by Bill Myers
All morning, Scott replayed the phone conversation from the previous night in his mind. Something in Philip’s voice scared him. Not in the words spoken. No. There was just something very dark about his tone. Philip sounded desperate. Distant. Depressed. And a bit edgy. But why?
Even though Scott was no expert, Philip’s erratic behavior the last few days struck him as borderline suicidal. Would Philip take his own life? Scott refused to think Philip would do something so drastic. Or would he? Come to think of it, what was Philip doing way out on that deserted country road in the middle of the night?
Scott dashed into the cafeteria and scanned the mass of faces around the tables.
Off to his left, somebody called his name. “Hey, Scott, over here.”
Scott turned. Krissi, Ryan, and Becka were sitting together at a table by the far wall. He waved and then worked his way through the crowded lunch room.
“What’s up, Scott?” Ryan said, studying Scott’s face as he approached. “You look like someone died.”
Scott shot him a look. “That’s not funny.”
“It was a joke, Scott.”
“Whatever.” Scott ran his fingers through his hair. “Listen. Have you guys seen Philip?”
Krissi flushed. Ryan and Becka exchanged a look.
“What did I say?” Scott said, stealing a fry from Becka’s plate.
“It’s just that Krissi broke up with Philip last night,” Becka said, smacking Scott’s hand as he reached for another fry.
“Wow,” Scott said. “That’s a bummer. Still, did you guys see him today?”
Krissi, her cheeks red as roses, shook her head. “No.”
“Me neither,” Ryan said, then looked at Becka.
Becka frowned. “No. Is something up?”
Scott’s eyes zoomed around the room to see if anybody was eavesdropping. He had learned his lesson during study hall and didn’t care to cause more damage. He leaned forward as if revealing a national secret. “Last night, I wanna say around eleven-ish, I had this really strong feeling that I needed to call him. You know, one of those God-prompting things our pastor is always talking about.”
“Really?” Becka said, her eyebrows raised. “I had a sense that I should pray for him too.”
“Anyway, I called and he sounded — ” Scott paused, unsure whether or not to say something that might make Krissi worry. “He sounded really down.”
Krissi folded her arms together. “What makes you say a thing like that?”
“Call it a guy’s intuition — ”
“There’s no such thing,” Krissi said with a flick of her hair.
“Still,” Scott said, unfazed by her protest, “I think he’s into this tarot card craze deeper than even he realizes.”
“How’s that?” Becka asked, looking worried.
Scott stole another look around. “Just that he’s really hung up about what’s in the future — you know, like, about college, friends, stuff like that.”
Ryan put an arm around Becka. “He’s not the only one with those kind of questions,” he said. “Take your sister and me. We’re wondering what God has for us down the road too.”
Scott’s right eyebrow shot up. He nudged Becka with an elbow. “What’s this I’m hearing, sis?”
Becka looked away. Her face turned four shades of red.
“Oh, now I get it,” Scott said, as if solving a great mystery.
“Get what?” Becka said, guarded.
“Well, if things are cruising between you two,” Scott said with a wink, “that explains why you were singing happy songs while washing the dishes.”
Becka nailed him in the shoulder with a fist. “SCOTT! You are so clueless.”
“The point is,” Ryan said, rescuing Becka from further embarrassment, “we’ve been studying what the Bible says about our future, you know, next year with college and all of that.”
“And?” Scott asked, checking his sister’s reaction.
“That’s the interesting part,” Becka said. “There’s a verse in Zechariah — ”
“It’s chapter ten, verse two,” Ryan said, nodding.
“Ooh, bonus points.” Scott laughed.
“ANYWAY,” Becka said, rolling her eyes, “it says, ‘The idols speak deceit, diviners see visions that lie; they tell dreams that are false, they give comfort in vain.’ ”
“Which means?” Krissi asked.
Ryan stretched. “Well, it definitely means using stuff like tarot cards is out of the question.”
Becka added, “We don’t know exactly what God has in mind. What we do know is that, in Jeremiah 29:11, God says, ‘For I know the plans I have for you . . . Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’ ”
“That’s why it doesn’t make sense to mess around with fortune-tellers,” Ryan said. “God’s already promised to take good care of us.”
Krissi shrugged. “I guess I see your point — ”
“Hey, that reminds me,” Ryan said. “Didn’t Pastor Todd do something on fortune-tellers and those two dudes, Paul and Stylus?”
Scott laughed. “I think you mean Paul and Silas. And you’re right. Pastor Todd covered that in a study on the book of Acts.”
“Right.”
Scott grabbed several fries from Becka’s plate. He popped them in his mouth and started to talk. “Well . . . those guys — ”
“Paul and Silas,” Ryan interjected.
“Yeah, them,” Scott said with a nod. “They were on a missionary trip somewhere and this fortune-teller girl was following them around being a real pain. So one day, Paul turned around and cast the demon out of her. Which, naturally, ticked off the guys who were making big bucks with her.”
Becka smiled. “Looks like you actually stayed awake at least once during youth group.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Nice. Don’t you see? Her fortune-telling was connected to demon possession.”
Krissi gasped at the implication. “Are you saying that . . . that Madame Theo is, like, possessed?”
Scott threw up both hands. “Hey, not necessarily. And I don’t claim to know that about her for sure. I’m not even saying demon possession is always going on with tarot-card readers. I’m just saying that Philip is getting mixed up in some dangerous stuff. Even Z said that tarot cards are lethal.”
No one spoke for a long minute. A food fight broke out at the next table, and Scott tossed a fry in their direction just for fun. He turned and faced Ryan, Becka, and Krissi. He wanted to tell them about the whole Rita Thomas mystery too, but he had promised Philip he’d keep his mouth shut. If only Z had answered his email about Rita’s identity from last night.
For no apparent reason, Becka jumped. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “Sorry! I set my cell phone on vibrate and I’m not used to it.” She flipped it open and brought it to an ear. “Hello?”
Scott watched Becka’s face as she listened. “It’s for you, Scott,” she said, handing him the phone. She eyed him suspiciously. “Is this some kind of prank?”
Scott gave her a puzzled look. “Why do you ask?”
Becka, obviously flustered as if she had eaten a piece of raw squid, blinked twice. “The guy says he’s Z.”
Scott had difficulty finding his voice. A thousand questions flooded into his mind. Could this really be Z? How could he know for sure? What if this was, like Becka said, just an elaborate prank? As long as they had been communicating, Z never used the phone — they only connected by email or instant message. Why would he call this time?
He raised the phone to his ear and tried to speak. “Z?”
“Good afternoon, Scott,” the voice said.
Whoever was calling somehow modified his voice, of that Scott was sure. He was also fairly certain of something else. Z was a man. But who?
“I . . . Z? Is that really you?”
“I got your email, Scott. From last night.”
Scott swallowed. The back of his throat burned. It must be
Z, he thought. Who else knew about the email besides himself and Philip? Could it be Philip just messing with his mind? Scott had to be sure. He had to think of something that only he and Z would know. But what? The food fight at the next table was getting out of hand, and Scott was having trouble thinking on his feet.
“Um, Z . . . I . . . I — ”
“You’re having doubts it’s me, right?”
“You can say that again.”
“Then ask me a question.”
“Um, okay. What did you write . . . in your last email?”
“I told you a friend was in danger and desperately needs your help. I sent it along with the video file of Madame Theo’s TV show.”
“It is Z!” Scott said to Becka, exchanging a quick, wide-eyed look with his sister. He got up, walked closer to the window and away from the commotion brewing behind him.
“I don’t have much time. This is very important.”
Scott covered his other ear with a hand. He hoped the pounding of his heart wouldn’t drown out the conversation. “Go ahead. I’m listening, Z.”
“You asked about Rita Thomas.”
“Right.”
“Your instincts were correct. Rita Thomas and Madame Theo are one and the same person.”
Scott couldn’t believe he was actually talking to Z. He tried to remain focused. He closed his eyes to block out all distractions. “And?”
“My sources — which I cannot reveal, so don’t ask — informed me thirty years ago, Madame Theo, whose real name is Rita Thomas, lived in Los Angeles. Rita read palms and tarot cards on a local cable channel. She had a toll-free number. Business was good. Too good. The police were called in to investigate thousands of complaints to the phone company about excessive charges. Her people were running a scam on the public that ran into millions of dollars.”
Scott let out a low whistle.
“A grand jury found enough evidence to believe she was guilty of violating the RICO statutes.”
“RICO?”
“That’s an abbreviation for Racketeering Inf luenced and Corrupt Organizations Act.”
“Never heard of it,” Scott said, feeling overwhelmed by both the fact he was talking to Z and that Z had somehow unearthed this information.
“Scott, the government uses that law to bust people who are involved with organized crime. Rita Thomas, it turns out, was in pretty deep too.”
Scott felt chilled. What was Philip getting into?
“But there’s more,” Z said, his hollow voice echoing through the distortion device. “Rita Thomas had one of the best defense lawyers in the country, a Zack Zimmerman, who has proved to be a shady character himself.”
“Should I be taking notes?” Scott asked, his heart pounding.
“No. Just listen.” Z paused. “I don’t have much more time. The case went to trial, and Zack and his team of crackpot lawyers lost. Everything Rita owned was confiscated. She was ordered to repay millions of dollars. She also faced serious jail time.”
“I don’t get it,” Scott said, trying to connect the dots. “How is she still in business — right here in Crescent Bay?”
“To avoid jail, Rita faked her death in a fiery car crash. I say faked because, while it was her Mercedes they found burned at the bottom of a cliff in Malibu, the detectives could never properly identify the body as being hers. My best guess is that she moved north to Crescent Bay, changed her name, and started over.”
“And since it’s been so many years ago, she figures nobody will remember, right?” Scott asked.
No answer. Scott looked at the phone and saw they were still connected. “Hello? Z? You still there?”
“Scott, I’m still here, but I must go.”
“What about Philip? What should I — ”
“Madame Theo’s a dangerous person who will stop at nothing, Scott. Don’t be fooled by her looks. If Philip lets on that he noticed a connection between Rita Thomas and Madame Theo, he could be in real trouble.”
Scott’s heart was pounding so hard, it tested the limits of his rib cage.
Z said, “Thanks to this tip, the local police working with the FBI, who get involved in RICO cases, are headed to arrest Madame Theo later today. But you must find Philip. Warn him about the dangers. And, Scott — ”
“What’s that?”
“When this is over, remember . . . just love him.”
“Who?” Scott asked. “Who, Z?”
“Philip. Good to talk with you. Z out.”
“Don’t go . . . Z . . .”
The connection was terminated. Although disappointed, a new thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. Working quickly, Scott followed the menu prompts that led to the Incoming Call History. Maybe, just maybe, he could tell Z’s number. That way, they’d be able to call him back or at least know what area code the mysterious Z had called from.
The call display read: Unknown.
14
For Scott, the rest of the afternoon was a complete blur. He had a million questions, not the least of which was, how did Z know Becka had a cell phone? How did he know her number? What’s more, how did Z know they were together at lunch? A lucky guess? Or was Z somewhere in the building?
Sitting in last period, ignoring his biology teacher as she droned on and on about some insect body part, Scott eyed the clock mounted above the classroom door. The second hand moved slower around the face of the clock with each minute, as if it were out of breath, too tired to make another revolution.
Scott sighed. His mind drifted back to his conversation with the elusive Z. He was stunned at how Z was able to dig up so much stuff on Madame Theo so quickly. The guy must have amazing connections, Scott decided. Maybe he was in the CIA or the FBI or some top-secret branch of government that nobody knew about. If only he had had a few more minutes to talk with Z.
More than anything, Scott was worried about Philip. Where was he? Didn’t he say he’d be at school? How could he warn Philip about Madame Theo if he couldn’t find him? And what would happen if he was too late?
The bell sounded. Scott dashed out of his seat like a horse on a racetrack and headed for the door. At Becka’s suggestion, he kept the cell phone just in case Z called again. Once outside, Scott dialed Philip’s cell. He had tried several times already between classes with no success. He figured it was worth one more try.
On the second ring, Philip answered. “Hello?”
The connection was filled with static. “Philip, it’s me, Scott. Where have you been, man? You okay?”
“Hey, Scott. It’s a long story. My dad woke up with a mean hangover. It didn’t help when I told him I had run out of gas. He really blew a gasket, you know?”
“I bet.”
“Yeah, so get this. He gives me the gas can — the one we use for the lawn mower — anyway, he drops me off with it in the middle of the highway and tells me to walk the rest of the way.”
Scott pictured Philip walking for miles out to the country. No wonder he was gone all day.
“Hey, my battery is about to run out,” Philip said. “Guess I left the phone on in the car all night after you picked me up — ”
Scott started to panic. He had to tell him about Z’s warning. “Listen, Philip, whatever you do — ”
“Scott, you’re breaking up. I don’t know if you can hear me, but there’s something I have to do before — ”
“Philip — wait! Whatever you do, don’t go to Madame Theo’s — ”
More static.
“Yes, you’re right, I have to go to Madame Theo’s . . . hello? Scott? You still there?”
“Philip . . . I said, DON’T go to Madame Theo’s — ”
“My battery is flashing,” Philip said. “I got to know if — ”
“Listen to me,” Scott said desperately. “I talked to Z. Madame Theo is Rita Thomas. She’s running a scam or worse. She lived in Los Angeles and faked her death to avoid going to jail. Z said she’s dangerous . . . did you hear me, Philip?”
Static
filled Scott’s earpiece and then nothing. Scott’s heart sank. He looked at the digital display. It flashed two words: Connection lost.
“What’s wrong?” Becka asked, appearing at Scott’s side.
“I was trying to warn Philip about Madame Theo, but his battery died.”
Becka offered a smile. “At least he’s okay, right?”
Scott put the phone away. “Yeah, but who knows for how long?”
“Why’s that?”
“Philip said he was going to Madame Theo’s!”
“Yes, please come in,” Madame Theo said, waving Philip toward the table. “I’m glad I had an opening this afternoon for my special friend.”
Philip stepped into the candlelit room and took his usual seat without saying a word.
“You’re troubled, my son.” Madame Theo adjusted her turban and then placed her hands palms down on the table. “What is the source of this bad karma?”
Philip tilted his head. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He wasn’t sure why he was even bothering. After all, it wasn’t like he cared anymore. Even before he had heard the last part of Scott’s message, he had decided to confront Madame Theo with a few things — like her real identity.
Although he couldn’t respond because his battery had run out, he was amazed to know Z had said she was running a scam. What kind of scam? From what he could tell, Madame Theo appeared genuine. She seemed somehow connected to the messages in the cards. Could she fake that too?
“I . . . I have so many questions,” Philip began.
“Yes, Philip. That’s understandable. That’s why the tarot is such a gift.”
Philip studied her face. She seemed so sincere. No way could she be mixed up in something illegal. Could she?
“Tell me, Philip, what is weighing on your heart?” She closed her eyes in anticipation of his response as she had done in the past.
Philip cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m wondering if you could clear something up — something that’s been bothering me ever since, well, since you got that package yesterday.”
Madame Theo’s eyes blinked open. “What package?”
“Remember the one that came from FedEx? It was delivered in the middle of our session.”
