One Plus One (The Millionth Trilogy Book 3)

by Tony Faggioli

  Which meant the guy seated with Parker was only part of the equation.

  So… who else was in on the game?

  Then Napoleon had a bad thought.

  Shit. What if all of them are?

  CHAPTER 23

  AS SHE LAY IN the trunk aching all over, Tamara forced herself to think of something, anything, that could take her mind off of her misery.

  There was a legend in the small village in Bolivia where Tamara and her parents stayed during their missionary work, of the sun angel Manacua who roamed the forest. If you encountered him and you were a good person, he would warm you—a comforting sort of warmth, like a heavy blanket, would wrap you up and keep you from being cold for the rest of your life. But if you were an evil person, the sun angel would burn you, through and through, so that even the ashes of your bones were scattered like embers into the wind, up and over the tree tops, all trace of you gone forever, never to be seen again.

  As Christian missionaries, Tamara’s family tried to dispel such myths and replace them with stories of angels of their own—angels who only loved and comforted. Angels who guarded and watched over you and were a source of peace, not fear.

  But to Tamara this never fully washed with scripture. Her Bible had a few references to angels, and though many of them were kind and loving, others were anything but. They were the ones that brought justice, or the wrath of God, or confrontation, much like the story of Jacob and the angel that he wrestled in the field, and whom he overcame, yes, but who also left him forever crippled. Angels could love, yes, but they could maim and destroy too.

  Which led her to thoughts of The Gray Angel.

  She’d only seen him a few times, but those few times were enough. The power that emanated from him was so intimidating that it was hard to encounter. There was that first time, in her bedroom at home, when that demon had come and sat on her chest; The Gray Angel had simply arrived, rescued her and then blinked away. That wasn’t so bad.

  But then later, in the bathroom at the rest stop in Barstow, with the demon woman and her child, it was much different. He had killed them, or dispatched them, whatever the proper term was, with little or no hesitation. Like an afterthought.

  In that moment he was a warrior, at war, and he had been ruthless in the task set before him. It had been so horrible that he’d even asked her if she wanted him to wipe her mind clean of the memory, as if her brain was just a hard drive with partitions that could be formatted. She declined, but that image, that proof of good in full force striking out at evil, was sometimes too hard to deal with.

  Then later, at the house in Monterey, where her husband had evidently been dragged into hell, the angel had stood outside glowing in the night air, seemingly taller this time, totally in command one moment then completely baffled the next. He’d seemed a little more human, and therefore a lot more dangerous. The battle had turned against him, but he’d still gone the warrior’s way, even then, headlong into the front lines, all for—and this was where things really got weird—her husband. All for Kyle.

  What was so special about Kyle?

  Her husband was a good man, who, yes, had made a big mistake, but at what point had he become a person worthy of universal attention? Worthy of the protection of an angel or the wrath of hell?

  She had been so busy, so overtaken by events since this all began, that she never took the time to ask this question, to try and figure it out. Just why was her husband’s life, and subsequently her life and her children’s lives, dragged into all of this? To what end?

  She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, the twine from the rope at her wrists scratching against her cheek, and sighed.

  Once she thought about it, about the business of heaven, she didn’t want to know. She was too busy now with the business of being human, which she realized, with a small chuckle of irony, was pretty much how we all spent our lives. Maybe not stuffed in the trunk of a killer’s car, but stuffed nonetheless into the tight spaces of other fears.

  “What?” she heard Troy say from up front. “Where?”

  There was a commotion and then she heard a power window going down. “Shit!” he yelled, and for the first time in days, hope, true hope, clanged around inside her. He was freaking out up there. Maybe it was the cops, because the car sped up instantly, the motor roaring and vibrating.

  Because he’d punched it, she half rolled towards the back of the car. The initial rush swiftly gave way to a dangerously escalating rate of speed. Her hope was drowned in the panic now that he would crash the damn car. How ironic would that be? To survive this long only to die in a car crash?

  He had “opened it up,” as her dad used to say on the dirt roads back in Bolivia when he would take her for drives into town. But never at this kind of speed. This kind of speed felt like it was moving her insides around.

  Jesus. Please.

  More prayers, but this time the comfort they brought was short lived, as the car swerved hard to the right and then seemed to hit a bumpier road. The WD-40 can rattled loose and bounced across her face and into her chest. Everything shook violently as he backed off on the speed only a little bit. The car was not meant for this kind of road, at least not with the pedal so close to the floor. The rear end fishtailed, first left, then right, knocking her head to one side of the trunk, then jamming her feet hard against the other, her ankles crying out in pain.

  “Fuck you! Fuck you, cocksuckers!” he screamed, and then he began to shout in some sort of gibberish.

  The road smoothed out again. They were back on the highway, but now hitting speeds that meant almost certain death if they blew a tire or he lost control. “Where are you?!” Troy screamed again. “Where are you, master? I need you! Right now!”

  They were being pursued. That much was obvious. And he was feeling awful alone up there. But the engine was so loud that she couldn’t hear any sirens. Surely there’d be sirens. If the police were on his tail there might even be a lot of them.

  She was helpless, either way, and she hated it. Tied up here in the trunk, this was between them and him. She was just a bystander. And that seemed so wrong and unfair. After all she’d been through, she felt she should have some say in the matter.

  When the car was suddenly grasped by something, she screamed. Their speed slowed markedly and Troy began to shout and curse all the more, his rage turning to panic, his panic turning back to screams of rage. Tamara’s senses were telling her that what was happening was impossible; inertia simply wasn’t arrested in this away. But it was happening. The car was roaring away, the engine hard at work, and she could hear the wheels spinning against the ground below, screeching in rubbery wails. But they were hardly moving.

  “Okay! Okay! You guys want to do this? Do you?” Troy shouted, his voice booming through the inside of the car. “Fine. Let’s go then!”

  Suddenly the engine and tires stopped and the car shut off.

  There was a bang as he got out of the car and slammed the door, then, incredibly, the trunk popped open.

  The first thing she saw was the hazy sky, littered with gray clouds. Then she watched as Troy walked past her to a spot at the back of the car. With great effort, she propped herself up on one elbow to look outside, and what she saw there nearly crushed her with joy.

  The Gray Angel stood on the road facing Troy the Monster, his presence every bit as awe inspiring as she had just been remembering.

  But it was who was next to him that left Tamara dumbfounded.

  Kyle.

  His hands at his sides and his fists clenched, glowing brilliantly, a deep blue.

  She was glad for that.

  If it had been a yellow glow, she would’ve never believed that it was her husband. Instead she would’ve been sure it was someone else: the sun angel of Manacua.

  Come at last to burn the evil clean out of Troy the Monster.

  PARKER SAT at the table in McDonald’s and stared at the same man who had stopped them on their way out of the Fasano residence just t
he day before. Ben? Yes. That was his name. Last name Weisfeld. He worked with Tamara Fasano. He had dark hair, stood about six feet two, and had beady eyes.

  He’d walked into the McDonald’s just as Parker was finishing his order. Nothing stealthy. No attempt at being discreet. Just walked in and waited until he caught Parker’s eye, and then sort of smiled, like someone who knows something that you don’t and just can’t wait to tell you.

  Los Feliz. La Canada. They weren’t that far apart. Parker was willing to consider it as just an odd coincidence. Ben was in work clothes: a tan suit, with shiny shoes. It was possible that he simply lived nearby and was grabbing breakfast on his way to work.

  But that stupid smile of his had ruined the odds of that. He was here for a reason, and that reason was trouble.

  Parker didn’t have his gun and wasn’t carrying his backup. He’d accidentally left it at home when he ran off to Beaury to help Sheriff Conch and Deputy Kendall in their investigation. He knew that when he left the motel room, but the safety of Trudy and the kids came first. Ben looked fit, like a lacrosse player, but Parker was fairly confident that the odds were still in his favor; he could kick Ben’s ass, with authority and probably quickly if it came right down to it.

  But as Ben walked towards him and Parker scanned the room, it was apparent that the odds were actually going a long way in the other direction: there was a punk girl standing in the small hallway near the corner of the counter by the ladies’ room staring at him, and two men in Edison power company jumpers sitting nearby doing the same.

  He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, but he didn’t dare answer it.

  At first he thought that was it, until he noticed the creature in the white shirt and tie, playing on an iPad. Unlike Ben, they all had red orb-like eyes, but the rest were at least trying to blend into their environment. This one didn’t seem to care. His face was a tortured mask of melted flesh over black tar, as if his chin and cheeks were burned to a crisp and his blood had melted into wax layers over the wounds, to seal them somehow. On his forehead the process hadn’t worked so well; a cut there was festering and oozing puss.

  Parker looked around the rest of the place, stunned that people weren’t running or screaming at the sight of him, but no. The rest of the people in the McDonald’s, the counter staff, the cook who had wandered up to grab an overcooked Egg McMuffin from the manager in her bright blue shirt, and the manager herself, none of them, nor any of the other patrons, had taken note of the creature at all. That was when Wax Face opened his eyes wide in a spooky glare and sneered at him.

  It was a challenge, old as time: Go ahead, make your move. And Parker was about to, until something told him to stall. Hold the line. Wait. Talk. So that’s what he did. Turning his attention back to Ben, he said, “Hey. Don’t I know you?”

  Ben nodded. “Yeah. We met yesterday.”

  “At the Fasano house, right?”

  Again, the nod. He locked eyes with Parker and wouldn’t look away. Another sign of aggression. But it was one propped up by numbers. One on one, Parker sensed Ben wouldn’t be so bold, not even on his best day. “Yeah,” he said, “you’re the guy who wouldn’t let me see Tamara’s kids.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You and that bitch you were with. The one you’d like to fuck.”

  The cashier who was sliding Parker’s order to him froze in shock at what he said, the bags still partially in her grasp, as Parker turned to fully face Ben. “Hey. Ease up, man.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Parker glanced out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the cashier to back away in case it all went down at the counter. But she didn’t move. The manager didn’t move either, while the chef was frozen in place, like a stressed mime, at her side. None of the other cashiers moved either, and the girl in the drive-thru window was locked in place as well, the drink she was filling still leaning against the dispenser handle, overflowing the lip of the cup and down onto the floor at her feet.

  What the… ?

  “It’s just you and us, Army Boy,” Ben said. “And here’s how it goes: you got something we want. Normally we could just go right after it, but for some reason we can’t this time. The master has us going through you to do it. Fine. So be it.”

  “Who the hell is ‘the master’?” Parker replied bluntly.

  “One and the same, dipshit.”

  “What?”

  “Where are the children?”

  Parker blinked and shrugged his shoulders. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Don’t. Let’s not play games, okay? You’re going to die today. It’s your time. The quicker you tell us, the quicker we’ll make it. I promise.”

  It was Parker’s turn to smile. “Oh, really? And why would you do me such a favor?”

  “Because you’re headed to where we’re from anyways. And after the shit you’ve done? You’ll probably rank higher than us right out of the gate.”

  Parker’s smile spilled off his face.

  “Nothing smart to say now, huh, tough guy?” Ben pushed.

  “Look, man, I don’t know what your problem is. I was doing my job yesterday.”

  “That’s all you’ve ever done, Army Boy, but we’re not here for that,” Ben said, nodding at Wax Face and the two utility guys. “We’re here for the kids.”

  Parker steeled his nerves. You go through enough confrontations in your life, you learn how they add up, or not. This one was best played straight, and it was probably the only way to buy time. Since it was a fight that they wanted, he wouldn’t give it to them. Plain and simple.

  “Fine. You want the kids, we’ll talk.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No. No bullshit. I’m hungry. I’m eating,” Parker said firmly, watching as Ben tensed up and the utility guys stood. “At least until I hear what’s in it for me.”

  The moment hung there, like a picture, for a ten second count before Ben nodded and chuckled. “Ah. Of course. What’s in it for you? I should’ve known. Fine.”

  Parker had paid already, so he grabbed the bags of breakfast food, taking care when prying one of them from the cashier’s hands, and made his way to a corner table, with Ben following close behind.

  If any of them knew what they were doing, they would’ve never let him do so. Strategically speaking, being backed into a corner was usually not a good idea, but this corner had its benefits; it was furthest away from all three pockets of additional combatants and nearest to an exit. So if, or most likely when, the shit hit the fan, he’d have a good shot of at least getting outside if he could get past Ben.

  They sat at opposite sides of the small plastic table as Parker reached into a bag and grabbed a McMuffin. He wasn’t the slightest bit hungry, but he was holding the line on the playing it cool and buying time bit. For what, he did not know.

  “You want my hash brown?” Parker asked, offering the bag to Ben.

  Ben shook his head. “No. I don’t. But what is it that you want, Mr. Parker? Let me guess. Women? Money? Fame?”

  Parker shrugged.

  “No? Hmm. Hold on a sec. Let me ask the master.”

  Parker stopped chewing the minute Ben’s eyes rolled backwards in their sockets. Slowly, his head leaned back too before his mouth fell open and he breathed in deeply. The Edison guys began to murmur, as did Wax Man and the punk girl, who seemed especially giddy, there in the hall, her black hair spiked in all directions, her nose and lips riddled with piercings.

  Before long the murmuring grew louder and became a chant. Parker was frozen in fear. He was willing to admit it to himself. This was not a situation he was prepared for. No human being could be. The forces moving through the air now were dark and deep and powerful, mutual conduits to a far-off place.

  Then, suddenly, the chant stopped. Ben brought his chin down as his eyes rolled forwards back into their proper place. But their color was gone; they were jet black now, and his face was smeared with disappointment. “Really, Mr. Parker? T
hat’s all you want? A second chance?” he asked incredulously. “That’s pathetic.”

  Parker clenched his jaw. “Well… it is what it is.”

  The world outside the McDonald’s had come to a halt as well, with cars and birds and even the postman, who had been walking his route, frozen in place. Parker was surprised when he heard the door open.

  When Napoleon walked in Parker felt as if an entire calvary division had arrived.

  Parker looked down and nodded, his chin bouncing against his chest, swagger working its way back into his bones. “Well, well, well.”

  But Ben was nonplussed. “Do you really think he can help you, Mr. Parker? Don’t you see? He’s out of breath. Probably ran the whole way here. And he’s already made a big mistake.”

  “How’s that?” Parker replied, returning to their stare down.

  “He’s missed my companion, there in the hall.”

  Looking over at Napoleon Parker noticed that the punk girl had moved off the wall and was now standing directly behind Napoleon, who seemed completely unaware of her presence. Making eye contact with Napoleon, Parker then completely looked him off, hoping he’d catch the warning. Then he returned his attention to Ben. “So? What now?”

  “Now? Simple. This just got a whole lot easier. Fuck your wish list, Mr. Parker. Tell us where the kids are or my little girlfriend there will start this party by ripping your partner’s throat out of his neck from behind, quick and simple.”

  CHAPTER 24

  THE CAR BELOW THEM almost emanated with evil, erasing any doubt whatsoever that they’d found them, at last.

  There was no hesitation in The Gray Man’s approach, and Kyle respected that. They swooped down on the Camaro like a fighter jet, the force field bursting and leaving the air a bit misty as Kyle launched through it and took flight, tucking and rolling across the sand on the passenger side of the car. The Gray Man hovered down on the driver’s side.

  It was as if the man in the car sensed them or, more likely, whatever was helping him had, because the Camaro sped forwards, carving a wicked line through the sand-dusted road as it snaked from one lane to the next in an effort to keep either of them from getting too near.