Lord of Time

by Michele Amitrani

  The only person inside the chapel was a priest, who was sweeping the floor with a broom.

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Pacific announced loudly as he strode in, shadowed by Alfred.

  The clergyman paused, threw Pacific and Alfred a careful look, and resumed sweeping. “A sinner is good for business,” he said, his voice quick and sharp. “Especially if he brings with him a promise of redemption.”

  “He does,” Pacific said, chuckling. “He does indeed.” He looked up. His eyes lingered on the crucifix. “My oh my. That wasn’t there last time.”

  The priest followed Pacific’s gaze. “You’re right,” he said, collecting a bunch of cigarette butts in his dustpan. “We had it mounted the day before yesterday. It’s bigger than the last one. And brighter.”

  “Makes for a better show,” Pacific said approvingly. He looked at Alfred. “It’s fitting, making a dying man nailed to a board the symbol of a religion that rewards pain and discomfort above all, don’t you think?”

  “Is this him?” the priest regarded Alfred with a look so quick it was almost a glance. “The bee in the beehive?”

  “Apologies,” Pacific said, spreading his arms. “I’m forgetting my manners. Alfred White, this is Father Jude. He helps me run my business.”

  “Hello,” Alfred said. He stretched out his hand. The priest ignored it. His eyes remained fixed on Pacific.

  “How much does he know?” he asked, his voice edgy.

  “He knows enough,” Pacific said.

  The priest stopped sweeping. “So you decided to go on with him?” The clergyman’s jaw tightened visibly.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Pacific shrugged. “He’s here in front of you, isn’t he?”

  Father Jude snorted. “We don’t need him. I have already told you.”

  “Your judgment is clouded by pride, Father. We do need him.”

  The priest leaned the broom and the dustpan on a nearby bench. He turned to face Pacific. “Why?” he asked with more than a hint of resentment in his voice.

  “Time has been lagging for a while,” was Pacific’s answer. “Instances are scarcer and more difficult to find than they used to be. You know this song—don’t make me sing it to you again. We need to expand quickly, and we need to do so by planting a flag in a new soil.”

  “And you think corporland is the solution to your problem?”

  “Corporland?” Pacific repeated, amused.

  “You know what I mean,” Father Jude said bitterly.

  “It’s difficult to see,” Pacific admitted, “but there is potential.”

  Father Jude nodded, but with a tightness that made the gesture look forced. He started rubbing his brow as if to ward off a headache. “What if I had a case that could buy you more time that you have been able to harvest in a while?” he said, almost whispering the words.

  Pacific looked at Father Jude intently. “In that case, I would listen.”

  The priest briefly bowed his head then pressed a palm to his heart. “I’ve been working on this case for quite a while now,” he said slowly. “It’s a young couple. Early twenties. They have a daughter, a four-year-old kid named Sasha. The doctors found a malignant tumor in the middle of her brain stem. She has less than three months left to live. First she will stop walking, and then she will stop talking. And then she will die in the caring arms of her parents.”

  Pacific nodded thoughtfully. “What are the hook and the stake?” he asked.

  The priest breathed faster, and his face gathered shadows. “That is where the thing becomes tricky.” He paused, and seemed to choose his next words very carefully. “They are not part of the herd.”

  Pacific frowned. “Are you meddling with non-believers?”

  “They are good people,” Father Jude added hastily, “with kind hearts and—”

  “No fear of the Almighty,” Pacific cut in, his words as heavy as a lead hammer. “What good are they to you? You have no leverage over people with no faith. You know what happened the last time you ventured into uncharted territory. I shouldn’t have to point this out to you.”

  “This case is different,” Father Jude said stubbornly.

  “How so?”

  “I know I can convince them. I just need time. Listen, I know I can do it. I just … I just have to work a bit more on this case and not rush them into doing anything too bold. I have to twist the story so that it makes enough sense to them that they can see you and be ready for the taking. You know how it works. I don’t want to dump info on them, but at the same time, I can’t take anything for granted. That would scare them away when the harvesting comes. If they agree, we might be talking about a sizeable deal.”

  Pacific didn’t seem convinced. “How sizeable?” he asked reluctantly.

  “Forty years,” Father Jude said. “Maybe more.”

  “A promising case,” Pacific admitted. “I’ll grant you that. But it’s not enough.”

  “What you mean?” Father Jude’s frustration was plain. “It’s more than you have—”

  Pacific raised a hand, and the priest swallowed the rest of the sentence. “I know what you’re thinking, but it makes no difference. Don’t you understand? Even if you do succeed with this case, I need more than an occasional windfall to keep the boat afloat. I need an entirely new, reliable flow of income.”

  “And you think this corporate drone can provide that?” Father Jude blurted out, pointing at Alfred.

  “Excuse me?” Alfred said, looking up and squaring his shoulders. “I have no idea what is going on here, but I’m not—”

  “Quiet.”

  Pacific had spoken the word in little more than a whisper, but there was an edge to it that felt dangerous, so Alfred closed his mouth.

  Pacific looked back at Father Jude. “Fair enough,” he said. “You are scared. I understand that. But you don’t have to be. Nothing is going to change.”

  “Scared?” Father Jude said, sneering at Alfred. “Of him? Nonsense.”

  “I’m not trying to replace an asset,” Pacific said slowly, as if explaining something to a child. “I’m just acquiring a new one. That’s all.”

  “But I—”

  “I will not hear more of this from you, Father,” Pacific said in a definitive tone. “You’ve made your point. I listened and found it lacking. End of the story.”

  Father Jude’s jaw twitched angrily for a moment, and he said with a forced smile, “As the fallen Angel of Death commands.” His bow was so low, it was mocking.

  Pacific ignored his pretentious gesture. “Now that this matter is settled, shall we begin?” he said. “Or do you have any other words of wisdom?”

  “None that will make you reconsider, apparently.”

  Father Jude went to the entrance door and closed it with a key. Then he went to the window and opened it all the way. He took a cigarette pack from his pocket, tapped the bottom, and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it and took the first pull.

  “Did you get it?” The priest half closed his eyes in pleasure.

  Pacific nodded. “I did.”

  “All of it?” Father Jude asked, his voice shaking.

  “Everything went as planned.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The priest breathed in a heavy breath, and the tension seemed to flow away from him. He pulled at the cigarette a couple of times more. “I’m ready,” he said.

  Pacific moved the crown of his wrist watch. The priest’s expression was eager, his eyes focused on Pacific’s wrist watch as if he were staring at the very last star in the universe.

  Alfred looked intently at Father Jude, bracing himself for whatever was about to happen.

  But nothing happened. Pacific stopped tinkering with his watch and simply said, “It’s done.”

  Father Jude sighed with relief. “Good.” He pulled joyfully at his cigarette. “Very good.”

  “That should calm your nerves better than your nicotine will.” Pacific gave a comforting nod to the priest. “There’s nothing better
than knowing your piggy bank just got filled, right?”

  “Would somebody care to tell me what’s going on here?” Alfred asked, not happy being ignored for most of the conversation.

  “Of course, of course,” Pacific said. “Now that we’ve taken care of the business bit, we can move on to more—”

  A cell phone rang. Alfred glanced at his pocket, half expecting it to be Mr. Solidali. But it wasn’t his phone ringing. He looked up at the priest, who was still smoking. It was Father Jude’s phone.

  The priest looked at his phone with eager eyes. Deep lines formed on his forehead. He was reading a message. The phone kept ringing.

  “Who is it?” Pacific asked.

  “No one important,” Father Jude said dismissively, turning the ringtone off. He put the phone back in his pocket.

  Pacific was not satisfied with his answer. “Take the call,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

  Father Jude held his cigarette unsteadily between his index and middle finger. The tip of the cigarette shook so hard that the ash fell on the ground.

  “Do it now.”

  Father Jude took the cell phone out and placed it against his ear.

  “Yes?” he said.

  Alfred saw his expression pale. It changed from anger, to fear, and back to anger in the space of a few seconds.

  “What?” he ground out. “Goddammit! You should have— Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it? No! Stay there! He’s here with me. We’ll be there ASAP.”

  Father Jude turned off the phone. He did not look at Pacific.

  “Speak,” Pacific ordered.

  “It was Joshua.” He spat more than pronounced the name. “He was … calling from the asylum.” Father Jude swallowed. He took a pull from his cigarette and went on. “Apparently he decided to move on with the Geminium case.” He paused. “Today.”

  Pacific’s eyes narrowed. “I told him to wait until tomorrow.”

  “He decided to go for it now. And, well …” Father Jude put both hands over his hair. “The whole thing blew back on him. Big time. He needs help confusing traces and cleaning up the mess he made. Like, now. People noticed what he did, and how. They might trace it back to us.”

  “Did you have something to do with this?”

  Father Jude made an outraged face. “I would never—”

  “Careful now.” Pacific’s voice was sharp. “You know how I deal with useless lies. Speak the truth.”

  Father Jude dropped the cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it angrily. “I … well. I merely suggested … a different objective,” he said, lighting another cigarette. “One that I thought had more potential.” He continued talking under the penetrating eyes of Pacific. “I … I trained him personally. We had everything planned. I wanted to present you with more time for—”

  “Fool,” Pacific said harshly. The priest recoiled as if struck by an invisible punch. “He hasn’t been trained to bend a will. He doesn’t know how to seep fear into a person’s heart and knows nothing of twisting words and winning minds. He knows nothing of my craftsmanship. You sent a starving hyena to do the job of a bloodhound.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Silence.”

  Alfred looked at the both of them. “What is happening here?” he asked.

  “Idiocy is happening,” Pacific said sharply. He looked at Alfred, then at the priest, who was staring at the floor. “There is a change of plan,” Pacific said, dragging out the words. “An unforeseen event has happened, and I need to intervene to put things right. It looks like we’ll have to end our day sooner than I expected. You see, it happens that I have—”

  “Are you seriously trying to explain things to him?” Father Jude blurted out. “We don’t have time! We need to go now!”

  Pacific faced Father Jude, his eyes cold and unforgiving. “Rush,” he said, slowly and deliberately. “You’re trying to rush me.”

  The priest flinched. “I … I was just saying that—”

  “You lied to me,” Pacific said, as dangerously as a knife brushing over a bare chest. “You disobeyed my order, and now you’re trying to rush me.” He pronounced the last part of the sentence as if it were an unspeakable crime. “You’ve grown insolent and bold, priest. The fault is mine. I’ve treated you fairly. Too fairly, maybe. It looks to me like you need a reminder of the nature of our relationship.”

  Father Jude backed away. “No.” he held out his hands with a dismayed expression. “Please. I was just trying to—”

  “You have forgotten the terms of our agreement.” A sliver of annoyance ran through Pacific’s sharp tone. “Allow me to refresh your memory.”

  Father Jude staggered to his feet. “Please,” he said as his body convulsed and his face contorted in pain. “I don’t—”

  The priest cried out in agony as he crumpled to his knees. Alfred backed away, watching the scene unfolding in a mute stupor.

  “You are nothing but an engine that keeps my wheel spinning,” Pacific’s stated coolly. “Show me you understand. Show me!”

  “I am an engine that … that keeps your wheel spinning,” Father Jude exhaled, bowing his head in submission.

  “Master.”

  “I am an engine that keeps your wheel spinning, master.”

  “Tell me. Who keeps the demons of regret at bay when they besiege your dreams and sour your sleep?”

  “You, master.”

  “Who keeps your life running past the call of destiny?”

  “You, master.”

  “Who keeps the fabric of your story whole and preserves the meaning of your name when the shadow of the past would reclaim it?”

  “You, master.”

  “Who keeps death at bay for you, Patrick?”

  “You! It is you! Only you, master!”

  Pacific walked toward the dustpan, bent over, and took a handful of cigarette ashes. He spread the ashes on Father’s Jude forehead, forming a cross. “Remember that you are dust,” he said, “and unto dust you shall return if you displease me.”

  Father Jude cried a low cry.

  “Rise,” Pacific ordered.

  The priest rose on unsteady legs, looking at the floor in shock, his face marked by tears.

  Pacific pulled his head up and forced him to look at his face. “We’re bound together,” he said, as if he were stating a universal truth. “You will be alive as long as you serve me well. I am a fair master, but I will not tolerate any more of this rebellion. Do you understand?”

  Father Jude mumbled something inaudible.

  “Say it!”

  “I understand, master.”

  Pacific let go of him, and Father Jude bowed low. This time, there was no arrogance in the gesture.

  “Wait for me in the car,” Pacific commanded. “I will be there when I’m done here.”

  “As you wish, master.”

  Pacific turned slowly and unwillingly to look at Alfred. He had a peculiar expression on his face. To Alfred, it looked like hunger. It was like a carcass had been taken from a lion’s paws just before the beast could sink his teeth into it.

  “That was something you were not supposed to see,” Pacific said, dusting the ashes from his hands. “A messy situation, my business can become at times.”

  “What the hell happened? What was all that about?”

  “I have no time to explain. But I want you to remember what you learned today. Freeze it in your mind. Remember the power of the knowledge you have unveiled. Don’t ever forget this simple truth: time is power. You now know part of the story behind it.”

  Pacific curled his right hand into a fist, and suddenly Alfred realized that the feeling of being surrounded by water, which he had experienced the day before, had disappeared. He looked at Pacific, perplexed. It was like something between them had been suddenly interrupted.

  Pacific had a sour expression on his face.

  “I have no franchise over you now,” he said. “So I’m asking this of you as a favor. I will be in front of the m
ain entrance of the Spear tomorrow at noon. If you want to finish your mentorship, meet me there. There is one last thing I want to show you.”

  11

  Providence

  Alfred walked out of the Saint Expeditus Hospital and looked around.

  There was a bus station not too far from the main entrance. Any bus would have brought him into the financial district in less than twenty minutes. He ignored them.

  He could have hailed one of the many cabs parked nearby. He ignored them too. He felt like walking, so he walked.

  The long walk home was slow and uneventful. On the surface of things. On the inside, Alfred’s mind was a magma chamber filled with pressure and ready to fracture. It was quicksilver moving relentlessly inside a shaken bottle. It was, in short, a complete mess of thoughts.

  He felt like the day with Pacific had started a year before. Ten years before. Maybe a lifetime before.

  His mind was trying to sort things out, to make sense of what had happened.

  He now knew what before he had only suspected. Pacific was not merely an odd man with a knack for showmanship. He had an entire world hidden behind his back, and in that world, Alfred was lost.

  “A lord of time,” Alfred murmured, as if saying the fact would make it more real. He smiled. It still sounded insane.

  Alfred was no longer debating the reality of it all. He knew it had happened. The difficult part was to shut down his rational mind and welcome the impossible.

  One thing was certain. His life had taken a strange turn. A dark turn.

  He knew he had asked for the knowledge, and that Pacific had held his end of the bargain, delivering hard answers. But something inside told him he had no right to live in that new reality.

  “You’re not crazy,” he whispered to himself. Alfred inhaled sharply. He spoke again, this time louder. “You hear me? You. Are not. Crazy.”

  A woman was passing by at that moment. She glanced at him with concern then started walking faster.

  Alfred sighed.

  “This is what you get from spending a day with that man,” Alfred mumbled to himself. “A one way ticket to the nuthouse.”