by Joey Ruff
It took me the better part of ten minutes to figure out what I was doing, but once I pulled the first metal ball of buckshot from a wound, the rest of it went smoother. By the second, the man fell completely still. “Is he okay?” I asked.
London moved his head and then laughed. “Passed out, brother. Pussy boy couldn’t handle the pain.”
I nodded. “It’s easier this way.”
I continued on, moving to the last, trying to keep a steady pace, trying to stay focused. After maybe thirty minutes or so, I was finished. I cleaned the wounds with alcohol one more time, wiped the area with what little clean towel surface remained, and began patching it. Large squares of gauze covered the wound, and then London lifted the unconscious form off the floor while I wrapped his midsection in duct tape to keep the padding on. It wasn’t the cleanest job, but it would do.
I threw the equipment back in the medical kit and sat back against the base of the arm chair, wiping the sweat from my brow with the edge of my shirt. “That was intense.”
“Not bad, brother. I guess I know who to call next time I get a scrape.”
I laughed weakly. “I’m surprised I never did anything like that before. Jono’s always getting himself hurt. He’s better at field dressing wounds than I ever was, though. I guess that’s why I keep Allison…uh, Doctor Cooper on retainer.”
London looked down at the intruder again, smiled, and stood up. “Fucker’s still out.” He looked at me and paused. “Jesus, brother. You look like you could use a fucking drink.”
“Hell. Yes.”
He smiled. “Be right back.”
He left the door open, and as soon as his boots hit the creaking hardwood in the hallway, I looked around, expecting to see Chess. He didn’t appear. I shrugged and moved over to the desk, sitting down and burying my nose in another book. Sitting to my left was the leather journal Crestmohr had brought right after the call with Swyftt. I picked up the journal, thumbed through a few pages, but finding it hard to focus on anything. First Nadia, then a masked burglar. Every passing day, things seemed to make less and less sense. Was it a full moon or something?
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves that had set my hands to a low vibrating setting I didn’t know they had. I stood from my chair, half spinning to the window, feeling a sudden surge of rage flashing hot in my chest. My head felt like it was on fire. I wanted to punch something.
With a scream, I spun back to the desk and swept my arms into the stacks of books, the lamp, the pencils. Every item on the desk’s surface swept onto the floor and against the far wall in a cacophony. Once the rage passed, I was left just feeling empty and confused. Then I started to cry.
I didn’t expect the attack.
I hadn’t been paying attention to the intruder. Somehow, he must have slipped his binding and rushed me, leaping over the desk, and tackling me to the floor. I took two solid punches to the face before the tears and confusion were overshadowed by a renewed rage and a fighting instinct.
I caught the third punch and twisted the man’s fist, forcing him to back off just a little. With my other hand, I hit him in the bandage, which stunned him, giving me leverage enough to throw him off of me.
I hobbled onto my good leg, using the corner of my desk to stand. The intruder came low. I wasn’t prepared for him, and with my bum leg, it wouldn’t have mattered if I was. He took me down again, crawling over top of me like a crab, pinning me to the ground. I tried to kick with my good leg, but couldn’t find purchase. Blow after blow rained down against me, and this time, all I could do was bring my arms up to block my face.
I tried to control my breathing, tried to catch my bearing, but the man atop me screamed in wild Hebrew that sounded like gibberish as his fists rained atop me. After only a few seconds, there was another noise, and I heard London scream. Then the attack stopped. The intruder fell to the floor at my side, not moving. I hadn’t heard a gunshot, and when I looked up at London, he was holding his Judge pistol by the barrel, with the handle of the gun up like the head of a hammer. There was madness in his eyes, but it was directed at the intruder.
While I half expected London to attack further, he just stood there. His eyes soften as he shook his head, and a smile, sadistic as it was, spread over his lips. He spit on the intruder, and then turned to look at me for the first time.
“You okay, brother?” He extended his hand to me.
I nodded, lying there for a second.
He put his hand down and looked back at the intruder. “This cocksucker’s going to the fucking dungeon.”
As I struggled to catch my breath, I simply nodded.
21
Swyftt
When we pulled into the church, the first thing I noticed was the police car. In my experience, coppers often sat in vacant lots killing time, so it didn’t faze me, except that they were parked alongside the building right where the window was boarded and the wall had been scorched. The last thing I needed was someone asking a bunch of questions while I was trying to get a reading. It was inconvenient, at best.
Still, it was just after dark. There was a chance that I could walk up behind the car and look around without the coppers even paying attention. Maybe they were playing word games on their phones. Or napping. Or wanking each other off, for all I knew.
I turned my headlights off and drove slowly to the back of the lot, trying to get close to the church but still keeping my distance from the squad car.
“What are they doing here?” DeNobb asked.
I shrugged. “Probably just keeping a watch. Making sure the vandal doesn’t come back.”
“Which in this case is…what? The golem? The swamp bigfoots?”
“It’s not the golem. That ruddy thing didn’t have the batteries installed properly.”
“So why would the bigfoots do it?”
“Only one reason. They were told to. I just need to get over there and see if I can find the bloody sigil. The real why is for whoever’s bloody controlling the things.”
I put it into park and looked down at the cup holder where Huxley’s doll was sitting. “I need you for this, Hux. You up for it?”
“I don’t know what use I’ll be, Swyftt. I’m not sure I’m even able to use magic anymore. Not like this.”
“You identified the mark of the Ballad pretty fucking fast, mate. Your brain is magic.”
He didn’t say anything, just nodded.
I picked up the doll and opened my door, leaving the car running. DeNobb moved to follow. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Why?”
“For backup?”
“Against a damaged church?”
“To learn, then. Ass. You are supposed to be training me, right?”
I shook my head. “I should’ve left you back at the house in case that bitch wanders back.”
“You don’t think Ezra was taken?”
“Not much to suggest that.”
“She is missing.”
“Not the same thing,” I said.
“So what do you think happened?”
“I don’t have to answer to you.”
“Oh, come on, Swyftt! At least give me that. If I’m going to be sitting here, at least give me something to think about.”
“I think she took off in the confusion of it all. Maybe she was scared. They were obviously sent there for her. Nobody knows who Nadia is. They grabbed the wrong girl and Ezra ducked out in case they realized it and circled back.”
He nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Good. Now stay here and keep the air going. I don’t want you with me.”
He gave me an ugly look as I got out of the car with Huxley.
The squad car was parked facing the street, with the driver nearest to the boarded church window. I had parked behind, at the back of the lot. Thankfully, the lot was not brightly lit, which allowed me to sneak all the way up to the church before being seen.
As I walked toward the c
hurch, I briefly considered what I would say to the coppers, should they become aware of my presence. For the faintest moment, I considered the truth. Telling them about Nadia. Reporting a missing person, coming to them like a normal, law-abiding citizen. Maybe they would dredge the bayou for me. Hell, just because I’d never met competent, small-town law enforcement before didn’t mean that they didn’t exist. Maybe this was the rare breed, biding their time in a piss-poor backwater town replete with bigoted ideology. Of course, if I told them Nadia had been taken, I’d have to tell what did the taking. Maybe they’d believe me. Doubtful, seeing as Stone never fucking believed a word I had to say on matters of the Midnight, and she’d seen first-hand some of the more human elements of evil, things such as cults and warlocks. But hey, this was a superstitious town, after all, not a big city with big-city logic and resources. Maybe they would believe that bigfoots lived in the bayou, but on the off-chance they did, they’d likely be terrified as hell by them and wouldn’t go near the bloody swamp for a promise of a bigger dick.
No matter how I spun it, the truth was not an option. If they saw me, my best bet was to run.
I’d just entered the shadow of the building and slipped a glove off when both doors of the squad car flapped open. Two uniformed officers stepped out. They turned straight toward me.
“Evenin’,” the driver said, eyeing me suspiciously.
His partner didn’t say anything, just leaned against the roof of the car and stared over it toward me while chomping on his gum.
It was too late for me to run. I knew they were already suspicious of me so I decided to play it cool. “Officers,” I said. “Nice evening.”
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s a church, mate. I’ve come to confess.”
The officer studied me before saying, “This ain’t the right church for that. The Catholics are the next town over.”
I glanced at the other officer, on the far side of the car, who was watching me with a look that seemed to say, “Your move, asshole.”
Despite not feeling so, I remembered Huxley’s first rule, and did my best to appear confident. “Just looking for a place to take a piss.”
“What’s that in your hand?”
I lifted Huxley. “Just a doll. Donating it to charity.”
“Looks like a voodoo doll. You one of them voodoo people?”
I didn’t say anything, but didn’t like the hostile turn the conversation was taking. I thought about the FN in my pocket, but decided not to pull it just yet. I was really beginning to hate this town and its small-minded hostility.
“So which is it?” the partner asked, speaking for the first time. “Donating, pissing, or confessing?”
“Look,” I said. “I’m not sure we got off on the right foot, mate. I’m just here to visit the church. See if Pastor St. Clair is available for a little chat. I…”
“We know who you are,” the driver said. He held up his hand so I could see the silhouette of a card pinched between thumb and forefinger. “Mr. Swyftt, right? Paranormal investigative type, it says. Seems like you already had a talk with the Pastor this morning.”
“And, what? He called you lot? I thought the talk ended on good terms.”
“Maybe he just made you think that,” the partner said. “So you didn’t pull your gun on him again.”
“Sounds like assault with a deadly weapon,” the driver said.
“Got a permit for that gun?” the partner said.
I wasn’t sure what was happening. If they were trying to press a nerve, it was working. I felt my eye begin to twitch just a little. The mark on my arm began to heat up.
“Don’t,” came Huxley’s voice. “Take a deep breath.”
“St. Clair says he doesn’t want you here,” the driver said. “He doesn’t like you. He doesn’t like your questions. We were asked to escort you out of town.”
“Escort me out? The Baptist preacher runs the town then?” Neither said a word. My eye twitched. “I’m not leaving.”
The driver shuffled his pose, maybe he showed me his gun holster a little. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear, Mr. Swyftt. You can’t be here.”
“You can quit flexing your dick, mate. We both know you’re not going to shoot me.”
“I can arrest you. On the grounds of trespassing.”
“Fine,” I said. “Just tell me where the Preacher lives and I’ll be on my merry way.”
They just laughed.
“I’ll do ya one better,” the driver said. “Hop on into the backseat and we’ll drive you over there ourselves.” They laughed again.
I took a couple steps forward, toward the car, which was just enough to make the officers feel uncomfortable. They both moved for their guns.
“Easy,” I said. “Just wanted to read your nametag there, Officer…Brisbane. So I know what to call you when I file a complaint.”
They both laughed again, rich and hearty. “A complaint with who?” Brisbane challenged.
“The FBI,” I said, not thinking through my words clearly. “Special Agent Natasha Stone of the Seattle office, who sent me down here to investigate a missing person’s case.”
Both officers laughed again, but this time, the move was more one of desperation than humor. “Why would they send you?” the partner said.
“I’m a paid informant. Due to the voodoo element in your town, I was sent ahead to test the waters, see if there was any kind of validity to the claim.”
“We haven’t heard of any missing people in the bayou. Nobody goes near the bayou around here.” There was something there in his tone, something he wasn’t saying.
“You’re afraid of the swamp?” I asked.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of light against the darkness of the church, and turned in time to see a curtain swing closed in a small, rear window. Probably the office.
“St. Clair’s in there,” I said, taking a step away from the car and toward the building.
“Don’t do it,” Brisbane said. “There is a restraining order on you. If you continue toward the building, Mr. Swyftt, we will have to take action. FBI or not.”
I stopped, turning to look at him over my shoulder. Beyond the car, I saw my rental, DeNobb opening the door and stepping out, just to see what was going on.
“Now there’s a fucking restraining order, is there? Either you lot are fucking terrible liars or you’re really bloody good at burying the lead.”
Another flash of light and movement in my peripheral, and I turned back to the window to see the curtain drawn to the side and the Tree Man standing there, staring at me with a cold expression.
I turned back to Brisbane. “Let me talk to him, then. I won’t even go near the pastor. We can do that, right?”
“Why don’t we go down to the station and we can get all this cleared up,” Brisbane said. “Clearly, there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. You being here on official FBI business and all.” He said FBI like it was sour on his tongue. “I’d like to call the Seattle office and verify your story. Also, we should inquire about the terms of engagement you’ve been granted. Ya know, just to verify pulling your gun on a preacher is okay.” His eyes narrowed a little, and he stared hard at me. “You’re not an FBI informant any more than I’m Betty Crocker. Pack up and move along, Mr. Swyftt.” By the bored tone in his voice, he was losing patience. “That’s the last time I’m going to ask you.”
“Come get me then, mate.” I stuck the doll’s head into my pocket, leaving the legs to dangle, and headed to the church window. The tree man just watched me come, not even batting an eye. I took maybe four steps before I felt Brisbane’s hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off, took three more steps, and stopped when I heard the click of his service piece as he ratcheted back the hammer and chambered a round.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Brisbane said.
I turned to face him. “You were serious about that, were you?” I asked with a smile.
“Anything
you say can and will be used against you…”
“Why don’t you put that away, mate. We can settle this like gentlemen with a round of fisticuffs.”
“If you cannot afford an attorney…”
“That means punching, you dumb shit.”
The partner was coming around the corner of the squad car with a single-barreled shotgun. “The right to remain silent,” he was saying, “Means it’s best for you to shut the fuck up.”
Behind him, DeNobb was walking toward us.
“Get back in the car!” I shouted. “Stay out of this!”
The partner looked back over his shoulder, saw DeNobb striding closer, and started laughing. “That your boyfriend? He coming to save the day?”
I took a step backward. Brisbane fidgeted with his gun.
“Jono,” DeNobb called. “You need help?”
“I’m fine,” I answered, not letting my eyes leave the officers. “Wait in the car. If this goes south, you know where to go. Don’t hesitate. Wait for my call.”
DeNobb hesitated.
The officers laughed. “You only get one phone call,” Brisbane said.
“But not if you’re dead,” the partner said.
“You’re not going to fucking shoot me,” I said.
I took another step back. No gun shot.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw DeNobb moving back toward the car, heard a door open, then close.
I took another step backward, another step toward the window. I glanced back over my shoulder to see the tree man still watching us. He was smiling. When I turned back around, the partner was getting out his handcuffs.
“I’m not in the mood for this, you idiots. I’m not here for the fucking preacher. There’s a missing girl. I’m not leaving until I find her, and I came here looking for a fucking clue. Too bad you bozos are clueless.”
The partner raised his shotgun to his shoulder. “Stand down,” he called, “or I will fire.”
The mark on my arm began to burn hotter. I hadn’t even realized that I was breathing heavier.
“Fuck you!” I said, knowing they wouldn’t shoot me.
He pulled the trigger. The white beanbag only barely registered as it burst through the air and struck me dead-center in the chest. It felt like a strong punch, and I lost my footing, falling back against the brick wall of the church.
