Hell's Horizon

24

Guess whose, Al m’boy.

The killer’s insight puzzled and troubled me. How did he know of my father’s ironic term of endearment? Nobody had heard him call me that. For the briefest of moments I thought Wami had sent the finger, that he’d been toying with me all along. Then I recalled the blade at his throat. Offering himself to me could have been a deadly bluff, but I didn’t think so. Paucar Wami was many dreadful things but he wasn’t my enemy.

The killer’s identity would come later. Right now there was the finger to ID. I knew it was Bill’s, but the Troop in me needed to be convinced. If Allegro Jinks could be passed off as Paucar Wami, a detached digit could easily be substituted for one of Bill Casey’s. There was no answer when I called him, and nobody at the station had seen him in a couple of days, but that hardly constituted proof.

I could have gone to Party Central with the finger, but I didn’t want to involve The Cardinal. Instead I rang the Fridge and asked for Dr. Sines’s home address.

Sines was watching TV with his wife when I arrived. His wife answered the door and scowled when I asked to see her husband. “Is this to do with work?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You people never give him a break,” she muttered, calling him to the door. He looked even less happy to see me than his wife had been.

“This better be important,” he growled, not inviting me in.

“It’s personal, Dr. Sines,” I said, remembering to address him formally. “May I come in?”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No, sir.”

He grumbled some curses, then beckoned me in, but didn’t lead me beyond the front hall. “Make it quick,” he snapped and I produced the finger, still on its silver tray, though now transferred from the box to a small plastic bag. He studied it in silence, then said drily, “I think it’s a finger.”

I chuckled obligingly. “I was hoping you could tell me whose.”

“Offhand, I couldn’t.” He cracked up.

I grinned, finding it harder to shape my mouth into a smile this time. “Good one.”

He wiped a few tears of mirth from his eyes. “Gallows humor. You need it to get by in a job like mine.” He got serious. “Any idea who the owner is?”

“Yes, but I’d rather not say.”

“It would be quicker if you did.”

“Regardless…”

“As you wish. Care to tell me why you brought it here, tonight, instead of down to the Fridge tomorrow?”

“I don’t want anyone connecting it to me.”

“I smell espionage. May I have the finger?” I handed it over. “You realize I must note where it came from? I can’t waltz in and pretend I found it on my way to work.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve got gold clearance — congratulations on the promotion — but a report must be filed, for The Cardinal. It would mean my job if I took your side against his and was subsequently discovered.”

I nodded understandingly, then asked if he’d heard about my wife. He said he had and offered his condolences.

“I’d appreciate your assistance more.”

“You don’t understand,” he retorted. “There are rules and procedures. I can’t—”

“You can,” I interrupted. “You guys are a law unto yourselves, don’t try telling me otherwise. You take bodies as you please, do with them as you wish, and everyone turns a blind eye.”

“That’s different. Our superiors grant us a certain amount of leeway to get the best out of us. But that doesn’t run to bucking the chain of command, to falsifying reports or sneaking in body parts.”

“You could do it if you wanted,” I pressed.

“Probably, but that’s not the—”

“You won’t get into trouble,” I said quickly. “All I want you to do is identify who the finger comes from.”

He shook his head. “Why should I put my neck on the line for you?”

It was a fair question, for which I had no ready answer.

“If your wife had been killed—,” I began.

“—I’d be mad as hell, just like you. But my wife’s alive and well, in no kind of danger whatsoever. I’d like to keep her that way.”

I thought about threatening him but he’d have gone to The Cardinal if I did.

“Sorry for disturbing you,” I said and started for the door.

“That’s it?” he asked, startled. “You’re not going to twist my arm?”

“No.”

“Wait.” He held out the bagged finger. “You forgot this.” I reached for the bag but he didn’t hand it over. Instead he turned it around and examined the base. “A clean cut. Either an extremely sharp blade or an electrical implement.” I’d figured as much myself, but said nothing. “The smallest finger of the left hand. This ties in with your wife’s death?” I nodded. “How?”

“I’d rather not say.”

He hesitated. I could see fear in his eyes but also professional pride. The human side of him wanted nothing to do with this, but his medical half was fascinated. It became a question of which would win out — self-preservation or curiosity.

“Can you tell me anything about where you think it came from?” he asked.

“I think it comes from a cop.”

“That should be simple enough to check. Assuming one was inclined to…” He tossed it about in silence, then said, “A man in his mid-forties was dropped off with us last night, unidentified. I could take a print of his little finger, swap it for this one and run some tests. I don’t make a habit of turning up for work on my day off but it’s not unheard of.”

He was nervous but excited. “OK. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll run the print of your finger against the police personnel database. If I make a match, fine. If I don’t, I go no further. Is that acceptable?”

“Great,” I smiled.

“But if somebody challenges me, I’ll ’fess up.”

I frowned — that wasn’t so great.

“It’s my best offer,” Sines warned. “Nobody will inquire unless they’re already suspicious, so if I have to tell the truth, it will be to someone who’s onto you anyway.”

“That’s reasonable,” I agreed.

“I’ll go now,” Sines said, pocketing the finger. “You know the abandoned car plant three blocks west of the Fridge? Wait for me in the showroom there. You can get in by the side door. I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours, unless I get detained. If I’m not there by”—he checked his watch—“eleven, go home and I’ll be in contact in the morning.”

“I can’t tell you how much—,” I started to thank him, but he cut in.

“Stuff it. I need my head examined, getting mixed up in something like this. If you say anything else, you might snap me around to my senses.”

I let myself out without a murmur.

I faced a long wait at the car plant. It was nearly ten past eleven when he turned up. I was getting ready to leave.

“Caught you,” he gasped. There was no light inside the room, but it was illuminated by the streetlamps. Sines pulled a pristine camp bed out from under a litter of papers and sat.

“A lot of guys at work use this place for making out,” he explained when I looked at him curiously. “I was here a few times myself in my courting days.”

“You’re late,” I noted. “Any trouble?”

“No. Just didn’t want to appear too anxious to leave.”

“Did you make a match?”

He nodded and came straight out with it. “Bill Casey.” I lowered my head and sighed. “It’s what you expected?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look happy.”

“I hoped I was wrong.”

“Sorry.” He handed the finger back. It was stained with ink.

“You didn’t get rid of it?” I asked.

“You didn’t ask me to.”

He’d ditched the tray. I tossed Bill’s finger into the air and caught it. “Is it any good now? I mean, could it be sewn back on?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

He didn’t bother to repeat himself. “I think I got away with it. Nobody asked any questions. But if The Cardinal or one of his men calls tomorrow and starts quizzing me…”

“Fine.” I started for the door.

“If it’s any consolation,” he called after me, “he was alive when the finger was amputated.”

I halted in the doorway. “No,” I said softly. “That doesn’t console me at all.” Then I went home to tell Priscilla.

We were awake most of the night. Priscilla thought Bill was dead and sobbed for him at regular intervals, but I was sure he hadn’t been killed. My tormentors hadn’t hesitated to mock me with the bodies of my dearly beloved before, so why stop now? It suited them to keep Bill alive, otherwise they’d have sent more than his finger. Perhaps they thought Bill’s death would drive me deeper into depression, whereas the possibility of being able to rescue him might draw me back into the game. If that was their plan, they knew me at least as well as I knew myself.

At one stage Priscilla pleaded with me to flee the city with her. She was afraid to be parted from me, sure the killers would come after her. She clung to me, wept and said I couldn’t leave her on her own. I stroked her softly and said I had no choice. She started to argue. Looked into my eyes. Fell silent.

In the early hours of the morning she asked how I was going to track Bill.

“By going after Ellen’s killer, like I should have when I finished with Valerie. When I find that bastard, I’ll find Bill.”

“You sound confident,” she remarked.

“His kidnapper wants me to find him. Bill would have been killed if the plan was just to hurt me. I’m being lured into a trap.”

“Then you can’t go after him!”

“I have to. Bill will be killed for certain if I don’t. At least this way he has a chance.”

When it was time to leave, she again begged me to stay. I told her gently but firmly that I couldn’t. When she persisted and said she was scared, I said, “Do you know how to use a gun?” She sobered up and nodded. I passed her my.45. “Stay here. Don’t go out. If anybody comes to the door, start firing.”

“I’ve only shot targets before,” she said, handling the gun nervously. “I don’t know if I could shoot a person.”

“You’d better hope that you can, or you’ll end up like Nic and Ellen,” I answered grimly, then left her and went hunting.

The lover was the link. One person connected Nic, Ziegler, Valerie and Ellen. When I found him, I’d have my killer. I could forget about Jinks, Breton Furst and the rest. All I needed was the lover.

I’d already failed to get to him through Nic. And I didn’t think anything would come of investigating Valerie’s or Ziegler’s backgrounds — since they’d been in league with the bastard, they’d have covered their tracks, sly snakes that they were.

Ellen was the key. She was the only innocent. She’d been coy about revealing her lover’s name, but the chances were that somebody knew who she’d been seeing, a friend she’d spoken to, a colleague who’d overheard her talking on the phone, a waiter who’d seen her with her beau in tow. That person might take a lot of finding, but I had time on my hands and hate in my heart. I’d root them out in the end.

I began with her family. Called Bob, Deborah and a few others. Discussed the funeral and wake, gradually working the conversation around to Ellen’s last few weeks. I mentioned to each that I thought she’d been seeing someone. A couple said that she’d dropped hints about a new lover, but none knew anything about him. Ellen had been as tight-lipped with her family as she’d been with me.

Before moving on to her friends, I rang Party Central and asked if I could meet The Cardinal. I thought it would be good to utilize his army of informants. Maybe one of them had seen Bill or knew of his whereabouts. If they didn’t, they could be told to keep their eyes and ears open for signs of him. But The Cardinal couldn’t be reached. His secretary promised to arrange a meeting as soon as possible, but it wouldn’t be today. Possibly tomorrow. I had no choice but to settle for that.

I called as many of Ellen’s friends as I could think of. Most were no friends of mine — many thought Ellen had married beneath herself when she hitched up with me, and they were right — and normally they wouldn’t have taken my call. But, given the grisly circumstances, they put aside their dislike and spared me a few minutes of their time.

As with her family, a few were aware that she’d been dating, but nobody knew a thing about him. The phone conversations weren’t an entire washout — her older friends passed on the names of newer acquaintances — but I found no leads of substance.

The last of her friends to see her alive was a woman called Ama Situwa. I’d never met her — she was somebody Ellen had befriended recently — and I only got her name through one of the others. She sounded nice on the phone. Turned out she was the daughter of the guy who ran Cafran’s restaurant. Small world.

Ama had run into Ellen in the lounge of the Skylight the night before her murder. She was there for a birthday party, saw Ellen at the bar with another woman and went to say hello. Ellen greeted her warmly and said they were waiting for dates. Ama made a joke about men always being late and invited them to Cafran’s later if they were at a loose end — the birthday gang was moving back there after the Skylight. Ellen said they’d drop by if the men failed to show, and that had been that.

“Any idea who the other lady was?” I asked.

“No. I didn’t know many of Ellen’s friends.”

I’d have to try and find her companion — she might know the name of the guy Ellen was supposed to meet. “Can I come around sometime and discuss this with you?” I asked.

“Sure,” Ama said. “I’d be happy to help. It was terrible, what happened. Ellen was a lovely person.”

“Yes,” I said hollowly. “She was.”

I dropped by the Skylight and questioned the staff, asking if they’d noticed Ellen in the bar that night. Negative answers all around. I paid special attention to the Troops — since the room hadn’t been signed for, Ellen might have been sneaked in, perhaps past a bribed guard — but they swore they knew nothing. More than one told me that they’d been more alert since the Nicola Hornyak fuckup. Frank was coming down hard on shirkers and several soldiers had already been replaced.

While I was there I asked after Valerie Thomas, on the off chance that I might stumble across a lead. Nobody knew much about her. She’d worked at the Skylight a long time but had never gone out with the girls or attended a staff event.

“She was creepy,” one workmate opined. “Like Bette Davis in that movie, the one where she feeds her sister a rat?”

“She worked hard,” an assistant manager assured me. “I was sorry to see her go. Never took anything, not even a sugar cube. Honest, loyal, trustworthy. An ideal employee if you exclude the two dead customers.”

“Men in her life? She didn’t mention any.”

“Valerie never seemed keen on men. She hadn’t much time for them. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’d been a lesbo.”

“Valerie? With a man? I don’t think so!”

It was late when I finished at the Skylight. I decided to give Ellen’s circle of friends a rest. I still had plenty of names to work through, and more would probably crop up in the course of my inquiries, but they could wait till morning. I called Priscilla to check that she was all right — as I had several times throughout the day — and told her I’d be a while, to go to bed and get some sleep. She agreed, but only if I promised to wake her when I got home.

Next I rang Paucar Wami.

My father was surprised to hear from me but agreed to meet, even though I wouldn’t tell him what it was about. He wanted to come to my place but I quickly put paid to that suggestion — I didn’t want him anywhere near Priscilla. I asked if he could meet me at the site of the Manco Capac statue instead. We fixed an hour, I nipped into a burger bar for a bite, then it was rendezvous time.

The site was deserted apart from a few guards who were easy to dodge. I looked for blind men but there weren’t any on parade. I stopped by the foot of the statue and waited for Wami. I’d been there a few minutes when a small pebble dropped on my head. I scratched my crown and moved aside, but moments later another fell. I glanced up and there was the tattooed face, grinning down at me.

“You should choose your ground more carefully, Al m’boy. What if I had meant you mischief?”

I climbed up to join him. I looked for the trapdoor when I made the platform but the foundations had been built upon since I was last here. The entrance to the underworld was now sealed off.

“The builders have been busy,” Wami noted. He was dressed in black from head to toe. Except for the snakes, he appeared invisible against the dark backdrop of the night sky.

“They’re not the only ones,” I said, then told him about Valerie’s confession and what had happened since. The snakes on his face appeared to flicker angrily when I mentioned the note with the finger, but he said nothing.

“And now they have Bill,” I concluded.

Wami scowled. “I agree with you — they have kept him alive to tempt you back into the game. But can you save him or is he doomed whatever you do?”

“Probably doomed,” I sighed, “but I have to try. I’m dancing to their tune, but what else can I do? If I give up on Bill, he’s finished. I’ll be getting fingers, toes and other parts in the mail from here till doomsday.”

“A despicable ploy,” Wami chuckled. “I too have sent a few men home to their loved ones in such a manner. It never fails to elicit mad screams and illogical behavior. You should write off Bill Casey.”

“I can’t do that,” I said flatly.

“No,” he agreed with a wry smile. “You lack the detached killer’s instinct which would make life much simpler. So, what can you do?”

“Go on looking for Ellen’s lover. Keep asking questions. Scour the streets. Raid every den in town.”

“You will be an old man by the time you are finished.”

“You know a better way?”

“Go after the blind men,” he suggested. “Drop your search for your friend and call their bluff. Put out word that if he is not returned immediately, you will quit this city.”

“You think the villacs have him?”

“If not, they can get him.”

I thought about it, then shook my head. “They wouldn’t buy it.”

“They might. They value you highly, judging by your previous encounter. If you threaten to walk, they might cave in and deliver, if not the answers you seek, at least the friend you wish to save.”

“And if they don’t? I just leave?” He nodded. “No. I won’t gamble with Bill’s life.”

“It is your best hope of saving him.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Very well,” he sniffed. “I have offered my advice. If you ignore it, you must continue as you are, ineffective as your methods have so far proved.”

He slipped toward the ladder.

“I need your help,” I said quietly as he was about to drop out of sight. He stared at me curiously. “You know more about this city’s dark heart than anyone. You can go places no other can go. If I fail to get a fix on Ellen’s lover, I’ll have to track down Bill the hard way. I’ll need you for that.”

“Asking your pappy for help, Al m’boy?” he chortled.

“I need you,” I said again.

“But you do not want me.” He shrugged. “Not that it matters. Filial love was never high on my list of priorities.”

“You’ll help?”

“I know Bill Casey,” he muttered and his face creased. “There is… history between us.”

I stared incomprehensively. “He never said he knew you.”

“It is not the sort of history one readily shares.” His expression cleared. “I would save him if I could. Call me if all else fails and I will help. In the meantime I will keep my ear to the ground and let you know if I hear of anything.”

“Thanks.” I tried to sound grateful.

“I hope you realize my aid does not come free,” he said. “My time is precious. I have gone out of my way to assist you. When the day comes for you to repay the debt, I hope you remember.”

“What do you want?” I asked, an icy chill snaking down my spine.

“I always dreamed of one of my sons following in my footsteps…”

“Bullshit,” I laughed.

“What ungrateful creatures the young can be,” he moaned, but the shine of his grinning teeth betrayed him. “You are right, of course — your actions once I flee this mortal shell matter as much to me as those of a slug. However, it would amuse me to think of you devoting your life to the cause espoused by your demon of a pappy.”

“Forget it,” I snapped. “I’ve been an executioner, but I was following orders. I could never kill for kicks or profit.”

“Not even to save Bill Casey?”

I shook my head uncertainly. “I couldn’t.”

“You killed for The Cardinal. Why not for Bill?”

“That was different. It was business. I’m not a killer.”

“Perhaps,” Wami smiled. “Or perhaps you are, but have not yet realized it.”

He left me with that thought, vanishing down the ladder like a spider, back to his web of a city.

I woke Priscilla when I got home and told her about my day (omitting the encounter with Wami). I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep — on top of my other worries, I now had my debt to Wami to consider — but I was exhausted. I passed out while telling Priscilla about my conversation with Ama Situwa and didn’t wake till the sun was high in the sky.

Priscilla cooked a huge breakfast. By the end of it I felt like sitting in a chair all day to vegetate. But there was work to be done, people to be interviewed, and though Priscilla again pleaded with me not to leave her, I was soon back on the streets.

I called several of those I’d talked to yesterday, in light of my conversation with Ama, and asked if they’d been in the Skylight with Ellen the night before her murder. Nobody had been, though a few had seen her earlier that day. I thanked them for taking my call, then started on fresh contacts.

I concentrated on work colleagues. I didn’t know many people from Preston’s, the company she worked for, and those I spoke to weren’t as forthcoming as her friends. Some questioned my identity and wanted to know how they could be sure I was who I claimed to be. I offered to drop by and conduct my inquiries in person but the manager who dealt with me was set against that — yes, Miss Fraser had been a valued employee and they regretted her demise, but life went on and they didn’t want strangers turning up at will, interrupting their routines.

Ellen had always said she worked for the most uptight employers in the city. Now I knew she hadn’t been kidding. I convinced some of her less icy colleagues to meet me that night for drinks, and a few more said they might fit me into their schedules later in the week, but all claimed to know nothing of Ellen’s personal life or the men she’d dated.

During one of the breaks I allowed myself between calls, my cell phone rang. One of The Cardinal’s secretaries. The Great One was willing to meet me if I got over there in a hurry, but it would have to be brief.

Party Central was a hive of frenzied activity when I arrived. Teams of Troops were gathering in the yard, three or four per group, then setting out armed to the armpits. Frank was coordinating things. During a quiet moment I asked what was going on.

“Manhunt,” he snapped, clutching a clipboard as if his life depended on it. “That bastard Capac Raimi.”

“The Cardinal’s golden boy?” I recalled Frank’s previous outburst about the young pretender to the throne.

“They got into a fight last night. We could have taken care of him then, but The Cardinal — in that glorious, fucked-up way of his — let him go. Vincent Carell and a few others ran into him later. He took them out.”

“Vincent’s dead?” The news didn’t disturb me — we weren’t friends — but I was startled. Close confidantes of The Cardinal and Ford Tasso hardly ever met with sticky ends, unless they ran afoul of their masters.

“Dead as disco,” Frank said without humor.

“On the off chance that I see him, what are the orders? Shoot on sight or bring him in?”

“Officially, bring him in. Off the record, blow the fucker away. There’ll be shit to face if you do, but I’ll back you up, even if it means my job.”

Checking in my shoes and socks downstairs, I proceeded to the fifteenth floor. The halls were buzzing with Troops and other underlings. It took a while to shove through them and make it to The Cardinal’s inner sanctuary. His secretary held me up until he was free. About twenty minutes later, a posse of soldiers spilled out of his room and I was ushered in.

The Cardinal was sitting at his desk, fiddling with a puppet. As I got closer I realized Frank hadn’t been kidding when he said the boss had been in a fight — his face was a mess.

“You look like hell,” I noted, taking a seat.

He managed a weak smile. “You should see the other guy,” he chuckled, then grimaced and clutched his sides. “It hurts when I laugh but that’s nothing to what it’s like when I piss. I’m getting old, Al. Time was, I’d have taken a beating like this in my stride. Now I feel like a lump of shit that’s been simmering on low for a couple of hours.” He let the puppet flop to the floor and massaged the back of his neck.

“Enough of my complaints,” he boomed. “You didn’t come here to listen to an old fart moaning about himself. What can I do for you?”

I told him about Bill, Valerie, the villacs. I didn’t run him through the entire story — time was short — but I filled him in on the key facts.

“It doesn’t surprise me,” he grunted when I’d finished. “About the woman lying to protect another, I mean, or those blind priests being involved. So, what can I do to help?”

“Set your people after him. Maybe one of your informants knows who kidnapped him, or can find out. Spread the word that you don’t want him harmed. Demand his safe return.”

“What makes you think his abductors will pay attention to me?”

“It’s worth a try.”

“Perhaps. But I’m too busy to deploy my agents. I’ll need a day or two, perhaps a week. My business with Mr. Raimi should have reached a conclusion by then. Once that’s done and dusted, I and mine are at your service.”

“A week’s too long. He could be dead by then.”

“We could all be dead by then,” The Cardinal replied. “My hands are tied. I cannot…” He hesitated. “You have heard the rumors that I’ve been grooming Mr. Raimi to succeed me?”

“Yes.”

“What I tell you now stays between us. You don’t tell anyone. Understand?”

I nodded wordlessly.

He took a deep breath, then locked gazes with me. “I’m dying. A brain tumor. I learned of it a year ago. By rights I should be dead already, but I fought like a tiger and earned an extra few months. I’ve three or four weeks to go, but any day now I’ll start to slide. My vision will fade first. I’ll lose my mental faculties soon after. I’ll spend the last week or two in a coma.”

He smiled bitterly and waited for me to respond. I couldn’t. I’d always thought The Cardinal would go on forever. It never occurred to me that he was mortal like the rest of us, subject to the same random laws of life and death.

“Say something,” he snarled.

“I don’t know what to say. I… Are you certain?”

“Sure as shit. You’re the only person who knows, bar my doctors. I’ve even kept Mr. Tasso in the dark. If word had spread, this last year would have been hell. I’d have spent it struggling to hold things together. You know what vultures are like when they scent death.”

“Why are you telling me?” I asked, bewildered.

“I want you to understand.” He leaned forward. “I’ve lived a life of sin and corruption. I suffer from no illusions — if there’s a hell, I’m heading there by express train. I have nothing to look forward to. I never had, not since killing my first man when I was still a child. All I have is this empire. I’ve devoted myself to it, and if it dies with me, my entire existence will have been for nothing.

“I’ve groomed heirs in the past, to little avail. Capac Raimi is my last throw of the dice. If he fails, my life is a failure. That’s why I didn’t kill him for doing this to me.” He tapped his face. “Why I’m still feeding him rope and praying that he doesn’t hang himself with it. Why I’m clinging to hope rather than giving myself over to despair.”

“But what does any of that have to do with me?”

The Cardinal covered his eyes with the middle three fingers of both hands.

“The villacs?” I frowned.

“If Capac Raimi survives the next seventy-two hours and proves himself worthy of filling my shoes, he’ll need those meddlers. They’re more influential than you can imagine, and without their assistance, no man can run this city. I can’t afford to piss them off at this delicate stage.

“In a few days, matters will have been resolved. Capac Raimi will have made his stand or fallen. Either way, I’ll be free to act, and then — assuming my tumor doesn’t kick in and turn me into a fruitcake — I’ll do all I can for you. We’ll go after your tormentors, find your friend, put everything right that can be put right. Until then, I must be neutral.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of The Cardinal’s extraordinary pledge, but there was no mistaking his earnestness. If he’d been playing with me before, he wasn’t any longer.

“And in the meantime?” I asked quietly.

“Go about your business. If you find the killer, do with him as you wish. If not, I’ll get in touch and we’ll make plans.”

His secretary paged him and said Ford Tasso was on his way up. He thanked her and said she should send him straight in when he arrived.

“I have to bid you farewell. Mr. Tasso has not taken his son’s death well. If I can’t calm him down, he might do something silly when and if young Raimi turns up again.”

“His son?” I asked.

“Vincent Carell. Ford Tasso was his father. You didn’t know?”

“No.”

“I didn’t realize the secret had been so well kept. That’s why we went out of our way to overlook his deficiencies. In all honesty,” he said in a tone of strictest confidence, “his death isn’t too much of a blow. I’m only surprised the fool survived this long. He won’t be missed. Mr. Tasso will realize that once he’s had time to think about it. He’d better — if Raimi comes through, he’ll be the new boss. Wouldn’t do to have bad blood between them.”

“You really think Tasso would serve under the man who killed his son?”

“Ford Tasso was born to serve,” The Cardinal said, then led me to the door.

I would see him once more from afar, two nights later, after he fell to his death, but this was our last encounter. As I made my way downstairs to collect my shoes, I brooded on how healthy he looked for a man on his last legs, and found myself wondering if hell was big enough to accommodate both Ferdinand Dorak and the First of the Fallen, and if it wasn’t, which of the two would be forced out. Old Nick was a mighty foe, but I couldn’t see The Cardinal playing second fiddle to anyone. The Devil might be about to get his ass kicked. I almost wished I could be there to see it.

25

I ended up exploring more blind alleys on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. Ellen’s workmates proved as clueless as I’d suspected. None knew anything of her love life. I showed them photographs of Valerie, Ziegler and Nick, along with pictures of everyone else associated with the investigation, in case one would jog somebody’s memory, but although several recognized the now infamous Miss Thomas, nobody could connect any of the suspects to Ellen.

Wednesday afternoon, following an uninformative interview with one of Ellen’s friends, I realized I was close to Cafran’s and called in to have a few words with Ama Situwa, to see if she could tell me anything about Ellen’s dinner companion. I guessed it had been Valerie in the Skylight bar with Ellen, but figured I should confirm it.

It was quiet when I arrived and a bored-looking waiter pointed to Ama. She was laying cutlery on one of the tables. The silverware jangled loudly in her hands, which shook nervously. This impression was reinforced when I tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped.

“Easy,” I said as she turned, brandishing one of the knives. “I come in peace.”

“Then why are you sneaking up on people?” she snapped.

“Didn’t mean to.” I stuck out a hand. “I’m Al Jeery. I called about Ellen?”

Her face relaxed into a warm grin. “Sorry for biting.” She laid the cutlery down in a bundle. “Shall we go through to the kitchen? We can talk in private there.”

I followed her into the back. Ama found a quiet spot and pulled up a couple of stools. She asked if I’d like anything to eat. I said I didn’t want to impose.

“So,” she smiled. “What would you like to know?”

“You saw Ellen in the Skylight the night before her murder?”

“Yes.”

“Any idea of the time?”

“After nine, maybe a quarter past.”

“She was with another woman?”

“Yes. They were waiting for dates.”

“Do you know if they were going on together from there or if they were planning to separate?”

“I’ve no idea. The bar was noisy, I’d had a few drinks. We didn’t say much.”

“The other woman — could you describe her?”

“White. Pretty. Well dressed.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t paying attention. I might recognize her if I saw her again, but…”

“No problem.” I forced the smile I’d been making good use of recently. “If you can spare the time, I’d like you to look at some photos.”

“Sure.”

I took out the envelope, shook a few snapshots onto the table and shifted through the pile, lining them up. “If you see anyone you know, please let me…”

She wasn’t listening. Her eyes had focused on a picture and her lips were pursed. She leaned her head sideways, reached for the photo, stopped. “May I?”

“By all means,” I told her, heart starting to pound.

I watched with sick fascination as she picked up the photo and studied it. She sorted through the rest of the pile until she found another.

“This woman… I can’t say for sure — it was dark and I didn’t get that good a look — but I think this is the woman I saw with Ellen.”

“It can’t be,” I said shakily. “You’re mistaken.”

“Maybe, but it sure looks like her.”

I stared at the photos in her hand and suddenly, terribly, it made sense.

“Thank you,” I muttered, sliding off the stool, almost tumbling to the floor.

“Are you all right?” she asked, reaching out to steady me.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks. I have to leave now. You’ve been very helpful. Thank—”

I started for the door.

“Mr. Jeery — your photographs.”

“Keep them. I don’t… Goodbye.”

I rushed out of the restaurant and fell to the pavement, panting, forcing back bile. I raised a hand and watched it shake like crazy. Gradually, as minutes passed, the shaking subsided and I breathed normally. When I felt steady, I stood, fetched my bike and pushed it along for a while, collecting my thoughts.

I knew who the link was. The lover. The pieces fell into place neatly in retrospect. Ellen saying she might surprise me. The porter in the Skylight who said Valerie Thomas could be a lesbo. Priscilla and Nic tricking together, closer than ordinary friends. Ellen laughing — a wedding wouldn’t be appropriate.

So obvious. Hard to believe it had taken me this long to figure it out. I didn’t know the motive, but that would come. One short ride and all the answers would be at my fingertips. I wouldn’t even have to search. I knew exactly where to find the monster.

I climbed on my bike and started pedaling, slowly at first, then faster, furiously, till I was flying, a hurricane on two wheels, destination — home.

Ali was bagging bagels as I started up the stairs. I retraced my steps. He burst into a smile when I entered. “Hello, my friend!” he greeted me, emerging from behind the counter to pump my hand. “Back on your feet and hungry again? I can guess what you are after. Salmon and cream cheese, yes?”

“No,” I said softly.

“The new lady in your life has changed you,” he chuckled. “An occupational hazard of love, yes?”

I cleared my throat. “You should shut up shop for a while.”

He frowned. “Is this a joke, my friend?”

I shook my head. “Go for a walk and don’t come back for a couple of hours.”

Ali stared at me. “You know I cannot desert my post.”

“You’re not a soldier, Ali.”

“Still…”

“Trust me.” I grasped his shoulder and squeezed softly. “You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to get involved.”

His eyes swiveled upward, as if he could see through the ceiling. When he looked back at me, he wasn’t any the wiser, but he nodded. He didn’t know what I was going to do, but he knew I wouldn’t ask him to leave unless it was bad.

“I will go for a walk,” he decided. “I could do with the exercise, yes?”

I clapped his back and helped him lock up the store.

“I will be seeing you soon?” he asked as I resumed my climb.

“Maybe,” I lied.

As I turned the key, I remembered I had left my gun with Priscilla. I glanced at my feet, collected my wits, opened the door. “I’m back!” I called out.

“You’re home early,” she welcomed me, stepping through from the kitchen. She stood on her tiptoes for a kiss. I took her in my arms and obliged. She squinted at me, puzzled, when I let go abruptly.

“You look very enigmatic,” she remarked. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got a lead.” I gazed around the apartment, searching for the gun. “I have to go out again. Can I have my gun back? I might need it.”

“You think you’ve found the killer?” she asked, a slight tremor to her voice.

“No, just a lead. I probably won’t need the gun, but if you don’t mind letting me have it for a while…”

“Of course not. It’s in the kitchen. Wait here and I’ll fetch it.” She trotted off like a lamb. Good enough to eat. She came back moments later and pressed the pistol into my hand.

“Thanks,” I said, holding it by the barrel.

“So, where are you—?” she began.

I slammed the butt of the gun into her face, smashing her nose. She reeled away, stunned. I followed after her and clubbed the back of her head. She fell to the floor, where I pinned her and cuffed her wrists behind her waist. Then I turned her over.

I’d been expecting a torrent of abuse but she only laughed at me, spitting blood out the side of her mouth.

“You found out!” she howled gleefully.

“Bitch!” I slapped her face with the gun. “Murdering whore!” Grabbed her hair and yanked her head forward, ramming the gun up under her chin. “Why?”

“Why not?” she giggled, then added as I started to shake, “Get a grip. You’ll topple over from a heart attack if you carry on like this. Deep breaths, lover.”

I sat back and regarded her contemptuously. “You killed Nic and Ellen?”

“Guilty. Valerie finished off Nic, but I did most of the damage. I handled Ellen on my own. She was easier. Weaker.”

“You were their lover. Valerie, Nic, Ellen. You fucked them and killed them.”

“It wasn’t hard. Even Ellen. She’d never been with a woman before, but once I set my tongue in action, she lapped it up.” A wicked chuckle. “So to speak.”

I grinned in spite of myself, the grin of a lion with a keeper trapped in its cage. “You played me for a fool,” I whispered. “I was suspicious of you at the start, but you convinced me of your innocence. I cut you out of the investigation. Took you into my life, my bed, my apartment, and never guessed, not once.”

She smirked. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I did a bit of acting in my earlier days. Could have gone into the movies if Daddy hadn’t been so set against it. But I never gave a performance this good. This was my pièce de résistance.”

“Why waste it on me?” I asked.

“Why not?” she replied again.

“It’s as simple as that? You picked my name out of a book?”

“Not quite. I was following orders.”

“Whose?”

“The sun god’s.”

I cocked the gun. “Don’t fuck with me,” I growled.

“I’m through fucking,” she said. “Nic was a sacrifice. She knew what was up. She didn’t know she was to be killed, but once things got under way she played along, making the most of a bad lot. She always was a good sport.”

“Ziegler said he didn’t know she was going to be murdered.”

“He didn’t. We brought Rudi along to read the necessary passages. When he went home, Jinks and I carved her up and carted her to the Skylight. I thought she was dead, but she was still alive when Valerie checked later. Not for long though.” She sang the last line.

“You killed Nic to appease a fucking sun god,” I muttered, thinking quickly. “But why leave the body at the Skylight?”

“Orders.”

“The sun god’s?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you to fuck up my life as well?”

“Sure did.”

“You’ve got a direct line to him?” I sneered.

“He spoke to me through his earthly agent. Told me to spin a web and draw you in. I don’t know why he bothered with a sap like you, but you don’t question the god of the sun. You obey his word or burn.”

“Did he tell you to kill Ellen?”

“Yes. But through his priests this time. I ran into Ellen a couple of days after our encounter in Cafran’s. An impartial observer might say it was coincidence, but I’m sure it was destiny. I saw she was attracted to me and lured her on. I told my agent and suggested killing her but he vetoed the idea. Then the villacs said to proceed. I’m not sure how they knew about us, but I was glad they did. I got a real buzz out of killing her.”

The priests had told a half-truth when I met them in the underground cavern — they hadn’t murdered Ellen directly, but they had sanctioned it. I’d make the bastards pay if I could.

“Why kill Ellen?” I asked.

“To destroy you. The villacs said it was important. I don’t know why. I just followed orders and used my initiative when the opportunity arose.” She started humming.

“You’re crazy as a coyote,” I muttered.

“Who are you to judge?” she retorted. “What do you think you look like to the god of the sun? Have you any idea how insignificant you are? How tiny? How—”

I gagged her. I’d heard all I needed to hear. There was still Bill to ask about but that could come later, when I’d loosened her lips. Right now I wanted to focus on the payback. I thought of all the tools in the apartment that I could use. I had a small Bunsen burner. A hacksaw. Pliers. A hammer. A drill. Lots of knives.

Once I’d gathered my implements, I laid them on the floor where she could see them. There was fear in her eyes, which excited me. Unlike Valerie, she hadn’t inured herself to pain. She could be hurt.

I took the smallest finger of her left hand — the same digit she’d cut off Bill — and wedged it between the pliers. I gave a gentle squeeze and her body stiffened as she yelped into the gag. I stood there a moment and thought about what I was doing. Could I justify this? Revenge was one thing, but torture? Could I inflict pain on a woman I’d thought I might be in love with less than an hour ago?

I thought about Paucar Wami and the tainted blood running through my veins. Ellen in the Skylight, cut to ribbons, short life cruelly ended, hair plastered across the pillows.

My hands tightened. I saw the flesh of her finger start to whiten. A thin stream of blood trickled from the cut. She was made of weak stuff. One good wrench and the finger would be off. One sudden burst of energy and…

I let the pliers drop. Seconds later I dropped beside them. Tears rolled down my cheeks and my chest heaved with sobs.

I couldn’t do it. I had every reason to, but something held me back and wouldn’t let me take the last, damning step that would separate me from all that had once defined my humanity.

I removed the gag from Priscilla’s mouth.

“Coward,” she laughed.

“Yes,” I agreed sadly. “I am.”

“I thought you meant business. I should have known better. You’re a waste of flesh. What sort of man are you, that you can’t take it upon yourself to avenge the murdered love of your life?”

“Who said I won’t avenge her?” I tapped the barrel of the gun. “I might not be able to torture, but I can kill.”

“Any fool can kill. You might as well leave me for the chair if that’s all you’re going to do. If you were a real man, you’d torment me the way I tormented Ellen. You should have seen the way she jerked and—”

“I don’t want to hear it. I took the gag off so you could make your peace with your god. I don’t know if an afterlife awaits, if you believe in one or not—”

“I do,” she assured me. “I do.”

“—But if you want to depart this world with as clear a conscience as possible, tell me what happened to Bill, where I can find him, who your sun god’s agent is.”

“Al,” she tutted. “You don’t go looking for one with the power of the sun—he finds you.”

“Even so. Humor me.”

“You won’t like it,” she mocked. “Ignorance is bliss. You’ll hate it if you make me tell.”

“Leave me to worry about that. Who is he?”

She let out a fake sigh. “Lean close and I’ll whisper his name in your ear.”

I expected her to spit or bite my lobe, but she had something far more effective in mind — the truth.

“Here’s a clue. His first name rhymes with kill.”

Then she kissed the side of my face, threw her head back and cackled hysterically until I fired a bullet through the middle of her eyes and sent her twisted soul screaming on its way to hell.

I left the gun by the corpse and went to the bathroom to wash. The water was cold, fast, fresh. I ducked my head under the tap to wet my neck and head. I needed the cold shock to the system. Things had been hot in that room. Hot as

(rhymes with kill)

hell.

My mind was stuck in low gear, reeling from her final blow. Maybe it had been a vicious final tease. I knew it wasn’t, but I prayed to whatever gods there might be that it

(rhymes with kill)

was.

I saw a couple of Priscilla’s vodka bottles lying around. I picked one up and sniffed from its open top. I could have done with a drink. More than ever before. One for the road, to gear me up for the confrontation to come. One wouldn’t hurt. Just one little…

I put it down.

Not yet. Not until this was over and there was nothing left but the drink and the grave. When the last hand was played, I’d toast my damnation and let the alcohol have its wicked way. But not before. Not while there was still a round

(rhymes with kill)

to go.

I changed clothes, grabbed the few articles I needed, stepped over the body and exited. There were facts to be checked. Deductions to be drawn. I knew what rhymed with kill but I didn’t know how he tied in with Priscilla, Nic and the rest. I wouldn’t face him till I’d pieced at least part of the jigsaw together.

One of the blind villacs was outside. His white eyes were fixed to my window and he was chanting in the strange language of theirs, his face a picture of rapture. I didn’t stop to question him. Priests, Incas and sun gods didn’t matter anymore. I got on my bike, turned a blind eye to the blind priest, and set off for Party Central.

It was quieter than it had been the day before. From what I gathered, the search for Capac Raimi had been called off, though nobody knew why. I wasn’t bothered. The Cardinal’s games meant nothing to me any longer.

With the aid of several secretaries, I took to the floors above the fifteenth and waded through the masses of paperwork. I was there all night — the secretaries called for replacements when it became too much for them — and well into the next day, becoming one with the records, picking apart the woven webs of deceit, layer by heartrending layer.

I started with Howard Kett because he was the easiest to connect to Bill. The pair had been colleagues for fifteen years. Though they were never close, it would have been a simple matter for Bill to keep tabs on his superior. Kett himself told me Bill had been with him when he first busted Nick. Bill must have known about them before he moved on Nicola. Known of the brother’s and sister’s penchant for playing tricks. Told Nick to set Kett up, so he could be used to lead me on.

I tried finding further insidious links between Bill and Nick, couldn’t, so moved on to Nic. There was no hard evidence that they’d ever met, but I didn’t need any. I could connect the dots using a little imagination. For starters there was the lie she’d spun about her reasons for joining AA. She had said her brother forced her to seek help. I’d thought nothing of the lie when it surfaced but now I reconsidered. If she’d set out to ensnare me, she must have known I was a member. I’d kept my membership secret from everyone except Ellen and Bill. Someone else could have found out and put her up to it, but I saw no reason to ignore the obvious — Bill sent her.

Allegro Jinks had been arrested several times, but it was only when I checked his files more thoroughly that I noted the name of his last arresting officer — the good Bill Casey. Jinks had been a perpetual offender, yet his record since being paroled (he got out early on the recommendation of Officer Casey) was spotless. Had he seen the light and mended his ways?

Had he, fuck! According to the files, he’d been as active these last few years as ever, but recently he’d had a guardian angel looking out for him, somebody who’d persuaded cops to change statements and drop charges, convinced informers to forget Allegro Jinks, kept things quiet. The records didn’t state the name of this upright citizen, but I had no difficulty supplying it.

Valerie Thomas was a tricky customer. Not much on her. Nobody knew where she came from, what her background was, how old she was, or even if that was her real name. She’d never been arrested or cautioned. She would have been entirely unconnectable to the case, except for a copy of the form she’d filled out years earlier when applying for a job at the Skylight. The two references she listed were a certain Rudi Ziegler and William Casey. There were no copies of the references they’d submitted, but I’m sure they had nothing but praise for the hardworking Miss Thomas.

Apart from their names appearing together on Valerie’s form, it took me a long time to find anything linking Ziegler to Bill. There was nothing in their immediate files to connect them, and it was only when I asked the secretaries to check for mentions of anything Incan that results rose like dead fish after an underwater explosion.

Over the years, there had been many public meetings of those interested in the city’s Incan history, and the names of Bill and Rudi cropped up regularly, usually as audience members, though in a couple of instances Rudi had given lectures. There was no proof that the two had met at the meetings, but I took it for granted that they had.

My inquiries were exhaustive. I even managed to link Bill to Ho Yun Fen, the unfortunate tattooist who created Allegro Jinks’s serpent design, only to run afoul of the original lord of the snakes. He used to return home to mainland China every few years and had brought back small parcels of valuable fireworks on a couple of occasions, for use by his friend Bill Casey.

Pinning down evidence of a partnership between Bill and Priscilla proved damn near impossible but I was determined to do so, not wanting to believe the very worst of my oldest friend until my nose was rubbed in it. Priscilla was the key link in the chain. She introduced Nic to Ziegler and dragged her into the world of sun gods and human sacrifices. Manipulated Valerie and Rudi, acting as the main line of communication between Bill and his team of puppets. I refused to leave Party Central till I’d tied her to him.

It took laborious hours and countless dead ends, but eventually I found it. A photograph in Bill’s file that I’d previously passed over, an innocuous group shot taken at one of his fireworks displays several years earlier. He was pictured with a group of girls in pirate costumes, young actresses who’d performed a short play as part of the show. He had his arm around one of the fresh-faced beauties, a cute waif of a girl, recognizable on closer scrutiny as a younger version of the viperous Priscilla Perdue.

Tucking the photo away, I took a break, shoveled food down and showered. While drying myself, I wondered how I was going to locate Bill and if he was aware that I knew about him. I was sure he did and, after more thought, figured I knew where I’d be able to find him.

Returning to the upper floors of Party Central, I set about cross-referencing the players, connecting Priscilla to Jinks, Nic to Valerie, and so on, just for the hell of it. I’d barely made a start when my cell phone rang. It was Paucar Wami.

“Events are coming to a head,” he told me, sounding unusually agitated. “The secrets of the Ayuamarca file are about to be revealed, and you, lucky boy, are invited to the grand unveiling.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Cardinal is laying his cards on the table and I have a fly on the wall. It promises to be an invigorating experience.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I sighed, then said, “I know who set us up.”

I expected a gasp of surprise and a hundred questions, but all he said was, “Good for you. Now get your ass over here.”

“Don’t you want to know who it is?” I asked, taken aback.

“Tell me later. This is far more important.”

“Not to me.”

“Oh, but it is,” he disagreed. “I was told to invite you to the grand unraveling. Can you guess by whom?”

I only needed a second. “The villacs?”

“Ten out of ten. Interested now?”

I didn’t want to get sidetracked at this stage of the game, but glancing down at the reams of paperwork, I suddenly lost the heart to dig any further. I asked Wami where he was and learned he was holed up in an empty office on the sixth floor of Party Central. I said I’d be with him presently, asked the secretaries to tidy away the files, checked to make sure I was leaving nothing of any importance behind and headed down for what would prove to be the most surreal few hours of my life.

The room stood next to a doorway by the stairs. Wami was within, perched on a bare desk, half a headset plugged into one ear. I started to speak, only to be shushed, directed to a chair and offered the second earpiece. Fitting it into my left ear I found myself eavesdropping on a conversation between The Cardinal and a man whose voice I didn’t recognize. I listened while he regaled The Cardinal with the story of a strange trip he’d taken and a woman who claimed he had died years before.

“What’s going on?” I whispered to Wami. “Who is this?”

“Capac Raimi. He is an Ayuamarcan. He fled the city when The Cardinal put a death warrant out on him and retreated to the town he seems to have come from. I will tell you more later. For now, listen.”

And I did, as Raimi spun a grave-robbing yarn of sneaking into a cemetery late at night with his “wife” and digging up the coffin in which he had allegedly been laid to rest. Inside he found a corpse, which the woman identified as her late husband. The pair got into an argument, which ended with his caving her head in with a shovel and burying her along with the corpse.

“Nice fellow,” I muttered drily. “Any relation?”

“Shh!” Wami snapped, in no mood for levity.

It was The Cardinal’s turn next, and his tale made Raimi’s sound halfway believable. He started with his past, a fascinating history of a grubby street urchin who mutated into The Cardinal. Then he went off on a fantastical tangent and made far-fetched claims that would have landed any other man an instant spot in the nearest lunatic asylum.

According to him, he had the ability to make people, to actually create human beings. As a teenager he’d imagined the face of Leonora Shankar and thought how wonderful it would be if she were real. The next day he wandered into a puppet shop and met a couple of blind priests (I paid special attention to this part) who ran him through a bizarre ceremony that involved taking blood from his hands and daubing a puppet with it. The day after, Leonora Shankar turned up and took him under her wing.

He found he could keep eight or nine of his Ayuamarcans — the name he’d coined — on the go at the same time. His bent finger was a result of his fiddling with the laws of reality — every time he made somebody new, it bent a little more. To unmake someone, he pierced the heart of that person’s puppet (each had a look-alike puppet, which explained the marionettes of the fifteenth floor) and the blind priests summoned a magical fog — our famous green fog — that spread through the city and wiped out people’s memories of the dead.

Raimi didn’t believe him — he could smell bullshit and wasn’t afraid to say so. He asked where the blind priests were. The Cardinal told him they were in the basement of Party Central and the pair descended for a powwow. Something odd happened — I couldn’t tell for sure, but Raimi seemed to have some sort of vision — at the end of which the would-be successor stood as a convert, a firm believer in every crazy lie the madman had fed him.

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

It 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.”

“I was trying to save you!” His face had lit up. “All those years of planning, manipulating people, working with the priests, secretly plotting against them, The Cardinal and Wami. I devoted my life to it. Yet there I was, closing on my goal, but at the same time unconsciously trying to screw myself over.”

“I don’t follow,” I said.

“If you fell off the wagon, you wouldn’t have been of any use to me. It would have been a waste sending a drunken sop against Paucar Wami. But part of me must have wanted to spare you the trap I’d set. If you hit the bottle again, I’d have had to turn to one of his other sons.”

“You were subconsciously offering me a helping hand?” I asked dubiously.

“Crazy, I know, but I guess I wasn’t as hell-bent on revenge as I believed. Not as big a bastard as I thought.” He winked at me as if it were a big joke. I couldn’t help smiling in response, though I saw nothing funny in it.

The sound of the front door opening wiped the smile from Bill’s face. He sat up and buried the detonator down between his thigh and the arm of this chair. “More company,” he noted. “How delightful.” He was trying to make light of it, but there was a strain to his voice.

Moments later the old priest with the mole, and the translator — clad in a rough brown cape — entered. They kept to Bill’s rear but he could see their reflections in the dark glass of the front window.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted them. “You’re late.”

“You were supposed to bring him to us,” the translator said harshly.

“Change of plan,” Bill said easily. “It’s a cold night. I have a weak chest. I decided to stay in. You don’t mind, do you?”

The young man grunted. “It makes no difference. As long as he is safe, we are content.”

“Oh, he’s perfectly safe. Aren’t you, Al?”

“Perfectly,” I echoed quietly. Then, to Bill, “You were meant to take me to them?”

“Learning the truth about me was supposed to be the end of your hardships. They wanted to reel you in when Priscilla broke the news. I told them to leave you to me. I said I’d be able to calm you down.”

“They went along with that?”

He smiled. “I’m the Al Jeery expert. They bow to my knowledge of you.”

“Where do they want to take me?” I asked.

“Underground, I’d imagine.”

My eyes narrowed. “Do they know about…?” My gaze flicked to the concealed detonator. Bill’s spreading smile was answer enough.

I looked up at the two modern-day Incas and gloated inside as I realized I was a step ahead of them for once. They’d been pulling the strings from the start, but it seemed Bill was playing a game of his own, whose rules they weren’t privy to. Life was about to get very interesting.

“Good to see you, boys,” I said smugly, buoyed by the dark sword of Damocles dangling over their heads.

“It is good to see you also, Flesh of Dreams,” the translator replied stiffly.

“You know what happened with Priscilla?” I asked.

“We do.”

“And at Party Central? The Cardinal and—”

“We are fully aware,” he interrupted.

“What’s this about The Cardinal?” Bill asked.

“Tell you later,” I teased, then focused on the genial monsters. “Bill’s been telling me his side of things. Time for your story.”

The younger man looked for guidance to the blind villac, who shook his head. “This is not the place, Flesh of Dreams. Our brothers are preparing for your arrival. Come with us, assume your rightful position, and all will be revealed.”

“Where might that be?”

“On the inti watana. The underground platform,” he added when I looked blank. “It is the hitching post of the sun, the source of our power, our link to the gods. When the bloodlines merge and flow as one, we shall raise the giant stone from where it lies and the city will be ours.”

“That’s my ‘rightful position’?”

“It is the heart of the city,” he said earnestly, “where all blood mingles. The thrones you saw are thrones of power, thrones of blood. One is yours, Flesh of Dreams, by right of birth, right of will, right of blood.”

“Hear that, Bill? They’ve got a throne for me.”

“Very nice,” he chuckled. “Is there a crown as well?”

“Is there a crown?” I asked politely.

“This is not a joking matter,” the translator growled.

“Murder never is.”

“Forget the murder. That was necessary but is in the past. We need dwell on it no longer.”

“Oh, I think we should,” I disagreed. “In fact I insist on it. I’m going nowhere till you tell me what it was all about.”

The young man looked again to his mentor. The blind priest thought on it a moment, stroking the mole on his chin, then gave the shortest of nods.

“You had to come to us cleansed,” the translator said. “To grasp your future, you had to abandon your past. That meant severing all ties to your old life. It was harsh of us to strip you bare of all you cherished, but we had to push you to the point where you had nothing but us, no family, no friends, nothing to come between you and your destiny, your blood and ours.

“You must join with us, Flesh of Dreams, because only we remain. Without us you are a shell of a man doomed to lonely suffering and death. Those you loved have died or betrayed you. There is no returning to the life you once enjoyed. None but we of the sun will accept you. Embrace your fate and we’ll make a king of you, a leader of men. This city will be yours and your sons will rule when you are gone, theirs after them, and so on.”

“You had Bill destroy me so you could give me a leg up?” I asked incredulously. The translator nodded. “Why? Of all the people in the city, why pick on me?”

“Because you are the son of Dreams made Flesh. You are the union of the physical and mental, the product of—”

“—An Ayuamarcan and a human,” I finished, shaking my head with disgust. “You believe that shit of The Cardinal’s?”

“We empowered him. We provided the means for him to take control of this city. He was a nobody until we granted him the powers of a Watana. After that he had the ability to seize the fabric of dreams and mold it into flesh. With our help he created the Ayuamarcans, ghostly individuals capable of responding to the community’s needs and desires.

“That is why you were invited to Party Central,” he went on. “We knew this was the day of The Cardinal’s fall and wanted you there to hear the testimony from his own lips, to make it easier for you to understand and accept.”

“You’re saying he told the truth?”

“As much of it as he knew.”

“Capac Raimi is immortal?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s immortal?” Bill asked, perplexed, but I ignored him.

“In that case, what do you want me for? From what I gathered, The Cardinal’s left Raimi to run things, a successor who can rule the world alone.”

“No man can rule alone,” the translator said, “not even one as powerful and enduring as Capac Raimi. There must be three, a chakana of blood, as we explained before. Human, inhuman, and a mix of the twain.

“The inti watana has been fashioned with three thrones. One for Capac Raimi, whose blood is the blood of Dreams. One for a member of our ranks, a representative of the world of Flesh. And one for you, Al Jeery, son of Flesh and Dreams.

“Our three streams, united in one powerful chakana of blood, will ensure the longevity and majesty of our city. Inti — the god of the sun — will look upon our trinity and bless us. As long as the sun burns brightly, our city will prosper. Though all else crumbles, we will endure.”

“You’re loco,” I said softly.

The translator smiled and pointed to the window behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I noticed clouds of green fog rolling by the panes of glass.

“That’s supposed to convince me?” I scoffed, as if the fog and their power to summon it didn’t perturb me.

“We do not expect you to believe at the beginning,” the translator said. “In time you will learn to accept the truth. Under the folds of this earth you’ll see wonders that will convince you. For now believe only this — however little faith you place in our spiritual power, our earthly power is undeniably real. We control this city. The Cardinal was our puppet. Capac Raimi will bow to our will. Nothing happens here which we do not control. Is this not true, Bill Casey?”

“True as mutton,” Bill said. They were still to his rear and he hadn’t turned to look at them. His eyes were trained on mine.

“We offer a third of all we rule,” the translator said. “If you join with us, this city’s joys are yours. You can have money and women. Politicians will obey you. Businessmen will pay homage. You need not believe in our gods, but believe this — we can fill your remaining time with every imaginable luxury and pleasure.”

“And all you ask in return is my soul,” I said quietly.

“No. We ask only that you accept us as allies, let your blood flow with ours, and be part of our chakana. Later, you may nominate one of your line to replace you, and free yourself of all responsibility if you so desire.”

“A tempting offer,” I mused aloud. And it was.

“A man could do a lot of good with that kind of clout,” Bill remarked. “Build hospitals. House the homeless.” He winked at me. “Rehabilitate the addicted.”

“That’s true,” I nodded thoughtfully.

“Of course they do say power corrupts.”

“You think it might turn my head?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never heard of a tyrant ruling with a kind hand. You need a heart of stone to run a city. I can’t see you operating on a par with The Cardinal. You’re too human.”

“Would you take it?” I asked.

“Not for anything,” he answered bluntly. “I’ve only ruined a handful of lives, yet the guilt is unbearable. I’d be lost within a week if I controlled the destinies of millions.”

“Of course it doesn’t matter what I decide, does it? With things poised the way they are”—I nodded at his clenched hand—“it’s purely academic.”

“No,” he said. “If you choose to go with them, I won’t stop you.”

“You mean that?”

“I was never in this to destroy you. It was always and only Wami. I like the idea of hitting the heavens with you. It would be nice, in spite of all I’ve done, if you made up your mind to die with me, as my friend. But if you want to go with them, I won’t stand in your way.”

“Maybe we could both stick around. I could give Wami to you.”

He smiled sadly. “You wouldn’t. He’s a monster but you won’t bring him down. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s true what they say, and blood is thicker than water.”

“It looks to me like Wami’s going to come out of this considerably better off,” I noted. “An enemy dead, his son in control of the city. He’ll laugh at you, Bill.”

Bill’s face twitched. “He won’t be laughing long,” he muttered, then chuckled. “Death can’t keep a good man down. Maybe I’ll get even with him yet.”

I faced the translator. “What if I reject you?”

“We will turn to one of Paucar Wami’s other sons if we must,” he sighed. “We hope to avoid such complications. You are the firstborn, and have been blessed by Inti — your healing powers are a sign that he has a high regard for you. But alternative measures exist should we have need of them. We cannot force you.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing these last few months? Forcing my hand?”

“No. We have been cleansing you of your past, leading you to a point where you had to choose. But your cooperation must be volunteered, not commandeered. That is not to say we’ll accept a refusal — we’ll keep after you, harry you, destroy those who come close to you, interfere in your affairs, deprive you of happiness. But we won’t — can’t — openly force you to pledge yourself to our cause.”

“Thank heavens for small mercies,” I commented drily, then considered what it would be like to have the villacs on my back for the rest of my life. Suddenly my choice was clear. Welcome, even, since I had nothing to lose and no life to go back to. If they’d come to me before Priscilla and Nicola, before killing Ellen, I might have accepted their offer of power. But by pushing so hard, they’d taken all that I would have wanted power for. They’d misjudged me entirely, or had been led to misjudge me by Bill. They thought they had me in the palm of their hand, but Bill was calling the shots, and he had a card up his sleeve that would wipe the smiles off their faces and place me beyond their reach forever.

I sat back and gripped the arms of the chair. “It would’ve been an interesting life,” I said to Bill.

“It sure would,” he agreed, reading my intentions.

“Do you think I’d have made a good leader?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Don’t make any hasty decisions,” the translator warned, sensing something amiss. “It does not pay to—”

But I wasn’t interested in his words any longer and cut him short with a curt command. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Bill’s fist unclenched. There was a tiny click. The face of the villac with the mole creased and he started talking rapidly, blind eyes filling with doubt. The translator darted forward, looking for the concealed object in Bill’s palm. He tried to shout a question. But before he could say anything, the world exploded. There was a roar of undiluted rage. Bill, the villac and his translator were lost to jagged shards of red and white. I flew into black.