The Skinwalker Conspiracies - 02

by Jim Bernheimer

  “I remember seeing her at that Porter fellow’s grave back in Gettysburg. Of all the places to run into her! You know, I volunteered to be part of the squad that kept her company, but General Reynolds handpicked the worst of the lot instead,” my companion said. “I told my buddies that I sure wouldn’t want to be her.”

  Yeah, I felt bad for Karla Thompson, but not that bad. I got the impression after watching all those cable access episodes of Darren Porter and his ghost chasers that Karla was some kind of trust fund baby and was the one financing that group. She never expected the ghosts to start chasing her back. After I set her free, she ran and never looked back. I won’t ever have that choice. Yeah, I wasn’t bitter or anything like that.

  Taking the phone away from my ear, I call Cassandra while wiping off the blood caused by Karla’s nails on a towel I’d borrowed from the hotel.

  Von Eckels answered and I could hear her annoyance coming through the speaker, “I’m almost there, Ross. Just be patient.”

  “Change of plans, pick me up outside,” I answered.

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “For a change, it’s not you, Eckels. Karla Thompson knows me and had a nuclear meltdown when she remembered what I do for fun.”

  I obviously caught Cassandra off guard. There was a second or two of dead air before she said, “What? How do you know her?”

  “Long story,” I said and sighed. “The short version is she was the girlfriend of the last guy that was on his way to becoming a Ferryman. He died and a bunch of Taney’s crowd held her hostage for a few months. I got her out of there, but the incident might have left her with a few screws loose. The end result was either I stay and talk to the cops or take a hike.”

  “Marvelous,” she grunted and added a few nasty words in Spanish. “I should just keep driving. You could screw up a wet dream, couldn’t you?”

  All I’d known was Karla had headed west. Apparently, that meant here. “Yeah, whatever … This wouldn’t have happened if you showed up on time. So what’s your excuse?”

  “Isabella’s jeep had a flat tire. Girl can keep herself in shape, but her car and her house are a mess. I’m coming around the corner. Where are you?”

  I stood up and looked for the jeep and she pulled over to the curb. When the door opened, paper bags, empty water bottles, and a few other items fell out. Cassandra was right. Isabella wasn’t much for cleanliness. Amos shrugged and hopped in the back seat.

  The Latina woman behind the wheel had long, thick black hair, a tattoo of a heart on her neck - with a guy’s name crossed out - and big sunglasses. Naturally, the Skinwalker picked a looker. She liked her toys to be pretty. I tossed my gym bag into the backseat and climbed in. My feet crumpled some of the remaining water bottles and I yanked on the seat belt a few times before giving up on it.

  Shaking her head, she accelerated back into traffic and cutoff a guy in a Honda. When he laid on his horn, she gave him the finger without missing a beat.

  “Asshole,” she said. “I’ve been driving since they had cranks on the front of these things.”

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of with him on this one.” My comment drew a laugh from Amos Sweet.

  “That’s funny, Ross. You assholes must stick together,” she said, stabbing her fingernail at the buttons on the radio like she was poking an eye out. After three stations, she stopped at a country-and-western one that was at the beginning of The Yellow Rose of Texas. There was an immediate change in her demeanor and I could see her lips moving to the song.

  Searching the corners of my mind, I remembered that Donnie Hodges said that was her favorite tune. Considering she usually danced to pop and rock songs, it was odd. With no other real small talk available, I went ahead and asked, “Why do you like this song, anyway?”

  She shushed me until the song was over. The second it finished, Cassandra changed the station. “Because it’s about me, idiot. That’s why.”

  “Come again?” Having just brushed up on my early Texas history I was a bit surprised.

  “I was Emily West. The girl from the song.”

  “No shit? I thought her name was Emily Morgan.” Apparently, I still sucked at this subject.

  “Pick up a book sometime. Morgan was the man she was indentured to. After William died and came back as a ghost, things began to deteriorate for Edgar’s merry little band. I hung around for a few years, but I saw where things were headed. It was time for a change and one of the few instances where I thought William was going to destroy me. There was some ugliness in New York and I ditched the body I was using and slipped away on a schooner bound for Texas.”

  “So the thing about her and Santa Anna…” I began.

  Cassandra smiled at me. “The historians say that there was no way Emily could have known when the Texans were going to attack. They didn’t know about the ghost she had inside her, who could get to the spirits behind the Free Texas movement and make the necessary arrangements.”

  “So you did seduce him?”

  “Of course,” she said with a wistful smile. “It is funny how the people who think they know history try to make things fit. The truth is much closer to the folk tales.”

  “Someday, I’d like to hear more about the Poes,” I casually mentioned to see if she was interested.

  “There are things I could tell you,” she said, mulling over my request. “Maybe if we survive this, but not today. Today, we need to worry about Hernando De Soto instead of things that happened over a hundred and fifty years ago.”

  Whatever details she might have concerning the family Poe, she’d hold onto like a bookie would a marker. If she needed something from me, Cassandra would use that to collect. That much was certain.

  Dad had himself an adobe fortress in an affluent Phoenix neighborhood. It’s the kind of place you’d see on those shows where they go into rich people’s homes – big walls, gate with a call button and a black Bentley in the driveway. Using Isabella’s finely manicured fingers, she pointed out a home belonging to a guy playing for the Cardinals and two others, where guys on the Diamondbacks lived.

  “He usually has one or two living bodyguards and five ghosts at any given time,” Cassandra went down the checklist of what she knew and handed me a map she’d drawn of the interior. Isabella occasionally did a personal training session with dear old dad, which was when the two Skinwalkers conducted their business.

  There was a slight reality check at this point. I wasn’t some Army Ranger; I’d just been a grunt. The idea of killing real live people didn’t appeal to me. Sure, I’d fired weapons in Iraq and on at least a couple of occasions something bad happened to the person on the other end. But this was different. There was no congressional authorization to use force here.

  I could deal with breaking and entering just fine. I tempered my uneasiness with the knowledge that Hernando De Soto had done many bad things in his men’s presence. With luck, this wouldn’t be a problem. Of course, the luck I usually had wasn’t terribly good.

  “How powerful are the ghosts?”

  “Strong, but nothing you or Oswald can’t handle. The Governor has lackeys and servants, not potential opponents.”

  “Can I sit up now?” Amos asked from the back seat. “My head is inside a bag with a half-eaten sandwich.”

  “No,” Cassandra replied. “Portions of his spirit are in the birds in the neighborhood. I’ll tell you when it’s safe.”

  Amos made a little whining noise and Cassandra told him to quit acting like a child. One thing that I’d noted through all of this is that human nature doesn’t really change in the afterlife. There were the exceptions like Elsbeth’s dentist boyfriend, who had supposedly given up his cheating ways, although I didn’t believe him for a second. Amos died in his early twenties on the battlefield at Gettysburg. Other than updating his vocabulary, he wasn’t much different from the person he was in the early 1860s.

  Cassandra was another, far more complicated, story. So far, I’d been able to discover that sh
e was part of a minor noble family in Austria and that, at some point, she became entangled with William Henry Leonard Poe during his merchant seaman days. Where, and more importantly, how she died was a mystery. I attributed her secrecy to the petty squabbles and intrigue of being part of the privileged class, who were taught from birth that they were better than peasants like me. As long as it was in her best interest to work with me, she would. The moment it wasn’t, she’d betray me in a heartbeat. It would be someone else’s heart doing the beating, but it’s the thought that counted.

  As we drove out of the neighborhood, I asked, “So what’s with the heavy accent anyway?”

  The driver glanced at me and said without any inflection, “It’s easier to let the host control certain things. They put up less resistance, which brings me to another point – don’t believe a word that comes out of your father’s mouth. De Soto can and will try to use David Michaels against you.”

  I was still smarting about Dad’s name change. His name adjusted to his new and much wealthier lifestyle. David Michael Ross, Sr. was gone and David Michaels was his new identity. Bitterly, I wondered if that meant I could drop the Junior from my name.

  Cassandra must have known she’d hit a raw nerve with me and didn’t push the issue anymore. With only the radio playing, we weaved through traffic until she abruptly turned into a restaurant.

  “I thought you were taking us back to the hotel.”

  “I think better when I’m not hungry,” she said. “This one has such a high metabolism that I feel like I’m constantly starving. Come on, I’ll buy.”

  “Does that mean I can finally get up?” Amos said.

  “Yeah,” she answered. “But stay in the car and try to stay out of sight.”

  I remained on edge, looking for any hint of trickery on her part, until the drinks and nacho appetizer arrived and she began to eat like someone who’d spent the winter with the Donners. It would be interesting to meet the real “Isabella.” She seemed to irritate Cassandra quite a bit, which improved my opinion of the unfortunate woman. Scarfing down the cheese and beef covered chips, the Skinwalker confessed to purposefully overeating when in this particular body as a way of getting back at Isabella for her bad habits. It was like listening to a renter complain about their landlord, or maybe I had that backwards. Either way, in between bites we discussed how to get me in Dad’s compound or whether we should try to lure the Governor into a trap. Naturally, I favored some kind of trap.

  It wasn’t exactly your everyday kind of chitchat, but I stopped living an everyday kind of life last year. Go figure.

  After eating on Cassandra’s dime, she dropped us off at the hotel. Four hours in her company was about three too many as far as I was concerned. Using the plastic keycard, I opened the door to find Silas wasn’t alone. I’d expected Oswald to be there, but he was nowhere to be found. That worried me, but my immediate concern was the other living person in the room. Silas was speaking to a female sitting on the edge of the bed. No, it wasn’t like that. Yes, that would have been awkward. This went way beyond that.

  The old blind deacon’s guest was Karla Thompson.

  Her face was a mixture of confusion, embarrassment, and anger. She stood up like a teenager, who was caught doing something bad, even though she was five years older than me.

  I started by ignoring her. Yeah, I was that cool. “Where’s Oswald?”

  “I asked him to leave the room. His presence was causing Ms. Thompson some distress.”

  Making what was probably a distasteful look on my face, I hoped Oswald didn’t use this as an excuse to go take in the sights of the city. We didn’t need to alert anyone to our presence. As for Karla, perhaps during her captivity or some other time in her life, she’d developed a measure of sensitivity to the paranormal.

  I looked at Amos. “Go walk around the building and look for him. Let him know what we found out.”

  “Sure you don’t need me to stay and protect you from her?” Amos said with a wide grin.

  “Har har. Very funny, Amos. Get the hell out of here!” Turning back to Karla, I held up my arms and displayed the band-aids I’d used from Isabella’s emergency kit in the jeep and said, “What can I do for you, Karla? You only got an ounce or two last time. Are you here to get a full pound of flesh?”

  “I deserve that,” she said, smoothing her palms on her knees. “I lost it when I realized who you said you were. All those things I’d tried my best to forget came back in an instant. I’m sorry.”

  “How’d you find me?”

  As soon as I said it, I knew the answer. “I had the waiver form you filled out on my clipboard. When I calmed down, I looked at it and I came to the conclusion that I needed to apologize. You weren’t here, but Mr. Parker was nice enough to let me wait for you. I’m really sorry, Mr. Ross.”

  At least she wasn’t here to assault me. “Fair enough, Ms. Thompson. If these scratches are the worst I get out of my time here in Phoenix, I’ll be a lucky man.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about, Karla. Thanks for stopping by. I’m glad you were able to bounce back so quickly.”

  As I made a show of stepping to the side, so I wasn’t blocking the door, Karla looked miffed that I was just dismissing her like that. Seriously though, what else did we really have to say to each other? I didn’t really feel like shooting the breeze over the paranormal or her deceased boyfriend. I suppose we could have talked about physical fitness, since we’re both into that. And when that dried up after ten or fifteen minutes, she’d probably start asking about ghosts and Darren.

  Beyond her, I could see the disapproving scowl of Silas. I doubted that I’d ever quite be the better man he hoped I would become. It was hard enough just being Mike Ross.

  She took a cautious step or two and handed me her business card. I looked at it while she said, “Okay. Thank you for your time. If the police should come around, you can have them contact me and I’ll clear things up.”

  My hand darted out like a cobra and gripped her arm. “What?”

  “Felicia insisted on filing a suspicious person report,” she stammered, trying to break my hold, but I wasn’t letting go. “I didn’t want to. Look, it’s my fault and if they contact you, I’ll tell them I had a breakdown because you knew Darren and I’m still dealing with it.”

  “Shit! Just shit! Silas, we gotta move. If De Soto does have a Skinwalker on the police force here, we’re screwed. Did the dealership call and say the car is ready?”

  Silas shook his head, while Karla struggled. Finally, I just let her go.

  “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

  A much more even tempered Mike Ross, maybe one on anxiety medication, might have just sent her away and dealt with the problem and not the cause. I wasn’t that guy.

  Looking her in the eyes I practically barked at her, “What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Karla. That little ghost world, the one that you and Darren kept trying to get proof of, it’s a lot uglier than you would’ve liked. There’s a five hundred year old ghost in this town living in my father’s body. He’s not exactly a nice person. We’re trying to get rid of him. If he figures out we’re here, he’ll try to kill me just like those other ghosts killed Darren. Thanks a bunch! Now do me a favor and get the hell out of my life!”

  “Mike,” Silas said in a serious tone. “Calm down. We’ll pack up and go somewhere else. We can check in under my name. You’d best be leaving now, young lady.”

  Karla was standing there, stunned. I didn’t care. I had already thrown my suitcase on the bed and flung it open. My meager existence would be crammed inside in less than three minutes.

  Hustling into the bathroom, I collected everything in there while unleashing a string of profanity that would’ve impressed the guys back in Fort Hood. Emerging, I chucked it into the suitcase and looked to see what Silas needed help with.

  The man was calmly folding his clothes, the model of serenity, compared to my cha
os. I also noticed the stupid bitch was still standing there and called her on it. “Why are you still here?”

  “I want to help.”

  “Karla, I’m not sure I can take much more of your help today.”

  With her cheeks burning red she replied, “Okay, tell me something, Brainiac. You just said your car is in the shop. If you go get on a bus, it won’t be too hard for the police to find the driver who remembers picking up a blind black man and the white guy with him, will it?”

  My silence was all she needed to continue. “Yeah, I thought so. Listen, I’ve got two spare rooms in my condo. If you’re really in this much trouble and I caused it, I won’t turn my back on you. Fine, I screwed up! I admit it. But I still owe you for saving my life back at the cabin.”

  I opened my mouth, but Silas cut me off. “Mike, whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Just thank her and take her up on this generous offer. Harsh words create more problems than they ever solve.”