by Alex Grecian
“You look uncomfortable, Gary. Is it your stomach again? I think it must be. I have these pills from your trouser pocket. Would you like one? Open your mouth and raise your tongue. There you go. Let it dissolve.” Rudy smacked his lips as if he were the one taking a Zofran, but Gary couldn’t see him at all anymore, not even as a vague shape in the shadows. He concentrated on the sweet taste of the pill in his mouth and half listened as Rudy began to talk again.
“I was about to tell you about the camp,” Rudy said. “It was grand, Mauthausen-Gusen, with so much vital industry, so many people, and I was at the center of it all. I had been given the responsibility of keeping the trains running on time, so to speak. But my superior was a weak man, an alcoholic, and so I did everything. I ran the entire camp, whether I ever received proper credit for that or not. They called me the Wolf because I was fiercely loyal to the men who served under me. As I say, I thrived. I had a room built for me, much like this room, so that I could explore and discover and experiment. I’m not really a scientist, but I am curious about the world around me, a good thing to be, and I’m adaptable. Why is this person not the same as this other person? Why are the Juden and the black different from the white man? Why does the lightning not work when I try to employ it for the benefit of your kind, Gary? I must know. And you can see that, if the lightning itself rejects you, we were not wrong in the things we did back then, during the war. Before I knew anything of the lightning I was doing its work, but I never did understand, and I still don’t understand. I have had many opportunities over the years because I am the chosen of the storm. I am the conduit for the energy, and it is my responsibility to move that energy properly. Before I knew this, I suspected it, and I would walk about the camp and choose from among the prisoners there, point them out and they would be taken to my special room, the one like this room. And one day as I was walking among the Juden and the homosexuals, I saw a familiar face. He had changed a bit over the years. It had been a decade since I had seen him in the street, but I recognized him. It was the magician, of course, but he did not know me, and why would he have? I was no longer a child, even if I still had a child’s thirst for knowledge. I had him cleaned up and brought to me, the magician, that man who had created a miracle in the street, and I asked him, now that I finally had my chance, I asked him how he had done it. At first he didn’t want to tell me—can you imagine? That he would hold so tight to his secrets even in that place where all was laid bare for everyone to see? Madness. But I made him talk, and now I wish I hadn’t. He was a charlatan, of course. A part of me knew that all along, but I did so want to hang on to that feeling that there was magic in the world, in the air, in the sky above us and moving through us. I made him tell me and it spilled out of him, how he hid the bit of meat between his fingers along with the balloon full of pig’s blood, and squeezed it out onto the other man’s belly, worked it around and produced that piece of meat, pretended it was the cancer. It turns out, and this may not surprise you, the other man did not even have a tumor. That, too, was a lie. All of it a trick to get money from people on the street, people like me. I look back now and see that, in her way, my sister was wiser than I was. She kept her money, at least for a time, until she spent it on other things that didn’t last, and perhaps my belief in the magic gave me the same pleasure as her sweets and ribbons brought her. Perhaps that belief lasted longer and gave me more than she got. I don’t know. But in any event, the news that I had been tricked did not sit well with me, and I’m afraid I didn’t react well. And here we reach the end of my story. I thank you for listening, Gary, though I suppose you had no choice. It is good to relate these things every once in a while.”
Gary heard the scrape of one steel instrument against another.
“Oh,” Rudy said. “I left off the last bit of the story, didn’t I? Do you know what I found when I cut open that magician? When he was on my table at the camp that was so very much like this table in this basement room? You will hardly believe. Hidden away in his bowels were three perfect diamonds. He had swallowed them to try to keep them when he was brought to the camp, and I suppose he must have excreted them and reswallowed them again and again, his ultimate secret, a treasure with real worth beyond his lies and his tricks. He had brought me the beginnings of real wealth, and I kept those diamonds until I needed them. I did not spend them frivolously. I saved them and used them to purchase safe passage to America, where I am safe and respected, where I was able to purchase a ranch, where I was available for the storm to speak to me and through me, where I ultimately bought this church and saved it from the wrecking ball. And I have done so much good here for so many people, all because once, when I was a young boy, I stopped and paid attention when I thought there was magic happening. Isn’t that a sort of magic itself, Gary? If I had not paid attention to that magician on that day, I would not have recognized him later and I would not have had those diamonds delivered to me so that I could later make my escape and find my destiny here. I believe the lightning was speaking to me then, urging me toward the direction I needed to go to survive and, as always, thrive. But maybe you’re wondering how I could have done all of this with just three diamonds. You see, I learned that day the thing I had been so curious about. I learned the difference, what it was inside the Juden that made them different. It wasn’t only the diamonds. Some of them had coins and other small pieces of jewelry, gold and silver and gems. Do you know how much gold is in a gold tooth? In a thousand gold teeth? I kept it all. And I still look for it, Gary. I don’t find much these days, but I hold out hope. There are always possibilities, as long as I am willing to pay attention and look for the magic. And that truly is the end of the story.” Rudy chuckled. “Now, let’s see what you have inside you, why don’t we?”
Before he started screaming and all thoughts were driven out of his mind by pain, Gary realized what it was that had bothered him about the other table, sitting there across from him, empty save for the leather straps at each end.
It was child-size.
Chapter Eight
1
Lieutenant Keith Barent Johnson hated to work late, but it was the night before a holiday, which meant that there were housekeeping duties to perform and paperwork to finish up. He fervently hoped that the new trooper, Skottie, would be able to get through the morning’s shift without too much trouble. Thanksgiving wasn’t likely to be as bad as the Fourth of July or New Year’s Eve, or even Christmas. He didn’t anticipate a lot of drunk drivers, but the roads were a little slick from the melting snow, and street crews would not be operating. There wouldn’t be sand or ice melt spread across the blacktop. And there would be a lot of travelers out and about, headed to Grandma’s house for a slice of pumpkin pie or to the local Chinese restaurant after the turkey burned and the gravy seized up in the pan. If Keith had to guess, he figured Skottie would be facing at least four or five accidents, cars in a ditch or up a tree somewhere. He just hoped there wouldn’t be any fatalities. Those were tough to deal with under any circumstance, but were especially difficult during the holidays. If Skottie ran into any trouble, he would come in and help, of course, but he was afraid Gwen wouldn’t like that at all. Not after he’d missed taking the girls out trick-or-treating last month. That hadn’t been his fault, and he knew she understood that, but the knowledge didn’t make things a lot easier. Gwen was getting a little frayed around the edges, trying to cope with a teenage boy and twin girls, none of whom were inclined to listen to her. She needed a little help, and he’d promised her he’d be there, at the very least so he could deal with his parents when they showed up. He thought she’d appreciate it, too, if he made his famous butterscotch pie for everyone and maybe did the dishes afterward while she relaxed for once.
But it all depended on Skottie Foster handling things on her own.
So he was getting things ready for her, trying to anticipate whatever she might run into and squaring away any distractions. He had just decided there was nothing else he could do and his holiday
was in the hands of fate and proper planning, had his keys out, ready to lock up, when his computer chimed. He shook his head and flicked out the lights in his tiny office, then sighed and flicked them back on, crossed to his desk, and clicked the Safari icon in the dock at the bottom of his screen. He had a new e-mail from Captain Clayton, and he leaned forward over the back of his chair to open it.
The captain had written a single sentence: Look into this, Keith. Below that was a forwarded message from Major Thomas. The New York address of a law firm was at the top, followed by six paragraphs. He had to read it all before he was able to process it.
Dear Major Thomas:
My name is Mary Loftus, and I am an attorney with Morrison, Ellis, and Moore. I am contacting you on behalf of one of our firm’s partners: Jason Bloom.
This CEASE AND DESIST ORDER is to inform you that the actions of State Trooper Scotty Foster, including the persistent harassment of Jason and Rachel Bloom, have become unbearable for them. As Officer Foster is a law enforcement officer representing the state of Kansas and you are her supervisor, you are ORDERED TO STOP and prevent her from engaging in such activities immediately, as they are being done in violation of the law.
Morrison, Ellis, and Moore will pursue any legal remedies available against you if these activities continue. These remedies include but are not limited to: suing Scotty Foster, you, and all of her commanding officers for damages in civil court, and seeking criminal sanctions against the Kansas Highway Patrol and all responsible parties within the hierarchy of the Highway Patrol.
Officer Foster must IMMEDIATELY cease all contact with Rachel Bloom, and you must send me written confirmation that you will order her to stop such activities. You risk severe legal consequences if you fail to comply with this demand.
This letter acts as your final warning before we pursue legal action. At this time, I have not contacted the authorities or filed a civil suit against you, as I hope we can resolve this matter without authoritative involvement. This order acts as YOUR FINAL CHANCE to cease illegal and unwanted activities before we exercise our legal rights against you.
To ensure compliance with this letter, and to halt any legal action we may take against you, I require you to fill out and sign the attached form and e-mail it back to me within two (2) days of your receipt of this letter. Failure to do so will act as evidence of your infringement upon Jason and Rachel Bloom’s legal rights, and we will immediately seek legal avenues to remedy the situation.
Sincerely,
Mary Loftus
Mary Loftus wrapped up the e-mail with a long boilerplate disclaimer about their exchange being private and confidential, and there was an attachment that Keith downloaded to his desktop.
He wondered why Jason Bloom, if he was actually a partner at a big New York law firm, hadn’t written his own threatening letter. And he wondered if the damn letter was legitimate at all, since they’d misspelled Skottie’s name.
Either way, it had rolled downhill through the chain of command and had landed on his desk. He rolled his chair back and slumped down into it. He swiveled back and forth a few times, staring into the shadows in the corner of the room. At last he reached for his phone.
2
Skottie ended the call and stared at her phone for a long minute. Her head was spinning, and she knew she needed to organize her thoughts, to figure out some plan of action.
But Maddy needed to get ready for bed, and Bear had complicated their nightly routine. The big dog was a constant distraction for Maddy, who couldn’t seem to keep on task for more than thirty seconds. Emmaline came home from church and brought a flurry of energy with her into the tiny house. She waved Skottie away and took over with Maddy, prodding the girl to turn off her music and brush her teeth.
Skottie went to the kitchen and filled another bowl of water for the dog and glanced out the window. It had started to sprinkle again, creating a frozen crust on top of the thin layer of snow in the backyard. She checked the overnight forecast and saw that a major storm system was rolling in. A huge digital cloud of green, ringed with yellow and red highlights, was moving fast from the northwest. She went outside with Bear, letting him run and slide around the tiny yard while she watched the sky and mulled over the conversation she had just endured with Lieutenant Johnson.
He had sounded tired. Whatever Skottie had done to make Rachel Bloom sic a lawyer on the KHP, he told her, she had better not do again. And if she was still doing something, she needed to stop immediately. She had tried to explain to him that she had no idea what was going on, but he hadn’t been interested.
“All I care about is that we don’t get sued, Skottie,” he had said. “That clear?”
It was clear. But what wasn’t clear was why there was talk of being sued in the first place. She had visited Rachel once, at her deceased mother’s house. Everyone had been cordial, the meeting had ended on a sad and troubling note, but Skottie couldn’t recall any hostility. She wondered if Travis had visited again and said something to trigger a lawsuit. She’d brought up that possibility with the lieutenant.
“Stay the hell away from that guy, Skottie.”
She didn’t mention to Keith that she was watching Travis Roan’s dog, that she had invited the Nazi hunter to Thanksgiving dinner.
“I’m gonna get him checked out,” Keith said. “See if he’s even who he says he is. But in the meantime, you steer clear. You do your job, help fix a flat tire, give out a ticket or two, and keep your head down. Hopefully this goes away on its own.”
And if it didn’t? Skottie hadn’t asked, but she could read between the lines. Her job was in jeopardy. She wasn’t sure she could follow the lieutenant’s advice. She was being bullied, and she didn’t like it. She was used to standing up for herself, and the thought of backing off and letting someone else take control left a bad taste in her mouth.
When Bear went back to the door, she took him in and locked up for the night. He followed her and watched as she checked the latches on all the windows. She grimaced at the fresh trail of muddy paw prints on the floor.
“I don’t even wanna think about trying to give you a bath,” she said. “But we should’ve got a brush for you, huh? When we were at the store. Spruce you up a little?”
She rummaged around in the linen closet and found a pile of old sheets and blankets from the queen-size bed that was still back in Brandon’s house in Chicago. They didn’t fit any bed in Emmaline’s home. She bunched them up in a corner of the living room and showed Bear that he should lie down on them. She pantomimed for him, lying down and pretending to sleep, and then stood and motioned him over. She felt foolish, but he finally padded over and curled up, watching her the whole time.
