Kate gazed in silence at the pavement for a moment. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper, and her eyes never left the ground. "The last time I spoke to them, it was in anger."
"What? Who?"
"My mom. My dad. My brother. I'd been planning a road trip with some friends for the summer. There's this music festival out in Washington – three days of bands and camping and whatever. It just seems so fucking silly now. Anyways, Dad said I could go, but Mom thought I was too young to go traipsing across the country by myself. I tried to tell her I wouldn't be by myself – that we'd be fine – but she wouldn't hear any of it. We ended up shouting at each other over the breakfast table, and I said some things…"
Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she was suddenly racked with sobs. "Kate," I said, "you don't have to tell me –"
"Yes, I
do
. I can't just keep carrying it around. It's too much." I nodded, and she continued. "I told her that I hated her. That my
real
mother would've let me go. That I wished that
she
was dead instead."
I was taken aback. "Your real mother?"
Kate nodded. "She died when I was very young. Complications from childbirth. And Dad… I mean, I know he missed her, but he never took it out on me. When I was three, he met Patricia. She's the only mother I've ever known. I just can't believe I
said
those things – and all over a stupid fucking
trip!
"
"I'm sure she knew you didn't mean it."
"Did she? Did she know I didn't mean it when I killed her husband right in front of her? When I killed her
son?
Did she know it while I tortured her?"
"Kate, that wasn't
you
. You have to understand that."
"How can you be sure? How can you know I didn't, I don't know, invite something in when I said what I said? That I didn't open the door for this to happen?"
"It doesn't work that way, Kate. If a moment of anger was enough to invite a possession, there wouldn't be demons enough for the demand."
"You
say
that, sure, but you aren't certain – I can see it in your eyes. You've seen what I'm capable of," she said, nodding toward the factory door. "You've seen what I can do when I get angry."
"Yeah, I have, but I've also seen your
soul
. I know you weren't responsible for your family's death, Kate, even if you don't. You've just got to trust me."
Kate brushed tears from her cheeks and looked at me, eyes rimmed with red. "And what about what I did back there? If you looked at my soul now, what would you see? Have I been tainted by what I've done? Can you just collect my soul now, and go on about your merry way?"
"It doesn't work that way, Kate. You knew full well what Merihem was when you did what you did. Besides, you're innocent in all of this – he and his kind had no business meddling in your affairs."
She laughed – a shrill, humorless bark of a laugh. "So I just get a freebie, then?"
"I wish it were that easy," I said, "but taking a life – human or not, justified or not – it eats at you. You take enough of them, it'll hollow you out from the inside, until there's nothing left but a husk of your former self. I don't want to see you head down that path."
"Is that what
you
are, Sam – a husk of your former self?"
I shook this borrowed head, shrugged these shoulders that weren't mine. "Sometimes I think I'm something even less than that." I took her hand, led her back toward the open factory door. She didn't resist – not exactly – but there was no volition to her movements; I felt like I was posing a doll. "C'mon, kid," I said, squeezing her hand in mine, "time's short. We've got to get you out of here."
The midday sun reflected off the chromed storefront of the bar, casting haloes of light across the sidewalk and causing me to squint. I took a sip of coffee from the mug in front of me, but it was cold and bitter, and seared like acid as it went down. I pushed the mug aside. Really, I shoulda stopped drinking this shit three cups ago: my eyes were dry and itchy, and felt too big for their sockets; my scalp was crawling from the caffeine and the lack of sleep. But I wasn't about to slink off to bed. Not with a fortune in heroin stuffed into the back of a borrowed car. Not without talking to Dumas.
When I left Penn Station, I headed straight to
Mulgheney's
, but by the time I got there it was nearly 6am, and they'd been closed for hours. I parked the car out of sight around the block, and plopped myself down on a stoop across the street that afforded me a decent view of the entrance to the bar. I was determined to sit here for as long as it took, and anyways, what choice did I have? Dumas never gave me his number or address, so all I had to go on was that
Mulgheney's
was his favorite watering hole, and he had the look of a guy who had himself one hell of a thirst. The way I figured, it was only a matter of time before he showed.
Eventually, though, the waiting wore on me, and I realized if I was gonna last the day, I was gonna need a little pickme-up, and a bite to eat as well. So I moved camp to a lunch counter just a couple doors down, and ordered up a cup of coffee and a plate of steak and eggs, rare and over easy. The eggs came over hard, and the steak well, but the coffee did the trick, and the refills were free. Two hours later, though, the guy behind the counter lost his patience with me and quit topping me up, hence the cold and bitter. Didn't matter, though. Just as I was beginning to contemplate the odds on another sip being any better than the last, I spotted my mark.
Dumas was half a block away, slouching toward the bar in a sweat-stained camel-colored suit, a matching cap atop his head. I tossed a couple bills onto the counter and slid off of my stool. As I approached, he pulled the cap off of his head and mopped his brow with his sleeve. The cap blocked his view of the street. He never saw me coming.
I caught up to him just steps from the entrance of the bar, grabbing a fistful of lapel and pinning him to the wall. His face was a mask of shock and surprise, and his eyes glinted in sudden anger. Still, he made no move to stop me.
"You set me up, you son of a bitch!"
His prodigious brow furrowed. "Sammy, what is this about? Set you up how?"
"Don't play dumb with me. That package I was picking up? It was smack."
"Now how the hell would you know that? Your orders were to pick it up and drop it off, not to open it."
"Yeah, well, I did."
"Why on Earth would you go and do a thing like that?"
"Why doesn't matter – what matters is what was inside."
"Believe me when I tell you, Sam, it matters very much. That dope, it belongs to some pretty dangerous people – people who would not take kindly to you messin' with their product."
"It didn't fit," I said.
Dumas cocked his head, shot me a puzzled look. "What?"
"The suitcase. I tried to put it in the locker, but it didn't fit, so I figured I'd just take out the contents, leave 'em in the locker like you said."
To my surprise, Dumas laughed – a big boisterous fullbodied laugh that set his chins quivering. "It didn't fit? Shit, ain't that a hoot!"
"Yeah, a regular laugh riot."
"Ah, you know what they say – the best laid plans and all that. You didn't leave it there, did you? All unwrapped and everything?"
"No, I didn't leave it there," I snapped. "It's in the car."
"And where's the car?"
"It's safe."
"Good boy, good boy. So you been waiting here for me ever since?"
"That's right."
"Sounds like you've been having yourself one bitch of a day. Why don't you come inside and we'll discuss it over a drink, like civilized men? Maybe I can explain myself a bit, you'll see I ain't as bad as I might seem."
I don't know why, but I released him. Dumas straightened his jacket, picked his cap up off the sidewalk, and gestured for me to head inside.
He led me to a booth in the back – his usual, it seemed, the one I'd met him in before – and flagged down the bartender, ordering a beer and a shot apiece. When they arrived, Dumas downed his shot and took a pull of beer. I ignored mine. He eyed me a moment, giving me a chance to reconsider, and then shrugged.
"Listen," he said, "I'm real sorry about this mornin'. You weren't meant to see that."
"That doesn't change the fact I did."
"You're right, of course. I guess I owe you an explanation."
"What good is explaining gonna do?" I said. "I'm no dope peddler."
"Nor am I, Sam – nor am I. But I am in shipping, and if there are people willing to pay mightily for their shipments to arrive in time and unmolested, who am I to turn them away? What is in those shipments is their concern, not mine. And OK, yeah, maybe this time, I knew what was in the suitcase, but so what? These folks ain't giving this shit to schoolchildren, they're running a
business
. As in, if people wanna buy it, it's none o' mine."
"You can't expect me to just look the other way, pretend I never saw what I saw. The world doesn't work that way."
"Believe me, Sam, people see what they choose to see every damn day of their lives. Besides, I'm not the bad guy here, and neither are my clients. You wanna blame somebody, you blame Uncle Sam. These clients o' mine, they were perfectly happy running booze across the border, and wasn't nobody complaining then. But then Repeal yanked the rug right out from under 'em, and what do you expect 'em all to do? They got a right to make a living, after all."
"Sure, they got a right, only I don't want any part in the living they choose to make. The catch is, now I'm stuck with a car full of dope and nowhere to put it. Or rather, you are, 'cause I'm out." I slid the keys across the table toward Dumas. They came to rest against his substantial belly, which pressed tight against the table's edge.
"You're out."
"That's right."
Dumas nodded, raised his hands in acquiescence. "All right," he said. "I can see you've thought this through. I guess all that's left is the matter of your wife, then. Or had you forgotten?"
"You leave Elizabeth out of this."
"It'd be a damn shame if she got dropped from the program now – I hear she's makin' such progress, after all."
"Damn it, she hasn't done anything wrong. You wanna punish me, you go ahead, but you leave her be."
"Oh, don't worry, Sam, you'll get yours, but the deal was you work for me, your Elizabeth gets the treatment she so desperately needs. You
don't
work for me, she
doesn't
– it's as simple as that."
"You'd really do that to her? You'd really let an honest woman die?"
"Oh, no, Sam – not me. You. You go back on this deal of ours now, it's you who's letting her die. Her blood is on your hands."
I dropped my gaze then, to the shot that lay in front of me, and to the beer. I stared at them a while, not moving, not speaking. Then I tossed the former back, and chased it with the latter, glugging away at the beer until there was nothing left but foam.
"All right," I said. "Just tell me what I need to do."
Back in the factory, Anders sat huddled beside Pinch, one arm slung around the boy's shoulders. Pinch was shaking, and tears welled in his eyes, but he bit them back. A tough kid, I thought, but still just a kid. I felt sorry for him. I felt sorry for them all.
The sound of sirens cut through the still night air, drifting through the empty window frames and reverberating off the factory walls like an unholy orchestra. We didn't have a lot of time.
I searched the charred wreckage of the chair for the remains of the ceramic cat, but they'd been mostly ground to dust – there wasn't enough left of them to threaten a cockroach, much less a full-sized demon. That left only the shard that I'd removed from Merihem's mouth, its slight weight in my shirt pocket an uncomfortable reminder of just how tenuous a protection it was.
I ushered them out the door and into the van, slamming shut the doors behind them. A glimpse of flashing red and white through an alley, a siren's wail approaching. The van's engine didn't want to catch. Just a sputter, then nothing, over and over again. Eventually, though, it fired to life, and I dropped it into gear, lurching away from the curb without lights and screaming down the street.
"Where are we going?" Kate asked.
"Don't know. First thing is, we've got to find a spot to ditch the van – somebody might've seen us snatch Merihem, and even if they didn't, the thing's too hot to hold for long. After that, you three are gonna hafta hole up a while. I'm gonna try and get some answers."
"But with Merihem gone, aren't you kinda out of sources?"
"No," I said, my face set in a frown. "There
is
one other."
19.
"Collector," she said, a smile dancing across her luscious lips – lips painted a red so deep they looked black by the pale glow of the moon. The color of lust, I thought. Of blood. "I confess, I was surprised you called – and as you know, I don't surprise easily."
"Thanks for meeting me here, Lily."
Her smile faltered. On that face, with those lips, it was like snuffing out the sun. "You know I hate it when you call me that," she said, "and as for meeting you, it's not as if I had a choice."
She was right, about the latter, at least. I'd ditched the van in an alley off of Lafayette. Allison Park was just a couple blocks away, all old-growth forest and verdant lawns and quiet. Once an asylum for dying sailors, the park would suit my needs just fine. I'd stashed the three kids in a picnic shelter buried deep within the trees. Just a shingled roof atop a dozen rough-hewn posts, a stack of picnic tables chained together in one corner, the structure was more concealment than shelter, but it was well away from prying eyes, so for now, it'd have to do.