by James Swain
“There’s a spy, but it isn’t one of us. Someone else did this.”
“But who could it be?”
Peter again studied the list. Something about it bothered him. After a moment, he realized what it was. The information included Max’s cell phone number. Max had only recently crawled out of his cave and purchased one. Max had given Peter the number in case of emergency, and asked that he not share it. Max was a private person, and Peter didn’t think the other members of the Friday night group had the number.
There was one way to find out.
“Do you have Max’s cell phone number?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know. Let me check.”
Holly took out her cell phone, and went through the phone book. “No, I just have his apartment number. Is that significant?”
“Yes. I’m the only member of our group that has Max’s cell number. The spy got this information from me.”
“But how’s that possible? I mean, this isn’t stuff you talk about, is it?”
Peter never talked about his psychic friends. Nor had he put their names and phone numbers on his computer. The spy had gotten the information from his cell phone.
He slammed the table with the palm of his hand.
“For the love of Christ,” he swore.
“What’s wrong? You’re getting all red in the face.”
“I have to go.”
“Peter, wait.”
He rose from the table so abruptly that he knocked over his chair. The nurses stopped their conversation to stare at him.
“Go back to your coffee and gossip,” he told them.
“Peter, get a hold of yourself,” Holly said.
He hurried out of the cafeteria. Holly caught up with him in the hallway, and grabbed his arm. “Don’t run away from me like that,” she said furiously.
“I have to deal with this,” he said.
“Do you know who it is?”
“I have a good idea. Go back to your aunt’s apartment, and stay there until I call you.”
“Don’t order me around. I hate when you do that.”
“Do it anyway.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
They came to the street entrance. Outside it was cold and nasty and wet. Peter zippered his jacket while staring at his reflection in the glass door. Not having a family growing up, he’d compensated by creating one as he’d gotten older. It made the betrayal that much greater.
“Please tell me what’s going on,” she begged.
“It’s one of my assistants,” he said.
35
The sidewalks on Broadway were an endless sea of umbrellas. Peter stared out the passenger window of his limo, trying to control his rage.
“You okay, boss?” Herbie asked.
“I’m fine,” Peter replied, hearing the lie in his voice.
“You don’t look fine. Sure you’re not getting sick? There’s a bad flu going round.”
“When did you become a doctor, Herbie?”
His driver fell silent. Peter continued to watch the passing scenery. The anger he’d felt in the hospital had manifested into a burning rage that would not go away. First Reggie had died, then he’d learned one of his assistants had stuck a knife into his back. Bad news came in threes, and he wondered what was going to come next.
“You had anything to eat?” his driver asked.
“Just some coffee.”
“That explains it.” Herbie lifted a Philly cheesesteak sandwich wrapped in wax paper off the seat, and passed it through the partition. “Eat this. Make you feel better.”
“You think so?”
“Always worked for me.”
Peter quickly ate the sandwich. He was surprised at how hungry he was. He caught Herbie watching in the mirror.
“Better?” Herbie asked.
“A little. Remember the guy who tried to stab me the other night during my show?”
“Sure. What about him?”
“One of my assistants is feeding him information.”
Herbie frowned. “That’s bad stuff. Who is it?”
“I don’t know. He took the information off my cell phone, and passed it to him.”
“I thought you kept your cell phone locked for security.”
“I do.”
“Then how did he get it open?”
That was a good question. Even if one of his assistants had gotten their hands on his cell phone, they couldn’t have accessed the directory without knowing the password. Had he given the phone to one of them to use while it was unlocked?
“I must have let one of them borrow it,” Peter said.
“Like when the power went out,” his driver said.
A week before, there had been a power outage at the theater, and Peter had lent his cell phone so an electrician could be called. The electrician had not been able to find anything wrong with the fuse box, which had seemed odd at the time. Now, he knew why.
His third piece of bad news had just arrived.
“It’s Zack,” Peter said.
“You sure?”
“Yes. He had my cell phone. He’s a spy.”
“But I thought Zack fought with that guy who attacked you.”
Zack and Wolfe had fought, or so it had seemed at the time. Now Peter realized what had really happened. Wolfe had tried to stab him. Peter had blinded Wolfe with a load of flash paper. Realizing Wolfe might be caught, Zack had leapt onto the stage, and pulled Wolfe through the trapdoor, allowing the assassin to escape. Peter marveled at the boldness of what Zack had done. Even he had been fooled.
“It was a trick,” Peter said.
“So what are you going to do?” Herbie asked.
“Confront him.”
“But Zack’s a monster. He does mixed martial arts.”
“I’ve still got to confront him. Liza’s staying in his loft. She’s not safe.”
“Why don’t you call the cops?”
“No cops.”
“But boss—”
“I said, no cops.”
“Whatever you say.”
Peter resumed looking out the window. There were names for men like Zack. Traitor, spy, Judas. None of them adequately conveyed the harm he’d caused. All the cops could do was arrest Zack. Peter had something else in mind. He was going to make his assistant talk, and tell him about the men who ran the Order of Astrum. Then, maybe he’d call the cops.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Herbie said under his breath.
“Trust me,” he said, hearing the rage in his voice. “I do.”
* * *
Zack and Snoop shared a loft in SoHo, in what was once the heart of the New York art scene. They lived in an old factory with a cast-iron facade and a hundred and fifty years of history. Herbie parked by the front door. It was quiet, the rain keeping everyone inside.
Peter gazed up at the third floor where his assistants lived. Liza was up there, and had no idea that her life was in danger. He needed to get his girlfriend to safety before confronting Zack. He started to get out.
“You got something to defend yourself with?” his driver asked.
“Just my wits,” Peter replied.
“Zack will kill you with his bare hands.”
Peter thought back to his encounter with Wolfe. He’d been able to anticipate every move Wolfe had tried to make, and didn’t see things being any different with Zack.
“We’ll see.”
“Be careful, boss. I got bills to pay,” his driver said.
Peter climbed out of the limo. The building’s front door was locked, with visitors needing to be buzzed in. If he called upstairs, he’d have to explain why he was here. He considered picking the lock, and even breaking the front door down. Before he could decide, the front door opened, and a female artist emerged, dragging a large canvas.
“Crummy elevator is out of service,” she said.
Peter held the door for her, ducking inside when she was gone. He found the stairwell and started up,
hearing the dull echo of his footsteps. A naked bulb lit his way.
He felt his rage build, and clenched his hands into fists. As a boy, his parents had forbidden him from fighting. After they’d died, he’d lived with a number of their psychic friends who’d continued to stress that rule. He could remember getting into a scuffle at school with an older bully twice his size. The next thing he’d known, the bully was in the nurse’s office with a bloody nose and a pair of black eyes, while he was in the principal’s office getting a lecture. Milly, his guardian at the time, had begged him never to lash out again. Now, he understood why. Milly had seen his mother turn into a monster, and was fearful that her son was capable of doing the same thing.
He stepped out of the stairwell onto the third floor landing. His assistants’ loft was at the end of the hallway. Zack’s racing bike was parked by the door.
He rapped on the door, and stood facing the peephole. The door swung open, and he stood face-to-face with Liza. She wore gray sweats, no makeup, and had her hair tied in a bun. His heart did the funny thing it did whenever he saw her.
“Hi,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” She did not open the door all the way, and he sensed that there was something inside the loft she didn’t want him to see.
“Am I disturbing you?” he asked.
“Sort of. We were just practicing one of the illusions in the show.”
The words were slow to sink in. Last night, she’d told him she was quitting.
“You’re not leaving?”
“No. Look, I’m still mad at you, Peter. You screwed up, big time.”
“I know I did. I’m sorry.”
“You’re going to have to do better than that. Let’s get together later and talk, okay?”
“Sure.” He tried to look over her shoulder. “Is Zack here?”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“Is he?”
“Of course he’s here. Is something wrong?”
He brought his finger to his lips, and in a whisper said, “Zack set me up the other night at the theater. He’s a spy. You and Snoop are in danger.”
“Cut it out.”
“I’m not kidding. I have proof.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“Please let me in.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Send him to the nurse’s office.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
His girlfriend looked scared. Zack’s voice could be heard inside the loft. Snoop was with him, and they were discussing how to repair an illusion from the show. Peter pushed open the door, and entered the main living area, a large space with high ceilings and a succession of large, identical windows that faced the street. The furnishings were sparse, and consisted of several pieces of mismatched furniture bought from a thrift store.
The Sword Suspension illusion was in the center of the loft. Zack and Snoop were tightening the mechanism which let Liza rotate on the tip of a sword while suspended in midair. Peter had pulled the trick from the show after the sword began to wobble. Had Liza fallen, the sword’s blade could have ended her life.
His assistants stopped what they were doing.
“Look who’s here.” Snoop crossed the loft, and slapped Peter on the arm. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Stand behind me,” Peter said.
“Say what?”
“Just do it.”
Snoop shrugged and slipped behind him so he was standing next to Liza.
“You and I need to talk,” Peter said to Zack.
Zack put down the tool he was holding. His head of security wore a sleeveless black shirt that exposed his thick, muscular arms. He worked out every day, and had the ripped physique to show for it. “About what?” he replied.
“I think you know,” Peter said.
“Afraid not. You got something on your mind, spit it out.”
“I want to know why you betrayed me.”
Zack started to answer, then thought better of it. He picked up the sword that held Liza in the air during the trick. He ran his finger down the blade, testing its sharpness. The look in his eyes was pure evil. Zack had known this day would eventually come, and he had already decided what he would do. Lifting the sword over his head like a samurai, he came forward.
“If it means anything, I didn’t know they were planning to kill you,” Zack said.
“How touching. Now put the sword down,” Peter told him.
“Why should I?”
“Because if you don’t, I’m going to kill you.”
“You’re funny.”
“I mean it. Give up while you can.”
“Right.”
Peter looked into Zack’s eyes, and plumbed his thoughts. He saw Zack inside a primitive hut made of mud and straw, choking the life out of an African witch doctor. Tossing the half-dead man to the ground, Zack lit a match, and tried to set the hut ablaze. Several tribesmen entered the hut, and began to fight with Zack. Zack panicked, and ran away. It was then that Peter understood.
“You’re an assassin, too,” Peter said. “You’re just as evil as Wolfe.”
A strained look spread across Zack’s face, and he did not reply.
“You screwed up your last job in Africa, and they sent you to New York.”
Zack said nothing.
“You don’t like being a spy. You’d rather kill people.”
Still nothing.
“How do you plan to kill us?”
Zack finally found his voice. “I can make it painless, or you can suffer. It’s up to you.”
Liza let out a little shriek, Snoop a soft moan.
“Bring it on,” Peter said.
Zack let out a savage yell and charged him. Peter ducked as the sword sliced the air inches above his head. He danced away, and Zack chased him. Zack took another swing, and destroyed a lamp sitting on a table. He tried again, and demolished a chair. Each time, he was getting a little closer, and his eyes danced at the inevitable outcome.
Herbie had been right. He couldn’t beat Zack with his bare hands. Snoop still had the screwdriver he’d been using to repair the illusion. Peter clicked his fingers, and Snoop tossed it to him. Peter held the screwdriver by the tip. The demon inside of him told him to strike.
“Last chance,” Peter said.
“For what?” Zack replied.
“Give yourself up.”
“No thanks.”
“That’s my final offer.”
“Up yours, magic boy.”
The demon said Now. Peter flicked his wrist and tossed the screwdriver. It did one complete revolution as it flew through the air, and hit Zack in the chest. The point went all the way in, where it became impaled in his heart. Zack froze, and gazed down at himself.
“That’s not possible,” he gasped.
“Wrong,” Peter said.
Zack staggered around the loft. As the life drained from his body, he found the strength to pull the screwdriver out. A geyser of blood followed, and he pitched to the floor.
Liza let out a shriek, and covered her face.
Snoop let out a war whoop.
The demon in Peter said nothing.
* * *
Peter became himself again a few moments later. It was like snapping out of a daydream, and he gazed at the dead man lying on the floor. He’d killed Zack, as hard as it was for him to believe. He went to where Liza was standing, and put his arms around her protectively.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said.
“Oh, my God, Peter, this is so awful,” she cried.
“Wow, Zack was going to kill us,” Snoop said. “To think I roomed with the guy.”
Zack had known everything about the Friday night psychics there was to know. More than likely, he’d stored the information on his computer. Peter needed to call the police. But first, he needed to find that information, and erase it from the computer’s hard drive.
“Herbie
is parked down front. Have him drive you to my place,” Peter said.
“What about the police?” Snoop asked.
“I’ll deal with them.”
“You sure you don’t want us to stay, and give them statements?” Snoop said.
“Just go. It’s for your own good.”
Snoop grabbed Liza and started out the door. His girlfriend came back inside the loft, and stood directly in front of him.
“Look at me,” she said.
Peter looked into her beautiful face.
“Tell me how you feel,” she said.
“Like I might get sick.”
“You didn’t want to kill Zack, did you?”
He shook his head. The demon had wanted to kill Zack, but he hadn’t.
“Say it,” she said.
“I didn’t want to kill Zack, despite everything he’d done.”
His answer seemed to satisfy her. She turned around and walked out of the loft. He shut the door with his head spinning. The shock of what he’d done had started to set in. He found a chair and sat in it. For several minutes he did nothing but stare at the floor.
36
Once he started to feel better, Peter went searching for Zack’s laptop. There weren’t that many places in the loft to look, and he tried Zack’s bedroom first. Zack had been a minimalist, and the room had little in the way of furnishings save for a mattress on the floor, and a weight-lifting bench with barbells and dumbbells lying around it. A laptop lay on the floor beside the bed, an ultrathin Dell Latitude. Peter tried to see what was on it, only to discover he needed a password. He called Snoop, and his assistant’s cheerful voice answered on the first ring.
“You don’t know the password to Zack’s computer, do you?” Peter asked.
“I know the passwords to everyone’s computers,” Snoop said proudly.
“You don’t know mine.”
“It’s Houdini, spelled backwards.”
“That’s actually a little bit scary.”
“I’m just that good. Zack’s is BULLYBOY, in caps. Was Zack really an assassin for the Order of Astrum?”
The less Snoop knew about what was going on, the better. But at the same time, Peter couldn’t keep his assistant in the dark forever. Trust ran both ways. “I’m afraid so. He would have killed us if I hadn’t stopped him.”
