Heart of the Assassin

CHAPTER 19

Gravenholtz stood just inside Crews's office, breathing hard, eyes wide. Blood spread across his white dress shirt, ran down his jacket, but he seemed unfazed, the gunshots from Crews's men unable to penetrate the flexible armor under his skin. Ferocious-looking wounds, painful too, but not life threatening.

Crews looked at C.P. flopped on the floor, then over at the Old One. "What…what are you doing this for?"

"Those boys of yours…" The Old One's checkerboard jacket seemed to shimmer in the light from the fireplace. "Murderous scum and toothless morons. Not at all the right image for what you're about to become, Mr. Crews."

"About to become?" said Crews.

"You've come a long way in the last six months," said the Old One. "Top-rated gospel show on TV, invitations to preach at the capital…are you satisfied?"

"No."

"Of course not," said the Old One. "One thing I've learned in a very long life, Mr. Crews, is that there's never enough."

"How about you tell Gravenholtz to put C.P. down?" said Crews. "Not like he's going anywhere."

"You're fond of him, aren't you?" said the Old One. "I could see that immediately."

"Well, I don't know about fond," said Crews. "C.P.'s been with me a long time."

"Very good," said the Old One. "I appreciate loyalty. Please, put him down, Lester."

Gravenholtz dropped C.P. onto the floor, then wandered over to the desk and picked up a spool of masking tape. He tore off a strip of tape and started pinning down the flap of skin on his scalp.

C.P. slowly rolled onto his hands and knees, gasping.

"Lester," said the Old One, "if you wouldn't mind, bring Mr. Crews one of those pistols."

"Why?" said Gravenholtz.

"Savor the mystery, Lester," said the Old One.

Baby started giggling.

"Do I amuse you, Baby?" said the Old One.

Baby nodded, still giggling.

"Mr. Crews, do you have any idea how long it's been since I've made anyone laugh?" The Old One beamed. "Let me tell you, it's a rare pleasure."

Gravenholtz handed Crews a revolver.

"Now, Mr. Crews," said the Old One, "if it's not too much to ask, I'd like you to shoot your old buddy C.P. in the head."

Crews hefted the pistol. "How about I blow your brains out?"

"Always a possibility, but I have faith in you, Mr. Crews," said the Old One. "A man of your ambition, your vision…there's no way you'll throw away this opportunity."

Baby saw the pen in the Old One's hand. The same silver fountain pen he had used to spray Gravenholtz, cocooning him in aerosol polymer. The Old One might have faith but he was no fool.

C.P. looked up at Crews. "Jesus, Malcolm…what are you thinking? Kill these people-" He grunted as Gravenholtz kicked him.

The Old One turned toward the doorway.

A man leaned against the jamb, a gangly fellow, his shirt soaked with blood. One arm dangled useless, but he propped a sawed-off shotgun against his hip with his good arm. His shattered jaw gave him an obscene grin, his face swollen like a pumpkin.

"Sit down, Deekins," said Crews, "take a load off before you hurt somebody."

The man in the doorway tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't work. The shotgun wobbled in his grip as he tried to center it.

"Lester?" The Old One wagged a finger. "You said they were all dead."

Baby moved out of the line of fire.

"Do it, Deekins," said C.P., still sprawled on the floor. "Fuck you waitin' for?"

The man in the doorway fired as Gravenholtz stepped toward him, caught him in the chest; got off another shot before Gravenholtz snatched the shotgun from him.

Gravenholtz beat the man over the head with the shotgun, beat him onto the floor, flailing away at him even after his skull cracked.

"You can stop now, Lester," said the Old One.

Gravenholtz hit Deekins again. Threw the shotgun down.

"You never did tell me what you got planned for me," Crews said to the Old One, his voice calm. "This thing I'm supposed to become."

"That's the spirit," said the Old One.

"Daddy?" Baby crossed over to him, gingerly touched his cheek. "You got shot."

The Old One looked at the blood on her fingertips. Scowled at Gravenholtz.

"Just a scratch," said Gravenholtz. "What? That supposed to be my fault?"

"Yes, Lester, actually it is," said the Old One, as Baby dabbed at his cheek with a handkerchief. "Open a window, Mr. Crews, it's too warm in here." He waited until Crews complied. "Things are about to change, both in the Belt and in the Republic. I'm offering you a chance to be a part of those changes."

"I'm no Muslim, in case you haven't got the word," said Crews. "I'm born again."

"You're no more of a Christian than I am," said the Old One.

"I'm not going to argue." Crews checked the pistol, made sure it was loaded. "Did you really nuke New York and Washington, D.C.?"

"Whatever I've done, I'm certain that God will forgive me," said the Old One. "As I'm sure God will forgive you."

"Mister, you're a lot more optimistic than I am," said Crews.

The Old One pointed at C.P. "Time to make a decision, Mr. Crews."

"These changes coming down the road," said Crews, scratching his chin with the muzzle of the pistol, "what exactly kind of a part am I going to have?"

"M-Malcolm?" wailed C.P.

"Don't you get it?" Baby said to Crews, stamping her feet. "We're bringing hard times to the Belt. Hard times to the Republic too. Nightmares and fever dreams, just the way you like it-don't pretend you don't, Malcolm Crews. Look at me! We're not here because you're some holy joe motherfucker patting babies and organizing fried chicken socials. I picked you because you smell smoke and reach for the gasoline, and my daddy and me, we're bringing hellfire to town."

Crews's eyes reflected the flames from the fireplace.

"Look at him, Daddy, his pecker's hard. Didn't I tell you?"

"She did, Mr. Crews. Indeed she did."

Crews tapped the side of his thigh with the pistol, expressionless.

"You been waiting for the end times, haven't you, Malcolm?" Baby spun slowly in the center of the room, her skirt fluttering out as she turned round and round like a wind-up ballerina on a music box. "Well, here it is, right in front of your nose. Boil, boil, trouble and toil…"

"I'm sure you remember your Bible, Mr. Crews," said the Old One. "John the Baptist was given the honor of announcing the coming of Jesus. It was he who first proclaimed him the Messiah."

"Well, you ain't Jesus and John the B. got his fucking head chopped off." Crews glanced at Baby. "Chopped off and put on a silver plate for Salome, the dancing girl."

Baby spun faster, laughing.

C.P. was almost to his feet, but Gravenholtz tripped him, sent him sprawling.

"We done yet?" said Gravenholtz.

"Are we done, Mr. Crews?" said the Old One.

Crews walked over to C.P.

"Hey!" said C.P., one hand raised. "Hey!"

"You remember Hecklenburg?" said Crews.

C.P.'s eyes darted. "That little town? S-sure."

"We hit them at dawn," said Crews. "It was late fall, but we got an early snow, and it crunched under our boots as we approached the houses? Snow coming down, big fat flakes in the early morning light…like it was raining blood."

C.P. nodded.

"Couple weeks before we found all these Halloween costumes in an abandoned warehouse, and the officers were wearing skeleton costumes, scampering across the snow like they were in some damned cartoon." Crews shook his head at the memory. "We start knocking down doors and the townspeople 'bout pissed themselves, screaming before the shooting even starts…but you, C.P., you crazy son of a bitch, you went one better." He glanced over at Baby. "Afterwards, we're checking for survivors, and I spot C.P. here wearing nothing but a purple wig and a gold lame jockstrap, dragging a teenage girl down Main Street." He looked down at C.P. "Where in hell did you find a gold jockstrap?"

As C.P. smiled, Crews shot him in the face.

"C.P… he was a good ol' boy," said Crews. "Always coming up with something to crack me up." He tossed down the gun. Looked over at the Old One. "You want to bring the whole place down around our ears, call forth fire and brimstone…you want to drown the world like a box of kittens, well, then, I'm your man, pops."

Baby winked at the Old One. "Told ya."

Gravenholtz nudged C.P.'s body with his shoe.

"This whole place is going to have to be scrubbed," said the Old One. "Bodies removed, buried someplace where they won't-"

"No…no. Let's leave everything as it is," said Crews. "I'll call a news conference, say we were attacked by end-times remnants angry at me for embracing the light."

"And you were saved by the grace of God," said Baby.

"Yeah, walked right through a storm of bullets untouched," said Crews. "Let's see John the Baptist try that."

"Throw away your black suits," said Baby. "Become the man in white…transformed."

The Old One stared at her. Nodded.

Gravenholtz snorted.

"Call your news conference first thing in the morning," said the Old One. "Sometime soon, Aztlan will formally charge the Colonel with ordering the assassination of their oil minister two weeks ago. I want you out there ahead of the story."

"What am I-?" said Crews.

"The politicians will equivocate, ask for time to go over the indictment, but not you," explained the Old One. "In the Colonel's hour of need you're going to stand by his side. Offer him your total support."

"The Colonel ain't gonna want his help," said Gravenholtz.

"Things are happening quite rapidly now, Mr. Crews," said the Old One, ignoring Gravenholtz. "I think you're going to enjoy yourself. Baby and I will be leaving shortly, but Lester's going to stay with you."

"You didn't say nothing about that to me," said Gravenholtz.

"There's a great deal I don't tell you, Lester. More than you can possibly imagine."

"Lester, honey, it's just for a little while." Baby stroked Gravenholtz's arm. "I bet you and Mr. Crews gonna be real good friends."

Gravenholtz pulled away.

"You want to know a secret?" Crews said softly. "Not all my healing is fake. Oh, most of it is suggestion and reinforcement, no doubt, but sometimes…sometimes I feel something flowing from me into them, a heat pouring out from my hands and it…it does something to folks." He glanced at C.P. then back at the Old One. "I don't know why it happens, or how it happens, but sometimes I cure people, mister. Me, Malcolm Crews. I cure people and they stay cured. Arthritis, diabetes, heart trouble…I cured cancer a couple of times, cured it right out of them."

"This is a time of miracles, Mr. Crews," said the Old One.

Gravenholtz spit onto C.P.'s ruined face. "You're so good, let's see you raise that asshole from the dead."