Eye of the Burning Man: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Series)

by Harry Shannon

I walked to the portable toilet, looked around, but saw no one in line. I knocked; after a moment opened the plastic door and went inside. The light bulb was dying. The toilet was full, the odor atrocious, but I used it and stepped back outside. The harsh wind stopped as abruptly as it had started, and the desert air smelled like ozone. A light rain began to fall. The scattered drops felt warm and oily; there was an electric crackle in the air that suggested a bigger storm was approaching.

  "Good evening, Mr. Callahan."

  I whirled, put my hands up to defend myself and saw someone standing in the shadows, smoking a cigarette. The orange ember dropped to the ground in a shower of sparks. A foot ground it out. The man stepped out into a pool of moonlight. He wore a ridiculous pair of Hawaiian shorts, a plain blue short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of expensive running shoes with no socks. Platinum Rolex adorned his wrist.

  "Agent Fields, I love your outfit."

  "The things my job requires of me," Fields said. He spoke with an obvious disdain for his surroundings.

  "Where are Laurel and Hardy?"

  "Who?" Then Fields registered the reference. He smiled. "I have dispatched my somewhat dim-witted subordinates to other locations. They should catch up to us by tomorrow."

  I moved to the wall of the portable toilet and leaned against it with one knee up. I wanted my back covered. "To what do I owe this privilege?"

  Fields squinted at me and spat on the ground. "I don't like you Callahan."

  "That's disconcerting."

  "You know why?"

  "Nope."

  "Because you lied. I thought we had agreed we would share information." Fields strolled closer. "But I haven't heard a word from you. And then I check my surveillance camera from Pomona again, and what do I find? Mr. Radio Jock himself, a hooker, and some redneck punk are poking around a fucking Federal investigation without even bothering to check with me."

  I studied the man and thought about Mary. The edge of my vision darkened and my temper flared. "Agent Fields, I am having a very bad day. Just what the fuck do you want from me?"

  Fields stepped in close with one hand in his pocket, as if on a weapon. His demeanor was threatening enough to raise the hair on my neck. "I want Fancy delivered to me with enough evidence to put his tiny black ass away for good. And you are supposed to help me nail him."

  "Yeah, I did talk to him. He was straight up about some of the shit he does, but he denied having anything to do with kiddy porn."

  "And you believed that? If Fancy cops to hurting kids, then he is as good as dead, assuming he ever has to do time again. Cons hate child abusers, and a little bastard like that would never be safe with the general population."

  "He was pretty persuasive."

  "What the hell did you expect he would do, confess?"

  "I don't know what I expected. Look, Agent Fields, I would like to help you out, but my interests here may be different from yours."

  "I thought your interest just ended up barbecued on a spit," Fields said. He sneered. He was now close enough for me to smell the mint on his breath. "Or am I wrong about that?"

  I glared. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" My voice was low and raspy and the blood was roaring in my ears.

  "I'm the man," Fields said, calmly. "So I can lock your sorry ass up any time I want."

  "Is that so? Well, right now all you are is halfway to dead. I could rip you apart like greasy fried chicken."

  "Then go for it."

  I stopped myself from responding. Why is he baiting me like this? What does he hope to gain?

  "Time's running out," Fields said. "Hear that?"

  Gunfire was exploding all over the camp. People were wandering away from us, towards the giant effigy at the center of the city. The climax of the festival was only a couple of hours away.

  "Guess it will all be over soon, one way or another."

  "God damn you, I could shoot you where you stand," Fields said. "And no one would know it was me."

  "You would know."

  "Shit." Fields bared his teeth. "Mark my words, Callahan. If I thought you were taking Fancy's side in all of this, I would do that and not give it a second thought."

  I forced myself to relax. "One thing I can guarantee you, I am not on Fancy's side."

  Fields read my eyes for a long moment. Finally he stepped back until he was at a safe distance. The hand holding the gun left his pocket. "If that's true, then help me nail that pervert. Stop screwing around and work with me, here. We both know he did this to your girl."

  "How do we know?"

  "Come on. Mary was a slut in some of his movies, and on his string of street whores, and she ran away. How much do you need?"

  "Some hard evidence would help," I said. "Now, there's a concept for you."

  "Don't be a smart ass. What do you know so far?"

  "We think the boy with her was some nobody; just a poor schmuck who happened to wander by. They killed him as part of the cover story."

  "Why such a dramatic statement?"

  "The message was intended for me."

  "Why?"

  "Somebody wants me dead."

  "Then why not just kill you?"

  "Because they want me to suffer first."

  "I figured that part out a long time ago, Callahan," Fields said. "That's why my boys and I have been sticking to you like flies on shit. And the 'somebody' is that little prick Fancy. He's a proud man. Nobody walks off with one of his string and gets away with it. Nobody."

  "Then why did he let me go both times I saw him?"

  "You said it yourself. He knew we were watching. Besides, he wants you to suffer first, so he led you here. And you are suffering, aren't you? You almost saved her, Callahan. How does it feel to have been maybe just five minutes late?"

  Seeing the spark in my eyes, Fields quickly dropped his hand back into the pocket of his shorts and backed away. A drunk staggered between us and tried to open the door to the portable toilet, but couldn't grasp the handle. Fields and I stood there, in tense silence. After a long moment the man pissed on the ground and went back to camp.

  "You were on a roll, Fields. Don't push your luck like that again."

  "Jesus, wise up," Fields said. "Your girl was most likely working for Fancy all along."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "She was probably jacking you the whole way. Maybe she was supposed to rob you or set you up for something, who knows? But Fancy wanted it done. Then, the way I see it, she probably felt guilty once she sobered up and couldn't go through with it. When she tried to run, Fancy sent his boys to track her down."

  I nodded. "Some of that feels right. She once said she was more trouble than I could handle."

  "It's Fancy."

  "It looks that way."

  "I fucking want him," Fields said. He began to move away, back into the shadows. "We'll be watching you, staying as close as we can. I know you're going to lead me right to him."

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  Fields didn't answer, but he stopped walking. I surprised him by closing the distance myself. The man looked uncomfortable. "You know where he lives and where he works. Why haven't you just gotten a warrant, gone in there and closed him down?"

  "It's not that simple."

  "The hell it isn't."

  Fields grew sullen. I laughed softly. "It's because you don't really want to arrest him anymore, right?"

  "Fuck you."

  "You want to kill him. It's gotten that personal for you, after all these years. You want to shoot him right between the eyes."

  The agent shook his head. "Now you're pushing your luck."

  "No, I'm not, because you still need me. Don't sweat it, Fields. If I can lead you to somebody who's been kidnapping and raping kids I probably will. And if you should kill that miserable son of a bitch, I'll maybe look the other way, too. It's no skin off my nose."

  "Good. Then we have a deal?"

  "Not necessarily; I said probably and maybe."

  "Talk straight,
damn it."

  "Okay. You'd better think about this, and think about it long and hard. I know I'm stating the obvious, but you're an officer of the law. You're about to cross a line that will completely change your life, and definitely not for the better."

  "What do you care?"

  I shrugged. "I'm a shrink, remember? It's my curse. And I have crossed a few of those lines myself, in my time. I remember a great line from some movie or another. When you dance with the devil, the devil don't change."

  "Thanks for the warning, but I can take care of myself." Fields melted back into the darkness. "You better watch your ass, Callahan," he said as he disappeared, "these boys play hardball."

  "I already noticed."

  But Fields was gone.

  I walked back towards the camp, mind racing. Is Fancy smart enough to throw me this far off his trail? And if so, why did he bother?

  I made my way back to the tent. The party was growing wilder, and I had to move several drunken revelers out of the way. One woman, high enough to be delusional, kept shoving her bare breasts in my face. With a chill, I realized how easy it would be to kill someone in such a madhouse. I paused for a moment, made a major decision in a heartbeat. I opened the cell phone, dialed, and spoke urgently, then folded it and put it back in my pocket with a small, fervent prayer that I was right.

  A few moments later, Darlene said: "I tend to agree with Agent Fields." She sat near the campfire, hugging her knees. I sat cross-legged beside her. We were trying not to shout, but still be heard above the perpetual drumming. That brought our faces close together. Improbably, considering the circumstances, I found it difficult to resist kissing her.

  "How so?"

  "I think Fancy is a brilliant and dangerous man," Darlene said, "who built his own little kingdom right there underground. He even has his own standing army. Mick, he may be worth hundreds of millions of dollars already. He's got an awful lot to lose."

  "And Mary may have known some of his secrets?"

  "Exactly. My God, that poor girl."

  I picked up a large stick and threw it into the fire. Orange and white sparks soared high into the night sky like a colony of butterflies. "That poor girl," I repeated, dully.

  Darlene let a few seconds pass. "Mick, what are we going to do now?"

  I sat up, startled. "Damn. Where is Jerry?"

  "Off shooting pictures again or maybe getting even more stoned. He told me he would stay close to the lit areas. I doubt that Fancy would be interested in him anyway."

  "Meaning it's me he wants?"

  "Meaning it's probably you. Think about it, Mick. Mary didn't say much, but she could have told you everything she knew. You'd be a direct witness, too. Jerry and I have nothing but hearsay. You could really help Fields blow Fancy's operation wide open. He can't have you running around with information like that in your head."

  "So why not just shoot me?" An awkward silence followed. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. But he let me go both times. Why?"

  "I don't know. Like you said, the FBI has a fucking camera there, right? Fancy knew all about that, obviously. He couldn't kill us then without the FBI knowing all about it."

  "But out here?"

  "Out here he can."

  "Have you checked on Donato?"

  "Good idea, it's been a while. Give me the cell phone. I want to call the hospital and see what's up."

  I handed her the small phone clipped to my belt. Darlene went back into the tent in search of something akin to privacy. Why not just shoot me? Nice one, idiot, I thought, miserably. You're just batting a thousand.

  "Mick?"

  I looked up. A drunken Jerry was on the other side of the fire, waving his baseball cap. He was staggering through the crowd with a brunette who looked vaguely familiar. I had also noticed her in the tent, earlier in the day, when we had all first arrived. She was now wearing torn cut-off jeans, a tight blue halter, and a pair of large dark glasses. She carried a jug of cheap wine. Jerry waved, while the girl fondled his crotch.

  "Jerry!" I called. "Come back here, damn it!"

  Jerry held up ten fingers, as if to say "back in ten minutes." He put his hat on, took a swig from her wine bottle, and followed the pretty girl out into the parking area. I wanted to stop him, but estimated the distance and realized I'd never be able to catch up. Better to stay in one place and let him find his way back.

  I checked my watch and noticed the time. I don't like this, something isn't right. My gut knotted. Okay, maybe Jerry needed to get laid after all he'd been through. Was that a kind of love, too, the simple celebration of sexuality with a complete stranger? One could argue that it was, but it was only an experience. Isolated people, many of them drunk or stoned, celebrating and coupling with abandon, but for no particular reason: Existential hedonism.

  Oddly enough, I felt no trace of my disease. I had no wish to break my sobriety and join in. In fact, the hungry mindlessness I saw around me unaccountably filled me with a deep and profound sadness. It occurred to me that Mary, like most humans and perhaps like me, had lived, and died, knowing very little of real love.

  A tattooed man began filling his mouth with lighter fluid and spitting fireballs into the air. A drunken crowd cheered him on. The yellow flame looked magnificent in the gathering darkness, almost spiritual. The inky night sky was littered with sparkling stars. I remembered something a famous theologian, perhaps Paul Tillich, had once said about alcohol. He had called it "cheap grace."

  Someone tripped and fell against me. I reacted without thinking, grabbed the man by the shirt, rose to my knees and pulled. The figure fell forward, partly into the fire. He began to scream and slap at himself. Several people reached down and pulled him away from the blaze; they rolled him in the dust to help kill the fire.

  Everyone started laughing, and the stoned man got to his feet, embarrassed. He was clearly not hurt, but also in no way dangerous. He did not even seem to be aware of what had just transpired, and I'd almost killed him.

  Easy, damn it.

  I rubbed my face and tried to relax. Suddenly Darlene plopped down beside me. She handed over the cell phone. "I left it on," she said. Her face was expressionless and pale in the firelight. Moisture glimmered in her eyes.

  "Darlene?"

  She didn't answer me. One solitary tear rolled down her cheek. I put an arm around her shoulder.

  "Honey? Are you okay?"

  "Poor Mary is dead," she said. It took a moment for the words to fully register. I felt my own tears burning. I pinched the bridge of my nose to stop them, held her close. Darlene was trembling.

  "I called about Mary first," she said. "The nurse said she died a little while ago. She had a bad reaction to the heavy pain medication. She said again that it was probably a good thing. She called it a mercy."

  I felt a wave of rage roll over me and fought back an absurd urge to laugh. I bit my lip to stay silent. "And what did they say about Donato?"

  "I called the hospital and your friend Suzanne was there," Darlene said. "I asked her how Larry was doing. They ran into a lot of complications. Peanut told me that he got some fluid in his lungs, and the damned machines were breathing for him. At first he was just too weak to function on his own, but he pulled out of it a few hours ago. The doctors are just amazed. They say it's because he is in such good shape. Peanut says they think he has a better than even chance at a full recovery."

  "A different kind of mercy," I said, bitterly.

  "Mick, what are we doing out here?"

  "I don't know anymore."

  "Let's just go home."

  I hugged her. "I was thinking the same thing. I want to get you and Jerry back to L.A. on the first flight out of Reno in the morning."

  Darlene tensed her shoulders. She looked up. "And you?"

  "I have a score to settle," I said.

  "Then we both do it."

  "I'd rather leave you out of this. I want you to keep your badge."

  "You're going after Fancy?"

  I didn't a
nswer her, but the lines on my face felt carved. Darlene shook her head. "I'm in this to the finish," she said. "But maybe we ought to put Jerry on a plane. Where is he?"

  "He went off with that girl, the one we saw earlier. He said he'd be back, but he's smashed for Christ's sake."

  I realized with a start that more than half an hour had passed. I looked through the crowd, but saw no sign of Jerry. Suddenly I noticed a pair of grinning teenaged girls wearing matching bikinis. They were playing with a large digital video camera.

  It was Jerry's camera, and the black case lay open on the littered ground. A shiver down my spine.

  Just then, the cell phone rang.

  NINETEEN

  "Hello, Mick. How are you?"

  It was a woman's voice; artificially intimate, warm and syrupy. Familiar, but I couldn't place her. The girl Jerry had wandered away with, the one who had playfully grabbed at his crotch? I covered one ear and tried to listen. I was hoping sounds would give me a clue to her location.

  "Who is this?"

  She laughed, covered the phone for a moment and then came back on again. "You really don't know, do you?"

  "I can barely hear you," I said, truthfully. "Why are you calling me? What do you want?"

  "It's what you want that counts. Do you want to see your geek friend alive?"

  Darlene was tugging at my sleeve. I gently waved her away. She caught the expression on my face.

  "Yes," I said, alerting her. "Yes, I want to see Jerry alive."

  Darlene jumped to her feet. She palmed her gun and looked around the crowd, as if she suspected we were being watched. The night was turning totally surreal, a sweating dementia in the desert. Seeing no one staring directly at us, she grimaced and shrugged. I thought furiously and decided to stall, got to my feet.

  "Are you alone?"

  "Did you just say something? I can't hear you." I walked in a circle and moved the phone around, then fiddled with the volume to buy time. "Hold on a second. That's better."

  "Stop fucking around and listen to me."

  "Okay, okay."

  "I want to know if you're alone," the woman said.

  "I'm alone." She can't see me.

  "What happened to the woman who came with you?"