was no way to get through. But he could get in another way. Harry ran back through hallways and up staircases to the pool room and grabbed a diving cylinder, mask, and fins. Dolph, the other gunman, and the corpses of Gary and Greg were gone. Harry suited up quickly, checked his regulator, and jumped in the pool. He followed the cavernous water tunnel to an emerald opening. A grate blocked Harry from getting through to the lake. Harry swam the few hundred meters back to the pool room and grabbed an arc welding kit. Harry returned to the opening and, after a few minutes, was able to unhinge the grate. He wasn’t going to be able to take as much time with the window to the bluebird room. He left the welding equipment behind and kicked his way to the window on the other side of the complex. Harry had no idea how much water filled the room. He only hoped he wasn’t too late. After a few attempts at whacking the diving cylinder into the window, Harry realized he would need more force. He could see Ahern on the other side of the glass with water up to her neck. The room’s door wasn’t completely watertight, but the rate water flowed through the crack that Harry made was much greater than the trifling that seeped through the door. She appeared entranced and amazed by Harry’s fervor to save her. Her hand was pressed on the glass. Harry motioned her to move back. He also moved away from the glass. Under normal circumstances Harry would never have been able to budge the pillar valve, but Harry’s adrenaline reserves were producing maximum output. Injuring a few tendons in his hand, Harry twisted the valve until the valve and tank flew away from him in opposite directions. The tank headed toward the window. With a deep thud, the tank bounced off the glass, widening the crack but leaving the window intact. Harry was furious and running out of air. He watched as the water rushed into the room pushing Ahern closer to the ceiling. Harry needed to breathe again. He swam for the surface. After fifty feet, Harry’s face hit the air. He took his first gasp for air and exhaled an anguished cry.

Angie stared at the ceiling. She could no longer breathe freely and look out the window at the same time. She knew Harry had done everything possible to save her. It was unfortunate that his last effort had the opposite effect of speeding up her demise. Angie could only think of how clouded her perspective was and how naïve she had been to think Harry could be tempted into the same dark world to which she had succumbed. She accepted her fate. She had failed to gain any utility from Harry for her masters. She was no longer needed. Her tears added to the rising water. Angie could only dream of living a different life—a life less egotistical—a lesson learned from Harry far too late. With less than an inch left of air, Angie felt herself being sucked towards the door. Dolph and the gunman had pried the door open. Dolph knew the code. Dolph knew everything about the Fallen Angel. He built the place.