Hell's Horizon (34 page)

The pair headed for the roof, where The Cardinal talked about “one-week pockets”—Ayuamarcans couldn’t survive more than a week away from the city. He said Paucar Wami was an exception to the rules, who could not only make it on his own in the big bad world, but was fertile to boot—the others were sterile.

“Hear that?” I remarked, nudging my father. “You’re one of a kind.”

He shushed me again. He was taking this seriously. I thought better of irritating him and tuned back into the weirdest conversation of the century.

The Cardinal spoke of his inability to create a worthy successor. He told Raimi—as he’d told me a couple of days before—that his empire meant everything to him, and he wanted it to survive. No human could safely steer his empire in the long run, so he’d set about making a leader of his own, capable of overcoming the sturdiest of obstacles, even death itself. He’d made Raimi resistant to physical damage—if injured, his body would heal quickly—and, if killed, he would be reincarnated and could continue where he’d left off. In a nutshell, he was immortal.

A lengthy silence followed, in which the only things to be heard were the howls of the wind and the beating of Capac Raimi’s understandably agitated heart.

“You don’t believe any of this, do you?” I asked.

“Every word,” Wami responded quietly.

“But it’s madness!”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but the mad can also be true. Fifty-five million people died during the six-year jamboree of World War II. Madness? Certainly. True?”

“Hardly the same thing,” I noted stiffly.

“Hitler tried to create a master race. The Cardinal set out to create a single superman. Which sounds more plausible?”

“Don’t throw immature intellectual arguments like that at me,” I retorted. “The Cardinal’s a grade-A loon. Anyone who believes that yarn of his is crazy too.”

Wami nodded. “Were I in any other’s shoes, I would be inclined to agree. But I have spent the better part of my life trying to unravel a mystery that defies the laws of logic. I have observed people come into existence and pop out of it as quickly as they appeared, all traces of their lives vanishing with their bodies, failing to register even in the memories of those who knew them. In the absence of any other explanation, I must accept The Cardinal’s.”

“You’re as crazy as they are,” I sighed. “You, Dorak, Capac Raimi… nuts.”

“And
you
are the only sane person,” Wami smirked. “How fortunate you are.”

“Look, you can’t really believe—”

“Flesh of Dreams,” he interrupted. “The
villacs
called you Flesh of Dreams.”

“So?”

“You can be incredibly dense,” he chided me. “Think, boy. If what The Cardinal says is true, Ayuamarcans are creatures of the dreamworld.
Dreams made Flesh
, if you will. And you are the son of a dream person and a human. One could say you are of Flesh
and
of Dreams. Plain
Flesh of Dreams
if you want something that rolls off the tongue.”

I decided not to argue. Partly because you can’t argue with a madman, partly because a small section of me believed the tissue of lunatic lies. The more we discussed it, the more I seemed to be sucked into the madly intricate mire.

“How did you get here?” I asked instead, returning to more practical matters.

“The
villacs
contacted me through a messenger last Monday, not long after you and I had parted. They knew The Cardinal had put out word for Capac Raimi’s execution and they knew where the fugitive was heading. They said, if I helped him escape, it would lead to the solving of the mystery. So I did.

“They sent another messenger two days later. This one bade me make haste to the train station, to meet Raimi on his way back. He told me to plant a bug on him, then call you when they were in conference, for both of us to listen in on his conversation with The Cardinal.”

“Any idea why they told you to include me?”

“This must tie in with the murder of your bedmates but I cannot see how. Perhaps we will learn more when the pair on the roof resume their talks. I have a feeling there are a few twists left to the tale.”

He got
that
right.

Capac Raimi started up again. “It’s a trap,” he muttered, and they discussed the downside of immortality and The Cardinal’s insane plan. Raimi didn’t believe the Ayuamarcans could survive their creator’s death. The Cardinal admitted he couldn’t guarantee Raimi’s survival but had made provisions to hopefully ensure it. Raimi mulled this over, then delivered the bombshell that changed the course of the evening. He told The Cardinal he’d replace him, run his empire from here to doomsday,
but
he wanted an immediate transfer of power. He wasn’t prepared to sit around waiting for The Cardinal to die, worrying about what would happen. Either all would be handed over now, or The Cardinal could go screw himself and cast his nets for a successor again.

I knew that wasn’t an option—The Cardinal was dying—and I expected him to accept the condition instantly, but he acted cautiously, advising against such a move. He encouraged Raimi to make use of his years of experience, to keep him around and exploit him. But Raimi was having none of it. He told The Cardinal to go take a jump. Literally. Off the roof of Party Central.

Wami stiffened when he heard that and the snakes on his cheeks seemed to shimmer nervously.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“He cannot jump,” Wami replied, though he seemed to be talking to himself. “He mustn’t.”

“Do you like the old bastard so much?”

“I care nothing for him. But if what he says is true—if I am one of his creations—then his death means my own.”

“Oh, come on,” I groaned, “don’t tell me you buy into any of—”

“Quiet!” he hissed.

The Cardinal was in the process of throwing Raimi a curveball. Ford Tasso was on the roof with them—he’d been hiding—and now emerged, a bound woman in tow, none other than Ama Situwa. The woman who’d helped me tie Priscilla to Ellen seemed to be the love of Raimi’s life. I was sure this wasn’t mere coincidence, but there was no time to puzzle over it.

Once again The Cardinal acted as if he had years left and tried talking his successor out of calling for his instant death, urging Raimi to keep him around for Ama’s sake. She was also an Ayuamarcan, but without special powers, and would perish when he did.

Raimi hesitated. He asked The Cardinal to remake her, this time granting her the ability to transcend her maker’s death and live forever. The Cardinal said he couldn’t and started to explain why, which was when Wami tore the headphone from his ear.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he launched for the door.

“The fucker’s going to jump!” he shouted. “I have to stop him. I won’t die, not like this.”

“You can’t stop him.”

“I can try,” he growled.

“But he’s going to die anyway. He—” I started to tell him about The Cardinal’s brain tumor, but he was gone, up the stairs like a squirrel, acting rashly for the first and only time of his otherwise lethally precise life.

Picking up his discarded earpiece, I tuned back into the soap opera, now with the benefit of stereo, and placed bets with myself on how it would end.

Raimi betrayed Ama Situwa and told The Cardinal to jump. I heard the sound of the old goat’s footsteps as he walked toward the edge of the roof, his voice coming faintly now. He was preparing for his leap when Wami burst onto the roof, roaring at him to stop. “Wami knows?” I heard The Cardinal ask, and Raimi explained about the bug.

I felt sorry for my father, listening to him issue threats that were worthless. As a merchant of death, he had power only over those who wished to cling to life. A man who’d surrendered himself to fate was beyond the killer’s reach.

The Cardinal disarmed Paucar Wami with a few withering words. Wami vowed to kill Capac Raimi if he survived the kingpin’s death. Then The Cardinal made his final ever speech, wrapped matters up with a hearty “Farewell!”

And jumped.

Tearing off the headphones, I rushed to the window but wasn’t in time to catch the downfall of the city’s legendary leader. But I was in a good position to study his corpse, smashed to pieces on the concrete, arms stretched as if he’d attempted to fly. A crowd of startled Troops was forming around the crumpled mess. Within minutes the place would be black with those wishing to associate themselves with this moment of bloody history.

I wanted to return to the headphones and listen for signs of life on the roof but two thoughts stopped me. One was practical—when word of The Cardinal’s death spread, a cordon would be thrown around Party Central, setting my date with Bill back by hours or even days. The second consideration was more mystically rooted. I didn’t believe The Cardinal’s outlandish story, but part of me couldn’t help speculating on what it would mean if it
was
true. If it wasn’t bullshit, then a green fog would soon be spreading and minds would be washed clean. People would forget about Ama Situwa, Paucar Wami and Leonora Shankar. The Ayuamarcans would become ghost figures, like those in my father’s file.

What if Bill was one of them?

A crazy notion, but the fear of losing him to the realm of dreams, forgetting about him and what he’d done, would have been enough to galvanize me into action even if I hadn’t already set off running for the stairs.

I raced to ground level and rushed into the yard, not pausing to collect my socks or shoes. I grabbed my bike and was wheeling it clear of the building when I glanced up and noticed—to my horror—banks of thick green fog billowing down from the roof like a giant’s clammy fingers.

I stared at the fog, thinking everything The Cardinal had said was true, rooted to the spot with superstitious fear. Then I snapped out of it, decided to give the fog a run for its money, and struck for the gate as fast as I could.

The Troops on guard were already beginning to restrict access in and out of the complex. If not for my gold clearance, I’d have been turned back like the others who were trying to leave. As it was they let me through without argument, though I’m sure they’d have been stricter had I been five or ten minutes later, when word came down from Tasso or Frank not to let anybody out.

As I took a right turn away from Party Central, I noted a familiar motorcycle—Wami’s. I braked, jumped off my bike and ran to check for keys. Wami wasn’t a man to leave his keys in the open, but this had been a special occasion and in his rush to learn the truth of the Ayuamarcans he may have acted uncommonly. To my delight, I found he had. The keys were in the ignition, a fob—a tiny shrunken head—dangling gently from them in the brisk wind.

I jumped on and tore ahead of the banks of creeping fog, trying not to think about how awfully fitting it was for the son to follow in the saddle of his father.

26

I
t had been a long couple of days and I was all but dead on my feet. If Bill wasn’t waiting for me at his house, I wouldn’t know where to turn next. Thankfully the light was on when I pulled up outside. I rapped loudly on the window as I passed and he was at the door when I got there. He nodded somberly and ushered me in without saying a word. I sat in the guest chair in the living room, the huge window to my rear, Bill directly opposite. Our usual positions.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” He sounded weary.

“How did you know I was coming?”

“I had your apartment bugged long before you moved in. I recommended it to you and introduced you to Ali, remember?”

Then he’d been eavesdropping on me for years.

“Did Ali have anything to do with this?” I asked.

“No,” he answered to my relief.

“You heard me kill Priscilla?”

“Yes. That’s when I came back. I expected you last night. Where’d you get to?”

“Party Central. I wanted to make sure.”

“You didn’t believe her?”

“I didn’t want to.”

He smiled sadly, then said softly, “The house is wired. The explosives in the cellar are ready to blow.” He showed me a detonator in his left hand (which was wrapped in bandages and short a finger). “When we’re done talking, it’s over.”

“We’re dead men?”

“Yes.”

“So we can speak the truth?”

“That’s the idea. No more lies.”

I took a deep breath and said the words that tore me apart. “Why did you kill Ellen?”

“It was Priscilla’s doing. She belonged to the blind priests. I recruited her, and I was her superior, but her first loyalty was to the
villacs
. When she suggested killing Ellen, I rejected the idea, but the priests contacted her behind my back. I wasn’t told. I’d have stopped them if I knew. I never meant to involve Ellen. I loved her like a daughter.”

“I don’t believe you,” I sneered.

“It’s true,” he insisted. “I loved Ellen. I love
you
.”

“Then why destroy my life?” I screamed.

“The usual motive,” he said casually. “Revenge.”

“What the fuck did I ever do to you?”

“I’ve been planning this longer than you can imagine,” he said by way of reply. “I’ve had my sights set on you since you were a snotty-nosed kid who chased girls around the schoolyard and pulled their panties down. You were a real monster.”

I ignored his attempt to lighten the atmosphere. “What have I done to you, Bill? What did I do to make you hate me?”

“I don’t.”

“So why fuck with me like this?”

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far. It was the
villacs
. They were determined to ruin you. I had to go along with them. They wouldn’t have helped me otherwise.”

“I don’t understand,” I moaned. “Just tell me, Bill. Why did you do it?”

“Revenge,” he repeated, then added, “Not revenge for anything you did. I was after…” He reached into a pocket with his right hand, pulled something out, leaned down and rolled it across the floor to me. My fingers snatched for it. A black marble with golden squiggles down the sides. Now I knew how the marble had gotten into the trout’s mouth.

“Wami!” I gasped, and the fury drained out of me. I stared at Bill, horrified. He looked so small, timid, harmless. He wasn’t enjoying this.

“I’ve known you were his son all your life. I’ve been shadowing you since you were a kid, observing you, plotting around you. That’s how I teamed up with the priests. They were also interested in you, and feared I intended you harm. They wormed my scheme out of me, then struck a deal. If I gave them you, they’d give me Wami. If I’d turned them down, they’d have killed me.”

“Wami,” I said again. He’d told me he knew Bill. I tried recalling exactly what he’d said but couldn’t.

“The
villacs
have plans for you,” Bill went on. “They destroyed your old life in order to build a new one, to mold you the way they want you. I don’t know why—all these years, I was never able to work them out. But I helped them. As your friend, I showed them how to hurt you. If I hadn’t, they’d have eliminated me. That would have meant I couldn’t go after Wami.”

“Wami,” I said for the third time, then leaned forward. “Tell me about
him
.”

“He did something terrible to me a long time ago.”

“What?”

Bill shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“He killed someone close to you? Your mother? A brother? A lover?”

“Don’t ask, Al. Don’t push me there. My hand might slip if you do.”

I didn’t like it but I was in no position to argue. “OK,” I growled. “He fucked up your life.
And
? ”

“I’ve spent the past few decades plotting to get even.” Bill’s eyes were dark. “At first I meant to kill him. Plain, simple revenge. Track him down, put a gun to his head, blow his brains out the back of his skull.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “It wouldn’t have been enough. I wanted…” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “You could say
poetic justice
, but that doesn’t really explain it. I wanted
you
to kill him, you or one of his other sons. I didn’t want him looking into my eyes when he died—that would have been too easy. I wanted him to stare into the eyes of one he gave life to, one he brought into the world. I don’t expect you to understand, but there it is. That was my plan.”

“You’re crazy,” I whispered.

“No!” he snapped. “Vicious, yes. Crazy, no. I knew what I was doing and why. I spent years preparing. I used Nicola and Jinks to pitch the two of you together. I thought you’d hate him when you found out he was your father. I fingered him for Nic’s death, then had him kill the Fursts.

“When I learned of Ellen’s murder, I put my horror on hold, rushed to your apartment, found the marble and planted it.

“And when I sent you my finger, I thought, ‘Surely
now
he’ll react and strike the monster down.’ I never thought you would unite, that you’d side with him and believe him when he denied involvement with the murders or my kidnapping.”

He was crying hoarsely. “Why did you trust him, Al? Why didn’t you kill the bastard when you had the chance?”

“He was my father,” I answered.

“All the more reason!” Bill yelled. “If I was related to a beast like that, I’d move as swiftly as I could to rid the world of him. Ellen would be alive today if you’d—”

“Don’t!” I snarled. “Don’t blame me, you hypocritical son of a bitch. Ellen’s dead because of
you
. Not Wami, me or the blind fucking priests. You could have warned me, told me they were after me. You were my friend. I trusted you, loved you, took you into my confidence, and you did nothing but betray me. This is
your
fault. I don’t care what Wami did to you. Hurting me to get back at him is the act of a sick, unholy motherfucker.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He grinned through his tears. “But it wasn’t just Wami I was after. There were the priests and The Cardinal. They could have stopped him. All those years ago, they knew what he was up to. They could have shielded me. But they sat back and let him destroy me. I wanted to hurt those demons as well.

“The
villacs
would have destroyed your life anyway. I couldn’t have protected you from them. They’d have swatted me aside and spun their own devious webs. I could have used one of Wami’s other children—I’ve discovered several—but, by using you, I could hit the
villacs
and The Cardinal too.

“So I worked with them. I handed your head to them on a plate. And you know something? It would have been worth it.” He nodded madly. “Your life, Ellen’s, Nicola’s, my own. If you’d killed Wami, I could have gone to my grave happy. I’d have sacrificed this whole stinking city if I had to.”

I shook my head uncomprehendingly. “You were like a father to me. Didn’t it ever bother you, the way you manipulated me?”

“Why should it?” he replied weakly. “I was willing to sell my soul in return for a slice of revenge. A man who surrenders himself totally will hesitate at nothing. I’m not saying it was easy—my love for you was true—but if I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t do any different.”

He tapped his chest. “I’m empty here. Wami tore my heart out and devoured it. I’d have killed myself years ago, but hate kept me alive. I couldn’t die before I made him pay.”

We were going in circles. It was time to pin him down to facts.

“Tell me more about your plan,” I encouraged him, wiping tears from my cheeks. “You set me up with Nic, then used Jinks to pit me against Wami?”

“Yes.” A hint of pride invaded his tone. “I noticed Allegro’s resemblance to Wami when I busted him and had been keeping him in reserve. Nicola wasn’t part of the
villac
organization—she was one of Priscilla’s puppets—but she knew a bit about them and was a willing accessory.”

“OK,” I moved on. “Manipulating Nicholas, the Fursts, Kett… I follow most of that. What about Ellen and Priscilla? Did you plan to toss them together?”

“I already told you I didn’t. Priscilla didn’t know about Ellen until she ran into her in Cafran’s. The plan was for you to fall in love with Priscilla, then for
her
to be killed. You’d have found evidence linking her murder to Wami, and that should have been enough to prompt you into action.” He paused. “Priscilla wasn’t aware of that element of the plan. She thought
you
were being set up for a fall. The
villacs
told her you were to be sacrificed to the god of the sun.”

“What did you plan to do if I didn’t kill Wami?” I asked.

Bill frowned. “I hadn’t considered it. I was so sure…” He petered out. “After Ellen it would have been redundant to kill Priscilla. Since Ellen’s death failed to turn you against him, it was unlikely that Priscilla’s would. So I faked my kidnapping, hoping my disappearance might push you over the edge.”

“You didn’t arrange for Ama Situwa to see Priscilla and Ellen together?”

“No. That was either a stroke of misfortune or set up by the
villacs
. You found out the truth far swifter than I imagined. I was working on ways to convince you that Wami had kidnapped me. Now…” He sighed miserably.

I leaned back in the chair. A lot was clear, but there was much I still couldn’t get my head around. “What I don’t understand is why you assumed I’d be able to kill Wami. He’s an elite assassin. What made you think I stood a chance?”

“You’re his son,” Bill said.

I raised an eyebrow. “You thought paternal instinct would stay his hand?” Bill nodded. “That’s ridiculous!”

“I know Wami better than you do,” he disagreed. “He isn’t as emotionally lacking as he seems. I wouldn’t say he’s capable of love, but his children mean something to him and he’s never harmed any of them. If anyone was capable of getting close enough to him to strike, it was you or one of your siblings.”

“What about Valerie at Ziegler’s?” I asked. “She almost killed me. What would have become of your plans then?”

“They’d have evaporated.” He shrugged. “That’s life. There are no guarantees.”

“Who chopped off your finger?”

“I did it myself,” he said, caressing the bandaged stub. “Hurts like the Devil. It would have been simpler to send hair samples or toenail clippings, but I wanted to be dramatic.”

Bill reached behind his chair, produced a bottle of vodka and tossed it to me. I caught it in midair. “A toast to our success?”

“Later,” I said. “When we’re through.” I put it aside. “How many people have you killed over the years?”

“Do numbers matter?” he sighed. “We’ve both killed. Once you murder, your soul is damned. The ones that come after are inconsequential. The first is all that really counts.”

“Tell me what Wami did to you, Bill.” It seemed a good time to ask again, but he shook his head mutely.

“Have a drink,” he said instead. “We’ll get roaring drunk together and maybe I’ll tell you then.”

It sounded like a good idea. I’d be dead soon—why not enjoy one last tipple? The bottle had slipped down the side of the chair. I retrieved it and unscrewed the top. The fumes were intoxicating. I pressed the tip to my mouth.

I stopped and fixed the top back in place.

“Why do you keep pressing alcohol on me?”

Bill frowned. “What?”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve invited me to drown my sorrows. Why are you so anxious to get me back onto the bottle?”

Bill stared at me in silence, then at the vodka. He smiled, then laughed. “Jesus Christ! You know what I was up to?”

I shook my head. “Tell me.”