Whisper Lake (The Turning Book 2)

by Micky Neilson

  Salt and Pepper pocketed the envelope, and hesitated as if struggling with something he was about to say. Finally, he reached some kind of internal resolution.

  "You and me we go back a ways… I could get killed for what I'm about to tell you but nobody ever accused me of bein' smart."

  Boil tilted his head back and waited. The fat man continued:

  "I been hearing things… bout the Dominguez cartel. Like they're convinced it's you that's undercutting their business in Portland.

  Boil's eyebrows lifted. "That so? And what gave 'em that idea?"

  The bigger man shrugged. "Alls I know is what I hear. Don't know why, but they're dead-set on you. Word is they're putting together a crew; a big one. Makin a special trip from Mexico."

  Boil considered for a moment, then nodded to Carter to grab the ammo boxes.

  As he pulled out the boxes Salt and Pepper said "I was you, I wouldn't be here when they show up."

  Walking the boxes to the Demon's trunk Carter heard Boil ask: "How long?"

  "I'm guessing… couple days at most," The gunrunner said as Carter loaded the ammo in the car. Boil thanked him, and by the time Carter returned to the front of the Demon, the other man had already entered his vehicle and was backing away.

  The old man's features were haggard in the Demon's lights as he said "We got us a deadline."

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CJ had something that kind of resembled a plan.

  He had spent a few hours prepping, then taken a bus to Portland. He had walked to the Baggerz' turf and watched the house, waiting for the right time, worrying that at any moment he might get jumped just for being a strange face in the wrong neighborhood. At one point he hid behind trash bins next to a rundown house as three black teenagers walked past.

  He had watched, and waited. There were almost always three homies outside the project, hanging out by the busted streetlight. The first night he had come here, back when he was working for Boil—what seemed like forever ago, now—there had been five. Now there were less, and there was something about the way the lookouts were acting.... They put their hands behind their backs or in their coats every time a car went by. CJ didn't remember them being quite that paranoid before.

  A few hours after sundown, one of the gangbangers left, leaving only two.

  If there was a time, this was it.

  His hands were shaking, so he adjusted the backpack he had bought at the thrift store and kept his hands in his hoodie pockets as he approached. He wondered if he looked half as scared as he felt. The two had hands on weapons, eyeing him warily as he stood in the light of the streetlight that wasn't broken.

  Just keep cool. "Hey," he said to a skinny homeboy in a tattered down jacket. "Remember me?"

  "The fuck you want?" Skinny said. The other Bagger, tall with bug eyes, stepped around toward CJ's back.

  "I got some more shit, for Mamba."

  Skinny eyed him with suspicion. He looked at the backpack, then at Bug Eyes, then out at the street. "Where your ride at, boy?"

  "Broke down. Look I've had a shitty day, man, I just want to get this to Mamba and get outta here."

  "Mamba ain't here," Skinny said. He looked questioningly at Bug Eyes.

  From behind CJ, Bug Eyes' deep voice said "Stank'll know what to do." The tall man's hands patted him down. Bug Eyes looked in the backpack but didn't take either of the bricks out.

  Skinny cocked his head toward the nearby door. "Aight, go on then."

  A steel grip locked on CJ's arm as Bug Eyes led CJ inside.

  The interior was just as shitty as he remembered from last time. This time, however, it was less crowded. Another bass-heavy rap song vibrated the walls and floor as Bug Eyes led him to the top floor. Along the way CJ kept a watch for Alice. There was a woman asleep on the stairs… pale skin, blonde hair. Not her.

  As they walked the hallway of floor five CJ glanced at every doorway. Three people lay passed out on a bare mattress in one room—none of them her. In another room a pot-smoking naked homeboy danced out of sync with the music.

  More of the rooms were empty. At the end of the hall, in the room where CJ had first met Mamba, two blacks sat at a table spooning heroine into tiny baggies and weighing them. Between the two men was a nearly empty 40 oz bottle of Schlitz and a foldout knife. The space was smoky, but not nearly the same ganja soup as when he was here last. One of the men wore a do-rag. The other sported a pair of buck teeth that put Bugs Bunny to shame. Bug Eyes spoke to the one in the do-rag, who must have been "Stank:"

  "White boy says he got more product."

  Stank looked skeptical. "Mamba didn't say nothin' 'bout that." Buck Teeth's eyes were bloodshot and half closed. He swayed slightly in his chair.

  "This puts the old shit to shame," CJ said, trying to keep his voice even.

  Stank eyed CJ suspiciously for a bit, and then nodded for Bug Eyes to leave. As the tall man walked out, CJ pulled out one brick—a kilo wrapped in clear plastic and duct tape, and tossed it to Stank. Stank pulled the knife off the table, sliced it across one end of the bag, stuck his finger in…

  CJ pulled the second bag out of the backpack and let the pack fall to the floor. This bag already had a slit cut in one end, covered by a single strip of duct tape. While Stank put the powdered finger to his tongue, CJ removed the strip of tape and reached in.

  "Mothafucka this is brown—"

  The sentence was cut off by the sight of the gun—Alice's Uncle's gun—that CJ pulled out of the bag, which in turn spilled several M&Ms on the floor.

  The first bag, as Stank had discovered, was packed with brown sugar. CJ worried about sugar getting into the revolver and causing it to misfire, so he had purchased two bags of M&Ms. He had filled the second brick with one bag of candy and eaten the contents of the other.

  Buck Teeth was staring at the fallen coated chocolate pieces. His eyes finally traveled to the gun that CJ cocked and held up toward the chest of Stank. CJ dropped the brick, scattering more M&Ms, and slapped his other hand onto the palm of his first to stop his gun hand from shaking.

  "I don't want to shoot anyone," he said. "I'm looking for—"

  Buck Teeth had stood and reached behind his back, pulling out an automatic pistol which he aimed at CJ.

  This was it. What he hoped wouldn't happen… but he had told himself he'd be ready if it did. He thought about Alice, and what should have been, what might still be. Then he turned his revolver on Buck Teeth and fired, hitting the man square in the chest.

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—

  Stank flipped the table and screamed a primal, desperate yell. CJ took a step back, slipped on some M&Ms, and went down hard onto his back. Stank was over him, knife raised, when CJ pulled the trigger again. The bullet ripped through Stank's left side and the man went straight down onto his ass, knife bouncing off the wooden floor, arcing at an angle back toward the window.

  CJ scrambled to his knees and stuck the barrel just inches from Stank's face. CJ's own face was twisted, his eyes watering. "I didn't wanna kill anyone," he said. "I just want to know where Alice is."

  Stank was holding his side where he had been hit. "Who the fuck's that?" He asked through gritted teeth.

  "Native American. She's been here before. Alice." CJ worried that someone heard the shot. He stood as Stank said "The rez bitch?"

  She was here.

  CJ circled around Stank, grabbed his sweatshirt by the neck, and pulled him up. "Take me to her. Now."

  He felt sick. It would have been just fine with CJ if he could have spent the rest of his life without pulling another trigger. But this was what it had come to, and now it was too late to back down, even if he wanted to.

  They made their way back down the hall. The naked guy was still dancing in the one room, oblivious to the world around him. The passed out trio in the next room were still passed out. CJ was holding the hood of Stank's sweatshirt, walking the wounded gangbanger in front of him. The two had nearly made it to the stairs when Bug Ey
es came running up waving a small automatic rifle.

  Bug Eyes lifted the weapon. CJ put his wrist on Stank's right shoulder, aimed, and fired. He was aiming for the tall man's chest. The bullet struck Bug Eyes high in the forehead, rocking his head back and splattering dark blood onto the wall behind. Stank's right hand shot up to cover his right ear; the Bagger yelled "Fuck!", but CJ kept his grip and pushed him forward while Bug Eyes crumpled. CJ and Stank stepped around him on their way down the stairs. The sleeping pale woman had apparently awoken and chosen to be elsewhere, because there was no sign of her. Stank complained of the pain in his side and the ringing in his ear but CJ told him to keep walking. As they hit the turn for the flight down to floor three, CJ saw Skinny running up one flight lower, holding a nine millimeter. Skinny looked up, eyes wide. CJ reached over the low stair wall and fired down. The first bullet tore through the sleeve of Skinny's brown jacket. Skinny fired. CJ heard an impact in the wood above and behind him. CJ fired again, shattering the bottom of Skinny's jaw. The bullet must have passed through into his chest. Skinny dropped onto his knees and then flopped forward onto the stairs.

  Stank stumbled on to floor two, which appeared vacant. As they moved down the hall, CJ kept a watch over his shoulder. Stank was moving slower now, and the left side of his jeans was coated a shiny, dark crimson. Halfway down the hall Stank stopped, gesturing toward the doorway on his right. CJ shoved the man into the room, followed him in… and froze.

  Alice was lying face up on the bare floor, knees bent to one side. She was naked, her normally dark skin now pale and splotchy. Her left arm was tied off. A spoon lay next to it, as well as two syringes. A third syringe was still in her right hand.

  CJ rushed to her, and when he lifted her body, it was limp, dead weight. Her eyes were closed and her lips were blue. CJ put his ear to her chest but couldn't hear a heartbeat. He slapped her face, gently at first, and repeated her name over and over, but got no response. He slapped harder, heavy teardrops falling as he shook her and pounded her chest.

  Stank's voice drifted to him from behind. "Won't do no good," he said. "You can tell… she been dead awhile."

  He had made plans. For the first time in his life, he had made real plans that included a woman. She could have been his everything. Should have been. She understood him, helped to bring him back from the edge and now she was gone. Now his life and his plans had all turned to shit. CJ's eyes fell to her leg, to that tattoo, that fucking tattoo— "Property of Mamba."

  He kissed her lips and turned to look at Stank, who had leaned against the wall and slid down to a sitting position, head lolling on his chest. CJ rushed to him, gripped him by the neck.

  "Where is he?" CJ said through tears and gritted teeth. "Where's Mamba?"

  Stank's eyelids were drooping, his gaze floating aimlessly. CJ squeezed. "I can keep you alive. Alive and in pain. Tell me where Mamba is."

  Those eyes found CJ as Stank came back to reality. "He at Whisper Lake," Stank mumbled. "Help your boss kill some white boy…"

  The eyes started to stray again, but not before Stank said "Some white boy named Jason."

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Tonight would be it. The night of the full moon. Do or die.

  Celine didn't understand exactly what the kid had been doing, not in any real detail. She only had a general grasp that came after Ghost explained it several times using words she knew the meanings of... or at least came close to knowing the meanings of.

  The process was two-fold: Ghost had used the mass spec to isolate four minerals that he believed might be the ones capable of blocking receptors in the brain that gave the goddess control. Celine had taken a serum containing one mineral each night, and then reported the following day whether or not there had been a change in her dreams. There had been none so far….

  Until last night. She had run through the moonlit field again, chasing down her prey—a naked, pale Ghost. As before, she had felt a… push, to kill it; to devour it. This time, however, she had resisted. She fought the urge and in her dream, the moon had turned red in its fury.

  After waking she had told Ghost and Jason of her victory, which had caused a great deal of excitement (especially for Ghost, who had been getting repeatedly butchered in Celine's terrible dreams, night after night). Not only that, Ghost swore up and down the chemical wasn't deadly, especially in a dose like the one he had given Celine.

  Later in the day, there had been hope for yet another breakthrough with the second part of the process: the change-preventing drug. Days ago, Ghost had asked for a swab sample from Trish's wound and more blood. He had used both to identify what he hoped was the "disease" causing bacteria. He then began growing that bacteria and testing parts of Trish's blood against it, looking for something he called an "antigen"—basically the part of Trish's blood that produced antibodies against the disease. Nearly three hours ago Ghost had said he might have what he needed— and he was ready to put it to the test.

  At that point, Jason and Celine had argued: Jason wanted them both to be given the drug Ghost had cooked up. Celine argued that if anything went wrong, Trish would be screwed with the both of them out of commission. In that case, Jason said, he wanted to be the guinea pig. Once again, Celine refused. She pulled Jason aside, letting him know in no uncertain terms that her being responsible for Trish's condition had really fucked with her head, and that she needed to make things right. If he didn't let her be the test subject, she might never forgive herself. And… she might never forgive him.

  Faced with this logic, Jason had relented. By that time, the day was mostly gone and Jason was growing more and more concerned that they wouldn't reach a breakthrough in time to get the receptor-blocking dose to Trish. He was worried that the goddess' influence would be greatest during the full moon, and that during this time she would be the most dangerous not only to Father Dreiling and his wife, but to their Mother.

  Of course Ghost could drive the serum to the Dreiling Farm, and he had said as much himself. Celine and Jason both agreed that was possible, though the look they shared confirmed that neither of them trusted him to not take the Jeep and leave the two of them high and dry.

  It had seemed they were running out of options, and running out of time. Finally, they had decided to stop arguing, and a little over two hours ago Ghost had shot a syringe full of the test drug into Celine. Then they waited.

  There had been no immediate response.

  More time had passed, and they began making plans. Jason would drive to the Dreilings and give Trish the receptor-blocking dose. He would leave before moonrise and drive to the middle of the woods. Celine would lock Ghost in the RV and hope that when she turned, the receptor-blocking component of the drug would keep the goddess out of her thoughts. Celine was considering giving Ghost the RV keys, letting him drive away just in case the drug failed with her altogether, when she began noticing changes…

  After the first indication, they quickly became more and more obvious: smells that she had picked up even through the constant chemical haze had faded. It had been difficult to tell if certain smells had just gone away, like the smell of animal shit, but she didn't think so. Even scents like cedar, hemlock, and spruce had slowly drifted away. Sounds also: she could no longer hear traffic on the highway. As a test, Jason and Ghost went and whispered in the next room, and she had been unable to pick up on it. They raised their voices and she still had difficulty making out the words over the sound of the generator.

  "It's working." She smiled at Jason, but even then, her feelings were mixed. While on the one hand she was happy that their plan seemed to be working, on the other hand she felt deep down inside that it wasn't right to lock the beast out. Of course, maybe that feeling was coming from the beast itself. She had asked Ghost if he thought the drug would be a permanent "cure." His opinion was that if it worked, it would only be a temporary prevention.

  They now stood on the open log deck. Jason looked out to the sun, hovering just above the treetops beneath gatheri
ng clouds. "Okay, I'm next," he said.

  "I can have another dose ready in twenty minutes," Ghost replied.

  Jason's eyes widened as he spun on the kid. "What? I can't wait twenty minutes, that won't give me enough time to get to Trish and get out!"

  "When I thought this version wasn't working I went back and—"

  "You were the one who told us it would take time!" Jason snapped.

  "Not my fault you two spent hours arguing!" Ghost defended.

  "Children, shut up!" Celine exclaimed, cutting them both off. "I'll go. I can leave right now and get in and out before moonrise. That way you can stay," she looked at Jason, "Take the drug and lock Ghost in the RV in case it doesn't work. It's the safest for everyone." Not waiting for any further debate, Celine strode into the machine shop and grabbed the syringe Ghost had prepped earlier in the day. "This is it?" she asked on her way back out. Ghost nodded. Celine made a beeline for the Jeep. Jason ran up next to her. "Mom'll have a fit if she sees you!"

  "I know," Celine said. "I'll do my best to not be seen by her but I can't guarantee it. Either way, I'll get Trish the dose."

  Jason still protested when Celine climbed in the Jeep, started it up, and tore off for the access road.

  ***

  Jack had told CJ a few times that Jason was alive. Of course, CJ had just thought the old redskin was nuts.

  Now CJ wasn't so sure.

  Could it be possible? How could someone survive what Jason had been through? The old Indian had talked some other crazy shit—about Jason merging with his spirit guide, Wolf. CJ thought about the dreams, or visions, or whatever the fuck they were: the snake, the wolf, the fox. He thought about the things Alice had said about the Indian's powers. Shit that was just plain crazy, that shouldn't be real… but it had seemed real enough to her.

  He pictured Alice again, as he had all through the night and into the morning: that pale skin, the blue lips. He felt the dead weight in his arms.

  In a way he was jealous. She had succeeded where he couldn't. He had tried to OD and fucked it up. She had found a way out. He had been looking for that same way out before he had found something to live for. Now she was gone. Thinking about it just made his head hurt and his heart ache.