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

by Harry Shannon

  Fields shrugged. "Nope." He put one palm up to shield himself from the splatter. Donny Boy tried to scream. Fields shot him, execution style, right in the head. Blood and brains blew up and away in a fountain. Donny turned into a large bag of sticks and crumbled to the ground.

  "Wait." I got up on my knees. "Are you out of your mind?"

  Fields walked closer. "You had me pegged correctly, Callahan. I had no intention of arresting the bastard."

  "God damn it, Fields."

  "And I also have to hand it to you. It looks like you were right about Fancy after all. He's only a pimp."

  "I can't believe you just did that."

  "Believe it." Fields searched, found the ejected shell casing and put it in the pocket of his slacks. He armed the weapon again and pointed it my way. "Can't have you telling on me, can I?"

  I shrugged. "About what? I didn't see anything."

  Fields laughed, lowered the weapon. "Come on now, Callahan. Under that country boy act, I know you're smarter than most people. You've probably figured out what's really going on. Tell me the truth."

  "Maybe." A large star of white burst overhead, and the crowd screamed its approval. "And could be I have already passed the information on to somebody else."

  "I doubt that," Fields said. "Not out here, anyway." He aimed the gun.

  "Cell phone."

  "What?"

  "I said cell phone. I broke it somewhere along the way, but it was working fine a few minutes ago. Want me to show it to you?"

  Fields frowned. "No. Keep your hands where I can see them." He lowered the gun, considered his options. "All right, I'll indulge you for a moment. What did you say, and to whom?"

  "Q and A, Fields." I took a deep breath. "My turn first. An associate told me you lived pretty well for a cop, and that cover story about having a rich relative worked okay for her, but I couldn't stop thinking about how expensive your clothes looked. That watch is worth ten grand. I thought about how unorthodox and over the top your methods were, right from the start, and how the mysterious kiddy porn bad guys always stayed one step ahead of the law. So, it crossed my mind, what if that's because he is the law?"

  "Not much to go on."

  "True enough, so it wasn't until you showed up here without backup of any kind that you gave yourself away. That's what tipped me for real."

  "Oh, nonsense," Fields said, a bit offended. "How would you know that was more than simple dedication on my part?"

  "I know."

  "What, because you're such a good shrink?"

  "No, because it violates FBI procedure. Also, nothing else made sense in context, taken with all the other little hints. One question."

  "Hurry."

  "Do you run the kiddy porn outfit, or do they just pay you for protection?"

  Fields pursed his lips. He paused, shrugged. "Protection, of course. I'm no freak. I don't dirty my hands with the day to day operation, I just get a decent piece of the action. Hell, if you can't beat them, join them."

  "That's why you were so obsessed with finding these losers, to eliminate the competition."

  Fields smiled. "And we have, thanks to you," he said. He raised the gun and aimed carefully. "Oh, one last thing, Callahan."

  Don't do it, don't do it. "Okay."

  Fields asked: "Who did you call?"

  "Who?" I wanted more time. I did not want to die. "Maybe I'm not going to tell you that."

  "Suit yourself." Fields smirked, but his eyes were empty. He started to pull the trigger.

  "Wait! I'll tell you, damn it, it was . . ."

  Movement all around us, just as I felt overcome by a wave of dizziness from the drugs, somehow the very night itself sprang to life; the shadows wrinkled and changed shape in an eerie way, then moved in a confusing blur of fists and feet. Fields grunted with alarm, made a strange, gurgling sound . . .

  . . . And simply vanished.

  I rubbed my eyes and peered into the dark. I had seen some black fabric, Ninja style, and a bit of motion, but that was all. I got to my feet and stumbled away.

  I met Darlene, Jerry, and Loco at the edge of the parking area. She was carrying her revolver and they had our backpacks. Darlene looked stunned to see me alive.

  "Let's get the hell out of here," I said. The noise had intensified. The climax of the festival was only a few moments away.

  "What happened, Mick? Where the hell did he go?"

  "I'll tell you later." I was totally exhausted. "Jerry, go get the wagon, okay? We'll wait right here."

  Darlene spoke to Loco in rapid Spanish. "Nostros te vamos a sacarte de aqui," she said. "Tenga paciencia."

  The brave little boy sat down and hugged his knees again. The fireworks were ending. The entire crowd had moved into the center of the camp to congregate around the Burning Man and watch the climactic event. No one paid us any attention. Jerry had a straight run to the wagon and an easy drive back. He pulled the wagon into the area with a spray of dust. I motioned for the others to get in; searched the area with my eyes, but saw nothing. Finally, I simply waved my arm in the air and got into the car.

  "Drive."

  Darlene spoke to Loco in Spanish again. "No va ser mucho tiempo." He smiled and began to cry with happiness. She turned back to me. "I told him we're going to get him out of here, and that he should just be patient. Now what the hell is going on?"

  "Listen up," I said. "We will be in a world of trouble here, if we don't get our stories straight. Can we trust Loco to help us out?"

  Darlene translated the question. Loco nodded with enthusiasm. "Tell him our lives may depend on his honor."

  "It's okay," she said. "He's with us."

  "Tell him this," I said, thinking aloud. "We just came here to make a documentary. He broke free of them on his own. He was wandering around and then recognized us because his aunt works for me. Loco told you in Spanish that the man who had abducted him and photographed him for sexual reasons was somewhere in the crowd. You told Jerry and me about it, and we all decided just to get him the hell out of Dodge."

  Darlene translated. "Okay," she said. "What else?"

  "That's it. He can tell the truth about everything else. He remembered having met me before and came over. He just got lucky."

  "Will this work?" Jerry asked.

  "It has to work, but it is going to look like one hell of a coincidence to the authorities."

  "So we all stick to the story. Got it. What else do I tell him to say?"

  "Tell him he ran away when they were not looking. When the cops check things out tomorrow, they will find two dead suspects. Eventually they will also figure out that their man Fields was here, too. Then they can put the story together any way they want."

  "You mean any way that makes the bureau look good?"

  "Bingo, and without us having been involved in that part of it."

  Jerry headed for the highway. He hit the bright beams. He spoke over one shoulder. "Fields was crooked?"

  "He was with the other outfit," I said. "He protected the kiddy porn group that Donny was competing with."

  Behind us the feet of the Burning Man finally burst into flames. The crowd shrieked approval and the booming, macabre echo carried across the foothills. I rolled my window up to shut out the screams, both real and imagined. Darlene was still puzzled.

  "But what actually happened to Agent Fields?"

  "I called Fancy a couple of days ago," I said. "I asked him to have us tailed from a distance. He put his best people on it. Then I called him again from the desert just a while ago. I told him that Donny Boy had murdered Mary, and what I had started to suspect about Jack Fields. I promised him we would look the other way."

  We drove on through the blackest of nights, only half aware of the spectacle still going on behind us, shrinking into the distance as red fire roared up to heaven. Loco began saying a rosary under his breath.

  Darlene suddenly caught on. She shuddered. "Oh, my God."

  I glanced in the mirror. The red and orange flames ha
d finally reached the eye of the Burning Man.

  Jerry drove on in silence, finally shook his head. "I still don't get it. So where the hell is Agent Fields?"

  I looked back at the giant burning effigy. The fire had consumed it and the crowd was shrieking in ecstasy.

  "Fancy's boys got him. My best guess is that he is somewhere up in that thing with a gag in his mouth, and that they're going to need dental records to identify him."

  EPILOGUE

  "They think they got it all." I put the telephone down and crossed my arms. I felt dazed, but happy. "Hal is going to pull through."

  She took my hand, tugged and led me back to where we'd been lying. I stretched out flat and sighed. This was pretty close to heaven on earth. I counted my blessings—a littered dinner table with melting candles, an empty bottle of non-alcoholic champagne; plus an old gray cat purring nearby, a fireplace with a nice fat log sizzling in it, and some cool jazz playing on the radio.

  "Damn, that feels good," I sighed.

  "It's supposed to."

  Darlene poured some more warm oil onto her hands and continued to massage my aching muscles. She chuckled. "Did you see that little girl who finally broke Loco's birthday piñata?"

  "She was really excited."

  "When she took off the blindfold and saw all that candy, I thought she'd jump right out of her party dress."

  "She was damned cute. Do you think Loco had fun?"

  "He seemed pretty happy. I know Blanca was." Darlene fell silent. "Mick?"

  "Yeah?"

  "How do you think that boy will turn out, after what he's been through?"

  I thought for a long moment. "Loco is a brave boy, Darlene. Still, it's hard to say. From what I hear, the family has managed to keep things pretty quiet around the neighborhood. They also agreed to let him see that therapist that I recommended, the one who specializes in child sexual abuse. She's the best, and Hal said he'd pay for it indefinitely."

  "He's a sweetheart."

  "Yes, he is."

  "Still, the poor kid . . ."

  I rolled over, pulled her head down and kissed her nose. "Jerry came from foster care. I grew up with alcoholism and physical abuse. You were sexually molested."

  "And your point would be . . . ?"

  "You turned out okay," I said, trying to lighten things up. "One out of three ain't bad."

  "I'm serious."

  "Okay, I know you are, but the truth is only time will tell. I think he's got a good shot, let's put it that way."

  The jazz song faded and a commercial spot began. One candle on the dinner table hissed and then sputtered into smoke. Darlene smiled as I stroked her bare skin.

  "You're beautiful."

  The phone shrieked, startling us both. I groaned and rolled over, scratching my sore elbows on the shag carpet. I answered it on the third ring.

  "Hello?"

  "Mick? It's Leyna. Leyna Barton. Have I caught you at a bad time?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh. Can I try again tomorrow?"

  "Don't bother." I broke the connection, left the phone off the hook, and rolled over again.

  "Who was that?" Darlene asked.

  "Wrong number."

  The commercial spot came to an end, a station ID played and then the tape of an earlier show resumed. When my voice came over the radio, I was still talking animatedly about wanting to find a good, workable definition of love.

  "Listen to that bullshit," I said, wearily. "Somebody could almost believe I know what the hell I'm talking about."

  Darlene kissed my broken nose. "Sometimes you do," she said. "Sometimes you do."