The Book of Lies

78

Four days later

Orchard Lake, Michigan

Few things excited Ellis. It wasn’t that he wasn’t capable of the emotion. But life delivers far less disappointment when your expectations are low.

Still, as he pulled up to the circular driveway of the tasteful, snow-capped Georgian Colonial—as he parked the car and reached over to the passenger seat to pick up the worn leather case that used to house his jet injector—Ellis’s heart, his ears, everything was buzzing.

“Let’s go, Benoni,” he said as the dog leaped out of the car, and Ellis strode after her. He could swear the Michigan wind was whistling just for him.

Tonight, no question, was worth the excitement.

Sure, Ellis could’ve come sooner. But the wounds in his chest and stomach . . . to get them cleaned and stitched . . . No. This was his arrival. The completion of his mother’s wish. He needed to be strong.

Ignoring the front door of the house, Ellis followed the Judge’s instructions and took the slate path to the guesthouse around back. The Judge was still a public man. And this—to unlock the birthright—tonight had to be private.

“This way, Benoni,” he called out, keeping the dog from running into the woods.

“Boy, what a beauty,” a croaky bullfrog of a voice called out as the door to the guesthouse opened. Leaning down to welcome Benoni, Judge Felix Wojtowicz looked older—much older—than when Ellis first came to visit a year ago.

“Okay to give her a treat?” the Judge asked, wiping his wispy white hair to the side as he welcomed Ellis into the bungalow, which held a modest home office, a leather sofa, and a mirrored bar in the corner. “I saved her some steak. It’s filet.”

Ellis couldn’t help but grin. The Judge was sucking up now.

“She loves filet,” Ellis said as Wojtowicz knelt down to let Benoni eat from his hand.

“I saw the story in yesterday’s paper,” the Judge added. “You know, they had your picture in there. From the prison videocamera. I understand Cal’s using that as support for his own defense. It’ll work.”

“I’m aware. But he still lost what mattered, and I don’t just mean his friend,” Ellis said, delicately setting the leather case on the bar’s glass countertop. He took a final deep breath as he unzipped the case and carefully, so carefully, peeled through the thick wad of bubble wrap and acid-free tissue paper to reveal the precious prize inside.

“My great-grandfather died for this,” Ellis said as he held the gray-and-ivory-striated animal horn in his open palms and turned toward the Judge. “You better know how to read it.”

The Judge studied the object, nodding over and over. Goats, cows, sheep—most horns were composed of keratin, the structural protein that toenails and hooves and claws are made of. In ancient times, horns were some of the strongest objects around, making them ideal writing implements. And weapons. In fact, in the right dry resting place—like a cave—an animal horn could survive for centuries.

“Heaven above,” the Judge said as tears pooled in his eyes. “You actually found it. Praise you, Ellis. Praise you.”

Hands shaking, the Judge reached for the leather case, then had Ellis place the horn back into the wad of bubble wrap and tissue paper. “The markings . . . the crossed sickles: This is it,” the Judge said, looking at Ellis. “This is it!” His hands still shaking, he carefully carried the ancient carved horn toward the back room of the bungalow. “I need my magnifier.”

But as he followed the Judge into the back bedroom, the only thing Ellis saw were two older men—they looked like twins, both in their late sixties—dressed in herringbone overcoats.

Motherf—

Ellis just stood there, arms plainly at his side, as the first silenced shot was fired.

The Judge was smiling and holding the birthright as the bullet pierced Ellis’s neck.

Ftt.

Benoni! Benoni, attack! Ellis screamed, crumpling awkwardly onto his side as he hit the floor. But his words were lost in the bubbling froth of blood from his shattered voice box.

Ftt. Ftt. Ftt. Ftt. Ftt.

Five hushed gunshots. All of them in Ellis’s chest.

As Ellis lay there on his back, the last thing he saw was the Judge standing over him, staring down. He suddenly didn’t look so old anymore.

“Just remember, Ellis. No one likes a bully.”

Within seconds, the Judge, the room, the world went blurry.

“Heil, Thule,” one of the other men called out.

“Yes— Heil—of course,” the Judge said. “Now get me my gloves. Time to open the Book of Truth.”