The Hanged Man

by T. J. MacGregor

  When Nadine spoke, the voice was hers, but it sounded huskier, lower. “It’s nice to see you again, Mira.”

  “You, too, Ben. I’ve been puzzled by a few things.” And scared. “Did you enjoy the chili?”

  “It was a trifle spicy. But it keeps Nadine’s palate sharp.”

  Ben claimed he had been a gourmet cook in his last life, chef on a yacht that sailed the seas around southern Spain. “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about this murder, Ben.”

  “Your vision was essentially correct. Detective Sheppard will find confirmation when he speaks to the dead man’s son.”

  Mira decided to take notes. She started to get up for a pencil, but Nadine stood first and walked over to a drawer, walked without her cane, with barely a limp. She returned with a pencil and some paper and began to speak as soon as Mira had made her notes.

  “Can you give me a description of this man? Or tell me his name?”

  “He goes by many names. I believe his preferred name has an H in it. The cards are his story. The green shoelaces are important.”

  She hadn’t mentioned the shoelaces to Nadine, but it wasn’t uncommon for Ben to know things about Mira or her life that Nadine didn’t. “Anything else?”

  “There are actually three men who play prominent roles. But the man with the green shoelaces is the most important. He’s very powerful, Mira. He’s able to project his consciousness in an unusual way and is also able to shield himself.”

  “Psychically? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “It’s more complicated than that, but yes, basically he has a highly developed psychic ability. But it’s misdirected, corrupted.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Ben. But since you know all this, why can’t you give me a description or a full name?” Why can’t you tell me why this happened?

  “I perceive energy essences. It isn’t as if I’m up there somewhere peering down, Mira. There’s no bird’s eye view where I am.”

  “Why did I pick up on this murder?”

  “At some level, you were open to it.”

  “But why?”

  Ben ignored the question and continued. “A man will approach Detective Sheppard with certain explosive information.”

  Explosive. Mira didn’t like the adjective. “What do you mean by explosive? Who is he?”

  Again, he failed to answer her question and went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “This entire situation demands the utmost caution on your part, Mira. I can’t stress this strongly enough. You’ll be up against—”

  The phone suddenly rang, snapping Nadine out of her trance. Mira grabbed it before it could ring again. “Yes? Hello?”

  “Mira, it’s Shep. Sorry to be calling so late. I tried your house, but there wasn’t any answer.”

  Her body reacted to the sound of his voice in the same way it had when they had shaken hands outside of the store. An odd something fluttered in the center of her chest. “We’re still up.” Talking to Ben. “I should have some more information for you by tomorrow.”

  “Great. Could we, uh, get together sometime in the afternoon?”

  “That’d be fine. What time?”

  “Well, I was wondering if you could walk through Steele’s house to see what impressions you pick up.”

  Utmost caution: Ben’s warning echoed in her ears. When she hesitated, he rushed on.

  “I’d be glad to pay you for your time.”

  She shut her eyes and rubbed the aching spot between her eyes. “You don’t have to pay me.” And I don’t have to do this. “I don’t think I’d be able to give you the information you need.” I don’t want to do this. And all else aside, she had Annie to consider. “Quite frankly, Shep, I don’t want to get any more involved in this.”

  There. She’d said her piece. But Sheppard wouldn’t let it go. “Look, it won’t go any farther than the two of us, if that’s what you’re worried about. Your name won’t be mentioned or associated with this investigation in any way, Mira. I give you my word. I’m just looking for leads.”

  Christ, she thought, staring at her toes as they curled and uncurled against the floor. He would browbeat her, plead, beg, keep her on the phone the rest of the night if that’s what it took. “That’s only part of it. I just don’t feel good about any of this.”

  “We’re the only two who will know about it.”

  She rubbed her forehead, massaging the ache. “If I consent to try, Shep, that will end my involvement. You have to understand that.”

  “No problem. I really appreciate it, Mira. How about one tomorrow afternoon? I can pick you up.”

  “Okay, see you then.”

  “You see how things work?” Nadine said with a small, annoying smirk. “Once you decided to be involved, the universe gives you the opportunity to find the truth.”

  “I don’t want to read Steele’s home, but maybe I’ll pick up something that will explain why I tuned in on his murder. And whether I do or don’t pick up anything, this will end my involvement.”

  Nadine didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say anything. “Is Ben still around? He was right in the middle of something.”

  “Why should he do your work?”

  Because the dead were supposed to have at least some of the answers. “Would you please try again?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “C’mon, Nadine. Don’t be so stubborn.”

  “He’s gone,” her grandmother repeated.

  Annoyed now, Mira leaned forward again. “Gone where, for Christ’s sakes?”

  “I don’t know.” Nadine shrugged, finished her hot chocolate, and got to her feet, ending the discussion.

  Mira sat there, anxiety rolling through her again, and wished she’d told Sheppard to forget the whole goddamn thing.

  In the dream, she and Tom sat on an emerald hillside that overlooked a city. She knew this place, they had met here many times since he’d died. The sky always seemed to be a deep violet, like a bruise, the way it looked before sunrise or sunset. Although a breeze stroked her face, nothing around them moved—not leaves or blades of grass, not even the clouds. The air was still. “I want to stay here,” she said.

  “You can’t, Mira. This is just a spot in the between.” He took her hand then, his thumb sliding over the knuckles. “C’mon, I’ll show you where I live.”

  As they walked away from the hill, the sky didn’t change colors, the violet didn’t deepen, no stars popped out. It was as if time literally held its breath. And yet, she felt the softness of the grass beneath her bare feet, the warmth of Tom’s hand in her own, the heat of her desire for him.

  He talked, his voice moving through her like some magical liquid, touching her all over inside. She clung to his words, the sound of his voice, the smallest details. She knew that most of what she experienced here would slide away from her when she woke.

  “You like him,” Tom said.

  He meant Sheppard. “Yeah, I like him.”

  Tom squeezed her hand. “Good. It won’t be easy, you’ll fight it like hell. But don’t cheat yourself. It’s okay to let go.” She suddenly stopped and threw her arms around him, hugging him fiercely. She didn’t want to let go of him, of her memories, of what they’d had. She didn’t want to let go of any of it. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. She buried her face against his chest, filling her lungs with the scent of the fabric. “Don’t leave me.”

  Tom’s hands, his large and wonderful hands, slipped along the sides of her face and he stood back slightly. “I’m not leaving you, Mira. We’ll always meet here. But we both need to move forward.”

  She didn’t want to hear about moving forward, about moving anywhere. She groped at his shirt, her mouth crushed his, and she came to with the pillow smashed against her body and her face damp with tears.

  Mira squeezed her eyes shut and tried to sink into the dream again, to draw it around herself, to wrap herself up inside of it. But the dream had
disappeared and so had the hill. The only part of Tom that remained was a phantom’s touch, like the ghost pain an amputee feels around a severed limb.

  Chapter 9

  In the moonlight, Hell’s Bay glinted like pale aluminum. The airboat flew across it, eating up the miles between here and Florida Bay with the hunger of some exotic sea monster. The engine thundered in Hal’s ears. He would be half-deaf for hours, but it would be worth it just to get to the bay and back before sunrise.

  Rae wouldn’t be stirring before then; the shot of Darvon he’d given her before he’d left would last a good while. Just the same, he worried about what might happen if she came to before he returned. Although he’d handcuffed her, suppose she struggled so hard she broke her wrist or her hand? Suppose she stumbled off the end of the platform like the college coed?

  Suppose this, if that—fuck it. Right now he needed to focus on the meeting with Manacas and Indrio. This would be the first time they’d seen each other in nearly six months. Of the two, Indrio would be the most likely to discover the truth about Rae. He, of course, would tell Manacas, who would confront Hal.

  They would see it as a deception and it might seed distrust among them at a time when they most needed to be unified. The point now was to get rid of Fletcher so the three of them could get on with their lives. Their best chance of doing that was to work with each other, to share whatever information they had.

  But in all fairness to himself, Hal thought, he’d been living alone all these years while Manacas had a wife and an infant son. The woman Indrio lived with had helped him and Manacas obtain new identities back in the late eighties. She had offered to help Hal, too, but he hadn’t been ready then. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have accepted her help, he hadn’t wanted to feel indebted to anyone. He always went his own way.

  So how could they blame him for needing the same thing they already had?

  But they would blame him. By bringing Rae into this, he might be jeopardizing The Plan.

  When Hal docked at the Bay Pub, he still hadn’t made up his mind how to handle it. So he shoved Rae into the back of his mind and made his way through the crowd on the pub’s dock. Jukebox music pumped through the cool, salty air, laughter drifted out over the painted waters, the place was jammed.

  The pub catered mostly to boaters who hung around the tip of the peninsula—fishermen, shrimpers, tourists, rednecks, misfits of various shapes and sizes. Some frequented the place only during the tourist season, others showed up on weekends, and still others probably warmed the stools every night of the week. The pub was the bay’s neighborhood bar, an open-air chickee in the middle of nowhere, which ran off half a dozen generators. Only one rule existed here: you didn’t fuck with anyone else’s space.

  Hal spotted Vic Indrio first, tall, thin, uptight, a chain-smoker who literally vibrated with energy. A scar angled down the left side of his face, a vestige of prison. He leaned against the railing, tossing food to the fish, but even at rest he twitched, he fidgeted, his feet shuffled. Hal wondered if Indrio moved when he slept.

  Hey, bro, Hal thought at him.

  Indrio’s head suddenly snapped up and he glanced around. He grinned, bobbed forward like a man on a pogo stick, and threw a skinny arm around Hal’s shoulders. Goddamn, you’re looking good.

  Hal never knew for sure whether what he heard in his head was exactly what another person was thinking or whether he picked up merely the pattern of words, filtered through his own subconscious. Even Steele hadn’t known for sure. But what he heard was close enough. He stood back and gestured at the cigarette burning between Indrio’s fingers.

  Still sucking on those cancer sticks?

  “Shit, it’s made of ginseng and it smells like pot.” He laughed and flicked the butt over the railing. “Ruthie gets pissed if I smoke anything else. C’mon, let’s go over to the other side. Ed was trying to get us a table there.”

  “You two been here long?”

  “Half an hour.” He patted Hal on the back. “Good work with Steele. That’s the best goddamn news I’ve heard since Ruthie handed me new ID. But what’s with the wife? The radio said she’s missing.”

  Not exactly.

  Indrio stopped and stared at Hal with his dark, spooky eyes, eyes that had always seen too much. Indrio had been sickly as a child and had spent most of his early childhood bedridden. Hal believed his telepathic ability had developed then, a means for him to stretch the narrow confines of his world. Under Steele’s tutelage, his ability had flourished. Even though he couldn’t reach like Hal could, he could read a man’s thoughts with astonishing ease and Hal’s were so close to the surface Indrio barely had to extend himself.

  “Christ. That was stupid, man, fucking stupid.”

  He’d figured that Indrio would be more disturbed about Rae than Manacas would, but his vehemence startled him. “Easy for you to say. You haven’t been living alone.”

  “But why her? Why Steele’s wife? This could fuck things royally.”

  ‘‘It won’t.”

  Indrio ran his hands over his thinning chestnut hair. “Ed doesn’t know yet, does he?”

  “No. It doesn’t change our plans and it may just bring Fletcher here even faster.”

  “Ed thinks she’s already here. He couldn’t find her at any of her usual spots in D.C.”

  Ed Manacas, remote viewer, had been able to keep loose tabs on Fletcher since he’d split from Delphi in the late eighties. Hal had never understood why Manacas was able to locate her while he had been unable to reach into her except on rare occasions. Manacas couldn’t explain it, either. But then again, Manacas rarely thought very deeply about such things; he was too busy reacting.

  He sat alone at a table at the back of the pub, a big, muscular man with a head so bald it seemed to glint in the starlight. He stood as soon as he saw Hal. There was no bear hug from him; he had always been more formal than Indrio. But he clasped Hal’s hand in both of his own, his grin slicing the bottom part of his face in half. “Good to see you, man. It’s been too long. Have a seat. We’ve got plenty to celebrate.”

  As they sat down, Indrio looked at Hal, brows lifting. Well, bro?

  Yeah, yeah, just give me a chance.

  Manacas couldn’t read either of them, but he knew them well enough to realize something was going on. “So? Anyone going to let me in on the secret?”

  “I’ve got Steele’s wife,” Hal blurted.

  Blood drained from Manacas’s face. His hazel eyes caught the light, hurled it away again. He glanced at Indrio, then at Hal, and exploded with laughter. “Jesus, you almost had me fooled, man.” But his smile faded like a tan when neither Hal nor Indrio said anything. “It’s a joke, right?”

  Hal shook his head; he suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed. He’d made a major mistake by mentioning Rae.

  “Aw, fuck.”

  “You got it,” Indrio agreed.

  “Steele had a kid. You take him, too?” Manacas sat forward, his face skewed with anger.

  “He wasn’t there.” As soon as Hal said it, he realized he didn’t know that for sure. A terrible cold fluttered deep down inside his chest, the wings of death brushing his heart.

  Where the hell was the kid?

  He quickly slammed a door on the thought, but Fletcher’s face rose unbidden in his memory. He blamed her for all of this, her and Steele. He wouldn’t be sitting here now if it hadn’t been for them. Yes, Steele had taught him how to sharpen his abilities. Yes, he probably wouldn’t be able to reach as he could now if it hadn’t been for Steele. And yes, Fletcher had upheld her end of the bargain when he’d gotten out of the joint. But there had been nothing benevolent about any of it. Steele and Fletcher had used him, had used Indrio and Manacas and the others, to further their own agenda. And behind their agenda, he thought, had lain another, something darker, murkier, labyrinthine, that he’d never quite figured out.

  On one level, their agenda had been incredibly simple. The seven participan
ts in the Delphi project were psychic spies for the government. Mission Impossible shit with a twist. But on another level, Delphi had been their private secret weapon, a means to benefit personally. Hal knew Fletcher was the guiltier party in this respect, that she had advanced through the Bureau ranks because of information he’d given her, because of jobs he had pulled for her.

  If it hadn’t been for information Hal had given her about one of the Colombian kingpins, she wouldn’t have been able to make the bust that had put her in the running for the assistant deputy slot. If Hal hadn’t fucked with the head of an agent who had been harassing Fletcher, he wouldn’t have ended up in the psych ward of a local D.C. hospital and she wouldn’t have assumed his job.

  Or how about that trip to Russia after he’d been sprung? Even though the Bureau supposedly handled only domestic cases, he and Fletcher had flown to Moscow so he could reach into Boris Yeltsin for information about a capitalist venture. Fletcher had passed the information on to someone in the CIA whose allegiance she had sought.

  Roll over, Hal. Bark, Hal. Sit up, Hal. Do your tricks, Hal. And Fletcher had never given a shit about what time of the day or night it was; she charged in with her questions and fuck whoever got in the way.

  Manacas tapped Hal’s arm. “You still with us, man?”

  Hal snapped back and said, “With Rae missing, they may call it an abduction and that’ll get Fletcher involved right up front. It’ll make it easier for us.”

  Indrio looked dubious, but Manacas, always the pragmatist, brightened. “He may have something, Vic. It might just work to our advantage.”

  Indrio shook his head. “I don’t like it. The whole thing sucks.” His bushy brows knitted together. “Did you plan this shit with Rae from the beginning, Hal?”

  With Rae. Like Indrio knew her personally. Hal felt like sinking his fist into Indrio’s ugly mouth. “No.” Hal knew Indrio was reading him, but since he had answered the question honestly, he didn’t care. “At least not that I was aware of. But I’ve always had a thing for her, so maybe the thought was there from the beginning, I don’t know.”