by C W Hawes
“I thought knives were more your thing.”
“Nope. They’re work tools. Give me a handgun any day. They’re fun.”
“You’re dangerous.”
François appeared. “Find anything you like?”
“Not really,” Dotty said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the gallery owner replied. “I have a phone number for Milt Salzman. That’s all. Sorry.”
“We’ll take it,” Mostyn said.
“If you’re with the IRS, don’t you, like, have this information already? I mean, you’re the government.”
Mostyn smiled. “Can’t believe everything you see on TV.”
“Is there anything you can tell us about them?” Dotty asked.
“I don’t actually know them,” François replied.
“Yet your gallery is hosting Cortado’s show…” Dotty lifted her hands and shrugged.
“Wait a minute.” François shook his head. “No. I have nothing to do with them. All I get is a percentage of their sales in exchange for the space. And they’re out of here in a few days.”
“What can you tell us about them?” Mostyn asked, then added, “Your cooperation will be noted.”
“Cortado blew into town some five years ago with a Goth chick named Delora Youngblood. She was then and still is a better painter than Cortado. I think it’s what caused them to split. He just couldn’t stand having her always showing him up. Anyway, some time after they split, Salzman shows up, takes Cortado under his wing, and suddenly Cortado is going places. All very mystifying, if you ask me.”
“Where does Ms Youngblood live?” Dotty asked.
“The gallery represents her, so I can get you her address. Hang on.”
Once more, François retreated to his dark corner and in a moment was back with a slip of paper that he handed to Dotty. “There’s her address and phone. She’s a good seller for me. I’d rather you not tell her where you got her address and number. Now, I’ve cooperated and I have work to do. The gallery doesn’t run itself.”
Mostyn nodded. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.”
“Do you actually make a living at this?” Dotty asked.
“What do you mean? Of course, I do.”
“Just wondering,” Dotty replied.
She and Mostyn left, had no problem crossing the street, and made their way to the car.
“Let’s get something to eat,” he said, as he got in.
“I’m game,” Dotty replied, and got into the vehicle. While putting on her seatbelt, she said, “Can we make it some place expensive?”
“Herndon will squawk.”
“Screw him. I’m not doing fast food.”
“Down!” Mostyn yelled.
The window shattered, and a javelin impaled the center console, missing Dotty’s leg by an inch.
7
__________
◼︎
Mostyn jumped out of the car and looked up and down the street. People were beginning to gather and a few were pointing at the car that had a javelin sticking out of its windshield. Mostyn called out to them.
“Anyone see which way the person who did this went?”
The onlookers didn’t reply and started moving away, leaving Mostyn muttering about goddamn worthless people not wanting to help an obvious victim.
He asked Dotty to hand him some gloves from the glove box. She opened the compartment and handed him a pair. He put them on and yanked the javelin out of the center console. He opened the back door and tossed the thing in onto the rear seat. He closed the door, got back into the car, and looked at Dotty.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m okay. I don’t think we’re dealing with accidents here.”
“That’s what it’s looking like.” He took out his phone and made a call. When finished he returned the phone to his pocket.
“We’re to sit tight while they send a new car and a tow for this one,” Dotty said, anticipating Mostyn’s comment.
“On the money,” he replied.
“So who’s found out what?”
“Good question, Dot. Offhand, I’d have to say Cortado or Salzman. Perhaps both. As for what they’ve discovered, I have no clue.”
“It’s looking like Cortado was basically a nothing until Salzman showed up and took an interest.”
“That’s what it’s looking like. Which begs the question, is Salzman connected to someone?”
Dotty nodded. “That, or maybe Salzman has the book.”
“Maybe he does at that. Those sculptures give a whole new meaning to ‘life-like’.”
“They do. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I thought you weren’t into art.”
Dotty’s voice took on an edge. “I’m not. Doesn’t mean I’m an ignoramus.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“It was implied.”
Mostyn held his hands up. “I wasn’t implying anything. Geez, Kemper, lighten up. I’m on your side.”
“Sorry.” She looked out the window. “Say, I thought it was sunny all the time in LA.”
“It does rain here.”
“Okay, but the sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Now it’s completely overcast. Where did the clouds come from?”
“Don’t know. It does seem odd.”
“And it’s getting darker.”
Mostyn stepped out of the car and looked up at the sky. The clouds were not only getting darker, they also appeared to be churning as though some unseen giant was whipping them up with a hand mixer.
Kemper joined him. “Something’s not quite right, is it?”
“You can say that again.”
A black limo pulled up, the doors opened, and four men jumped out. Mostyn reached for his gun and stopped when he saw the machine pistol pointed at him.
The few people that were on the street quickly vanished.
One of the men tried to grab Kemper. Her right fist shot out and connected with his lower jaw. He staggered, and fell. Another man grabbed her hair and shoved the muzzle of his pistol against her neck. Dotty stopped fighting.
The man with the machine pistol, indicated with his hand that Mostyn was to get in the car. Mostyn looked at the mirrored sunglasses on the man, and then got in. Kemper was shoved in after him, and the door was closed.
Kemper tried the handle, but the door was locked. The car began moving in the midday traffic.
Across from Mostyn and Kemper was a man wearing a Chinese mask and a heavily embroidered gold robe. The mask was red and decorated with black, indicating a highly stylized beard and eyebrows. On either side of the masked man, was a young man in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. The suits were well-tailored and there was no bulge indicating a shoulder holster.
They probably have something other than firearms up their sleeves, Mostyn thought.
He looked at the man with the mask and watched the eyes behind the openings shift to Kemper and then return to him.
“What do you want?” Mostyn asked.
After a moment, the mask spoke. The voice sounded ancient, almost ethereal. “I find it interesting you address what, rather than who first.”
The English bore a British accent. Hong Kong? Mostyn thought. He shrugged. “It’s obvious you want something, given the theatrics you went through to get us here. So at this point what is more important than who.”
“Very logical, Mr Mostyn. Or is it Mossman?” When there was no response from Mostyn, the man shrugged his shoulders and went on. “Whatever your name is, what I want is for you to leave Los Angeles. You have your art. Now go. And do not return.”
“The last time I checked, this was a free country. I can go where I want, when I want, and leave when I’m ready.”
“No, Mr Mostyn, the illustration is incorrect. You are in a casino and the house suspects you of cheating. You are asked to leave. In reality, you are being thrown out.”
“I see. And if I don’t want to go?”
&nbs
p; “Then, as the enforcers in the casino, I will be forced to either add an incentive or use force.”
Mostyn looked at Dotty, and she looked back at him. He nodded, turned to the masked man, and said, “I guess we’re staying.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that.”
The man reached into his sleeve and withdrew a vial. He unscrewed the top and poured a powder into the palm of his hand.
Pistols appeared in the hands of the young men.
Must’ve been on the car seat next to them, Mostyn thought.
“Now I must use incentive and force,” the masked man said. “Goodbye, Mr Mostyn. May we never meet again.” Holding his hand flat, the masked man blew the powder towards Mostyn and Kemper.
Mostyn tried waving it away and that’s the last thing he remembered.
8
__________
◼︎
Mostyn opened his eyes. He didn’t move anything except for his eyes. He took in everything he could see without moving his head. The lighting was subdued. The ceiling, and what he could see of the walls, reminded him of his hotel room. Why was he here? Where had he been?
Images of a street and buildings and a long black limo flooded his mind.
“Dotty.” The word came out as a barely audible croak, although he’d meant to shout it.
“Are you awake, Boss?” The voice belonged to Jones.
Mostyn tried to get up.
“Whoa, Boss.” Jones put his hand on Mostyn’s chest and gently pushed him back down. “Hang on a minute.”
Jones got out his phone, made a call, and after a moment said, “He’s awake.” Call ended, Jones returned the phone to his pocket.
“Where’s Dotty?”
“We were kinda hoping you’d tell us.”
Mostyn got up on his elbows. “What do you mean?”
The door opened and in walked a man, followed by Dr Bardon.
“Ah, Pierce, my boy, good to see you awake.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mostyn replied.
Bardon introduced the man with him. “This is Dr Addison Clarke. He’s been monitoring you since you were unceremoniously dumped on the hotel steps. Thanks to Mr Jones, we were able to get to you before the paramedics arrived. Wouldn’t do to have you in a civilian hospital.”
“Dumped?” Confusion was written all over Mostyn’s face. He shook his head. “Where’s Dotty?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Bardon said. “Her subdermal tracker is being blocked.”
“I don’t know where she is.” Mostyn then explained about the attempt to run him over, the javelin attack, and finally the abduction. “I don’t recall anything after the powder, until now.”
“Very interesting,” Bardon replied. “It appears this Asian fellow knows a thing or two about spells. It also seems he has our Dr Kemper.”
“We have to find Dotty,” Mostyn said.
“We will,” Bardon replied. “But first let Dr Clarke have a look at you.”
Bardon stepped back and the doctor moved next to the bed to begin his examination. After listening with his stethoscope, shining a light in Mostyn’s eyes and throat, and testing his reflexes, Addison Clarke seemed satisfied Mostyn was okay.
“Good,” Bardon said. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll take it from here.”
Clarke wished everyone a good day, and left.
“The team is in Conference Room C,” Bardon said. “Get dressed, and we’ll join them. Come with me, Mr Jones.”
Bardon and Jones retired to the outer sitting room, closing the door behind them.
Mostyn got out of bed, took a quick shower, after which he began dressing. He was knotting his tie when his phone rang. He picked it up.
“Good afternoon, Mr Mostyn.” The ancient and ethereal sounding British voice.
“Where’s—”
“She’s well. And she will continue to be well if you leave by tonight. Once you have left Los Angeles, she will be released.”
“How do I—”
“You want proof. I expected as much. Jot down the link and password I am about to give you. Both will be good for the next fifteen minutes. Are you ready?”
“Go ahead.”
The voice gave Mostyn the information, which he jotted down.
“Safe travels, Mr Mostyn.” The voice was gone and there was only silence in its place.
Mostyn brought up the website on his phone and typed in the password. The site opened revealing a blank video screen. He tapped the “Join Conversation” button, and Dotty appeared on the computer screen.
“Dotty! Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you, Pierce. Enable your video so I can see you. Can you see me?”
“I can.” He enabled the video so she could see him.
“How do you like the outfit? Should I get one for home?” Dotty was dressed in a one piece, long yellow silk dress with a white flower print. It had a high collar and sleeves extending a couple inches passed her elbow. There was a long side split on both sides which showed Dotty’s legs up to a little bit above the middle of her thighs.
“Looks nice. Sure, get one for home. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. But I won’t be if you don’t leave.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was told the eldest grandson has, and I quote, ‘taken a fancy to me’. If you don’t leave, I will become his mistress. Or maybe even his wife.”
Mostyn clenched his fists.
Dotty continued. “I was also told the grandson isn’t normal. I don’t know what they mean by that, but I have a feeling it’s not something I want to find out.”
“Don’t worry, Dot. My uncle will fix things.”
“Pierce. I’m scared, and you know I don’t say that very often.”
“Don’t worry, Dot. Hang in there.”
“I love you, Pierce.”
Before Mostyn could answer her, the masked man appeared. In that ancient and ethereal tone of voice he said, “Y’ah hafh’drm gof’nn mgahnnn shuggnglui llll ‘drn ah nog.” Then the screen went blank.
Mostyn finished tying his tie, and joined Bardon and Jones. “I just talked to Dotty.”
“How?” Jones asked.
“The wonders of modern technology, Jones. The masked man phoned me and gave me a link to a website so I could talk with her. It seems if I don’t leave, Dotty becomes the wife or plaything for the weird grandson of the masked man. She’s scared, Dr Bardon. And you know Dotty doesn’t scare easily.”
“Did the masked man say anything?” Bardon asked.
“He did. I think it was R’lyehian.”
“Oh, dear, my boy. Can you repeat it?”
“I think so.” And Mostyn repeated the message to the best of his ability.
Bardon listened, pondered it for a minute or two, then said, “If you’ve repeated it correctly, the masked man said, ‘I am the Summoner of the Spawn preparing the gate, or way, for the One Who is coming.”
9
__________
◼︎
When Mostyn, Bardon, and Jones entered the conference room, they found everyone in a tizzy. It took Mostyn only a moment to determine why. On the wall opposite the windows, in bright red, were the words the man with the mask had said to him.
Winifred Petrie, on seeing Bardon, pointed at the wall and asked, “What does it say?”
Bardon replied with a question, “When did the words appear?”
“About ten minutes ago,” Otto Stoppen answered.
“That’s about the time you were talking to Dr Kemper, my boy. Wasn’t it?” Bardon said to Mostyn.
“Yes, sir, it was.”
“He has a flair for showmanship,” Bardon said.
“Who does, sir?” NicAskill asked.
“Our adversary,” Bardon replied. To everyone, he said, “Please take your seats. We need to make an important decision.”
Everyone sat and the room became quiet.
Bardon pointed to the writing on the wall. “We are not dealing w
ith an ordinary thug. The words mean—,” and Bardon told the team his rough translation of the message on the wall. “He calls himself a summoner, which means he is a follower, a fanatical follower, of the Great Old Ones. He is dangerous to the extreme. We don’t know what he knows, but he knows enough to suspect Special Agent Mostyn is someone who might thwart him.”
“What about Dr Kemper?” Harbin Hammerschmidt asked.
“Our nameless adversary has her prisoner. The price for her freedom is Special Agent Mostyn’s departure.”
NicAskill raised her hand, and said, “Dr Bardon,” and he indicated she should continue. She asked, “How do we know he’ll let Dr Kemper go?”
The director shrugged. “We don’t. So the question before us is, do we give him what he wants in the hope he releases Dr Kemper? Or do we ignore him?”
“If we ignore him,” Mostyn began, “Dotty said she’d be given to his grandson as a mistress or wife — and she added the grandson is apparently not normal.”
“What does that mean?” Jones asked.
“She didn’t know,” Mostyn answered.
“If this guy is a fan of the Great Old Ones,” Baker said, “then his grandson not being normal might not actually be something we want to contemplate.”
“Indeed, Mr Baker,” Bardon said.
“If we assume the masked man doesn’t know about us, then maybe we can deceive him,” Mostyn volunteered.
Bardon smiled. “Yes, we could. Do you have anything specific in mind?”
“A tulpa.”
“Ah, yes, that might work quite nicely,” Bardon said. He thought a moment before continuing. “You won’t be able to make one, because we don’t have months at our disposal for you to learn how to do so. I will have to create one that looks like you.”
“You mind my asking what is this tulpa thing?” Jones said.
“Not at all, Special Agent Jones,” Bardon said. “Tulpa creation is a Tibetan Buddhist practice. Normally the tulpa begins life in your mind. It more or less becomes a sentient being.”
“You mean like another person in my head?” Jones asked.
“Yes,” Bardon replied. “If the person creating the tulpa has sufficient power, the tulpa can actually take shape and be seen by others, as well as interact with them. The tulpa can also be sent on missions.”
