A Case of the Nasties: A Jimmy Egan Mystery

by David Workman

  “Why do you say that?” I knew Woody was heavily into reading about the occult so I let him have his leeway.

  “The designs. The numbers and the Hieroglyphics. I think it’s like a Voodoo doll.” He crushed the remains of his cigarette out and quickly lit another one.

  “Voodoo doll?”

  “Like a stuffed doll resembling the victim,” he said, “and with a lock of their hair or a personal belonging attached to it.”

  I sat back in the chair and it creaked a bit over my weight. I think it was my chair it but it may have been my leg. “So you think it’s a threat of some kind.”

  Woody scratched his head, sucked in some more smoke, and downed his drink. “We need an expert, and I know one.”

  “Okay,” I said looking at the half empty booze bottle. “But I’m driving.”

  At first, I thought he would protest but he just nodded and said, “Have you ever met Criswell?”

  Then he grinned.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “My heavens, Eddie,” The Amazing Criswell said, his voice booming in the apartment as if he was giving a speech to a roomful of people. “Do you know what this is?”

  “If I knew what it was, Cris, I wouldn’t have come over here.” Woody sounded annoyed. “So what is it?”

  We had set out for Criswell’s place located at the Highland Towers Apartments on Highland Avenue, and made it across town is less than thirty minutes despite the annoyance of driving with my wooden leg. Criswell lived a few flights up so we were obliged to take the elevator. The elevator boy was no longer a boy but a sixty-year-old man. He wore an ill-fitted red button down uniform and a funky little matching round hat that would have looked better on an organ grinders monkey. He rolled his baggy eyes when Woody told him what floor and apartment we needed.

  He mumbled something under his breath that sounded more like cursing and rolled his eyes again. After we left the elevator and the operator was out of earshot I turned to Woody and whispered loudly, “Not a fan, I guess.”

  “Manny has been an elevator operator since he was a teenager. He is not a big fan of people in general, especially famous people.”

  When we knocked at the door, a dog barked. I gave Woody a look.

  What?” he said, blankly.

  “Dogs and my wooden leg don’t get along well. Most of the time they think it’s a tree to piss on.”

  Woody shook his head. “Not Buttercup. This pooch has manners. Buttercup is a reincarnation of Halo’s cousin Thomas.”

  “Halo? Cousin Thomas?”

  The door opened and a platinum, spit curled haired man opened the door. He dressed in an oriental dressing gown and was so happy to see Woody I was afraid he was going to break out in hugs.

  I don’t hug.

  Woody quickly introduced me as an old friend, but left out the private detective part and instead of shaking hands, Criswell bowed at me. We entered into the most elaborately furnished apartment I had ever seen. A large poster blazing the title The Amazing Criswell and picturing the man himself adorned several walls. The first room was done up in white leather, white fuzzy throw rugs and white fuzzy throw pillows. Hell even the ashtray were white. He led us into another room filled with bookshelves, a large world globe, and two comfortable leather easy chairs. The room smelled of Lavender and wood. He held a hand out to an elaborate walnut table and we all took seats in the ornate carved chairs. Criswell sat at the table that had a black velvet placemat and in the middle rested a crystal ball. The kind you see in movies and on TV. A dog suddenly padded into the room. He was a large poodle covered in blond fur. He sniffed at us curiously. Buttercup especially sniffed at my wooden leg. I gave Woody another one of my looks and he fed me back a cheesy smile.

  “Halo is out shopping, again,” said Criswell, in a deep monotone voice.”My wife will be sorry to see she has missed you. What brings you here on this surprise visit, a reading perhaps?” He was looking at me.

  Woody motioned for me to take the clay object from my pocket. I pulled it out and set it in front of the psychic. He didn’t pick it up right away. He stared at it first, studying the designs. When he was finished he said, ‘Do you know what this is?’

  Woody was growing impatient. “Shit, Cris. What is this thing? I’ve got to know, my life may depend on it.”

  “Before I tell you that, tell me where you got it.”

  I spoke up for Woody and told him most of what had happened, about the break in and finding the object under Woody’s bedroom window, leaving out the slashed blue sweater part.

  “A private eye, are you?” the psychic began to say, sounding impressed. “I must give you a reading . . .”

  “Excuse me,” Woody interrupted. “Can we get to this damned object?”

  “You of all people should know what this is, dear Eddie. You have studied the occult. Look at the design, and the crude representation of you etched on the front.” Criswell flipped it over the clay object. “See, just as I thought there’s an inscription on the back.”

  Woody jumped from his chair. “A Talisman!” The pallor of his face was as white as Criswell’s leather couch and his lips stretched downward.

  “Relax and sit down. It can’t hurt you right now, as long as I am here.”

  Woody lowered himself back into the chair. Beads of perspiration rested uneasily on his upper lip covering his pencil thin mustache. I couldn’t tell if it was caused by fear or the lack of fresh alcohol in his system. Tell you the truth; in the creepy way Criswell had delivered the facts on the mysterious dingy, I believed I needed a stiff one too.

  I looked down to my right and the large poodle was staring at me, its eyes damp and friendly. I wondered if there was a Cousin Thomas trapped inside.

  Criswell rubbed at his brow. “Here’s what I know. If you don’t do exactly as I say, and according to the inscriptions, you will be dead in less than a week.”

  “We know that from what written on the note,” I said. “We need some facts like who wrote it and why. If you’re such a good psychic, and Woody here believes that you are, you’re going to deliver the goods.”

  Criswell winced as if I’d taken a swing at him and he was bracing against the blow. “I can tell you what they want, Eddie.” His voice wasn’t booming now, but it was almost at a loud whisper. “They want your blood, dear Eddie. All of it.”

  As if on cue the poodle whined.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  What Criswell laid out for us during the next half hour I didn’t believe for one moment, but it answered our questions. However, Woody believed it. I had never seen him sit so still. Criswell had brought out an expensive crystal ashtray for us to use, and I waited in vain for Woody to beg for a drink of some kind of alcohol.

  “The people chasing you are an off shoot of the Society of Urantia. They hold the Urantia Book as their sacred vessel. The book‘s other name was The Fifth Epochal Revelation. It is written in sort of a Judeo-Christian tradition.” Criswell began. “The followers are a non-threatening bunch. The book reunites religion, science, and philosophy. It’s not actually taught as a religion and the book’s complex texts are spread throughout by the Urantia Foundation.” Criswell paused for a moment to catch his breath, fingered the clay Talisman, and then continued. “I received a copy of the Urantia Book just this year a gift from a Chicago fan. It’s fascinating reading, really. The book states there are many evil beings, Caligastia being the worse.

  “The other side of the coin is the existence of an offshoot of the book and its followers and in a much darker form. These reorganized bunches, who call themselves The Universal Adjusters, consider themselves closer to a religion. They believe Caligastia is reincarnated every hundred years or so. They believe in Blackcraft. The evils trapped here between earth and - as we call it –Hell. The interesting fact is that the Urantia Foundation disavows any knowledge of the Universal Adjusters existence. Hence, followers of this Blackcraft have become a secret society.”

  I scratched at my crew cut. “So this Cali
gastia is the devil?”

  “In a way. He came before the Devil entered this world or Heaven. The Adjusters believe he is more powerful and if that kind of black magic is released on our world it will eventually envelope the entire Earth, pushing the Whitecraft aside and plunging our world into eternal darkness. Which, is what I predicted will happen in 1999. You’ll see.” He sat back in his chair as if spilling out all that knowledge made him exhausted.

  “That’s a lot of shit to swallow, Cris.” Woody puffed on his cigarette as if it more vital than air to him now. “And they think I’m the Devil, I mean, Caligastia.” I could tell he couldn’t get his head around the whole strange event. “Why me?”

  Criswell nodded slowly. “I don’t know, but it appears they believe you are Caligastia reincarnated. And the only way to destroy you, according to the Universal Adjusters, is by the taking of your blood. But there is more, and it’s not much better.”

  Woody snubbed out his cigarette and promptly lit another one. Annoyed by the smoke Buttercup left the room, but only went as far as the living room, so he could keep an eye on us.

  “More?” Woody said feebly. “There’s more?”

  “Before they can take your blood,” Criswell continued, “you have to be in a heightened sense of fear.”

  “Why is that?” I asked, feeling like I had to chime in with something.

  Criswell glared at me. “If Eddie feels fear they can approach him, he is at his most human and cannot use his powerful black magic to stop them.”

  “Am I supposed to be dead when they take my blood?” Woody said nervously. I noticed his hands beginning to shake slightly. During our tour together when we were under heavy fire, Woody never had the shakes. However, he certainly had them now.

  “No, you have to be alive or the ritual will not work, you may be dead but Caligastia’s spirit would move on into a new incarnation. This can only happen at a certain time of the year. I’m a bit hazy on the details.”

  There was silence in the room for more than, an uncomfortable, three or four minutes. During that time, Woody took the opportunity to snub out the current cigarette and light a fresh one. The room now filled with smoke made my eyes sting. Sensing this, the psychic got up from his chair and opened a nearby window. The cool air of the afternoon swept over us.

  I finally said, “So what can we do?”

  Criswell thought for a moment. “I know Eddie doesn’t die from this. I would have seen such an event in my readings. I suggest you find out where the Universal Adjusters are. Then maybe you can find out why they think Eddie here is Evil Reincarnate.”

  “What if I can’t find them? We only have a few days left.” I looked at Eddie but he seemed to be in another world. I hoped he was thinking about a bottle Vodka and not focusing on sacrificial bloodletting.

  “You could just wait for them to strike again, get the upper hand and force them to tell you why they are doing this.” Criswell tilted his head slightly as if he had just made a prediction.

  I could do that, I thought. But first I decided Woody and I would go to my sister’s place. I needed a special friend for Woody to hang with – a certain .45 - and it may save his life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On the drive to my sister’s place Woody never opened his mouth once. That made me a bit uneasy. He may have been digesting all the information the psychic had tossed at him. I glanced at my friend and he was just staring out the passenger window watching the scenery zip by. I wondered what he was really seeing. He always opened up to me, no matter what the problem was. I knew about the whole women’s clothing, cross dressing deal. There were no secrets between war buddies. We had seen the worst each other could deliver. Or had we?

  Traffic appeared normal when we left Criswell’s apartment but got a bit thick when we passed through Beverly Blvd. We were almost to Highland Street when I saw the black sedan. The vehicle purposely held back a few cars, so I wouldn’t see them tailing us. I knew the game, so they were easy to spot. I made a few turns, just to see if I was right or just paranoid. Like a shadow, the sedan mimicked our every turn. I adjusted my rear view mirror to keep a good eye on them.

  The sedan was still there. From the glimpses I could tell the rig was a four door Mercedes-Benz and that was about it.

  A typical hood car, I thought. That thought nagged at me some, since I wouldn’t think the Adjusters would hire outside their circle of worshippers for tough guys. Then again, the hoods may be members of that clan since murder or human sacrifice were part of their religion.

  Woody snapped out of his trance long enough to notice my interest in the rear view mirror. He jerked his head around for a few seconds then snapped it back toward me.

  “We’re being followed?”

  I nodded. “For a couple of blocks now.”

  He watched the scenery as we cruised down a residential street. “I’ve been at your sisters once with you and I don’t believe we are headed in the right direction.”

  “Don’t worry.” I said. “I didn’t want to lead them to Kathy’s. I thought I’d drag them in the wrong direction – then shake them.”

  “Good plan, gumshoe.”

  “Don’t call me a gumshoe. That’s only for TV detectives and Bogart movies. “

  “Okay, Shamus. The game’s afoot!”

  “Now you’re mixing up your genres, Woody.” I took a left and a right, then another right.

  “Can I borrow your gun? Then I can lean out the window and when they get close enough . . .”

  “Don’t even think about it.” The stress on my wooden leg from working the gas pedal was starting to get to me. I knew I couldn’t keep up the pace much longer.

  Pins and needles.

  “This isn’t a scene from The Violent Years, my friend. This is serious.” He did not seem to be listening. “They are trying to take your blood, pal.”

  “I know, I know. However, there’s a bigger picture here, Jimmy. Don’t you see it?” He smacked his lips together. “I need a drink, loose these guys and I’ll relegate my newest idea. It is going to be big. Bigger than big. I have been thinking about it since we left. I can turn all this bad shit around.”

  “What are you going on about?”

  “This cult, the fact they want me dead, but not just dead but they want to drain my blood. Don’t you see?” he slapped his palms against his knees. “I can write the script in a few weeks. You can be in it. I can make you a star.”

  The sedan had gained a few more feet on us and it looked as if they were getting braver, and didn’t care if we spotted them or not anymore. That was a bad sign. I patted my jacket breast pocket and felt the comfort of my .38. “What script are you talking about? Make some sense, for Chrissake.”

  He was erupting into an excited frenzy. “I’m going to turn this whole experience into a film. It’s got all the ingredients, horror, hoods, bullets and all that’s missing are some half naked women in distress. I can make those details up.”

  I said, “Just for a minute, pretend we’re not sharing a brain.”

  “I need to get home, start right to work on this. I can get funding for something like this easy.”

  “I’m still lost.”

  “Picture this: a private eye is hired to protect a helpless scantily clad woman from a crazed sex cult. They want her blood, sound familiar?” He raised his eyebrows. “There’ll be car chases. Sex. Bullets flying everywhere. Sex. Fisty cuffs. Sex. The hero wins and we have a classic on our hands.”

  “It’ll never jell, Woody.” I said. “Give it up and focus on reality. I’m no actor. I don’t know the first thing about acting. I do not want to be an actor. If you haven’t noticed I have a missing leg. Matinee idols do not have wooden legs. You ever see me run?”

  I spied a Piggy Wiggly up ahead and my mind churned out several ideas. I t would have been nice if my passenger would have shut up, but I didn’t live in a perfect world.

  Woody kept going. There was no stopping his brain now. “That’s the beauty of the
whole thing. Gritty reality. I can even film it in black in white.” It’ll be called Wood Noir. I can even do a whole series of films . . . “

  “Take a breath and hang on. I’m going to try something.” I said, trying to change the subject.

  “Excellent!” His broad grin enveloped his entire face and I was lost in his fantasies.

  I dodged between two cars and a delivery truck that read Eggs in large red letters across its broad sides. I knew I was out of the sedan’s line of sight, that’s when I pulled the stunt. I jerked the wheel to a hard right, entered the supermarket parking lot, much too fast, the Nash protesting against the force. I whipped around a sweet old lady and her cart of groceries early taking out the bag boy helping her, cut a quick left and swing into an empty parking spot between a Lincoln and a Ford pickup. I jerk on the hand brake the same time as my wooden foot slammed down the brake pedal to the metal. We were jerked forward by the momentum and came to a dead stop.

  Woody was silent for a moment. I watched in my rear view mirror as the black sedan drove past the Piggly Wiggly driveway entrance. They didn’t see us. I exhaled not realizing I had been holding my breath. My head pounded. My leg ached from the stump on down to the phantom leg and foot.

  Pins and Needles.

  I glanced over at my passenger. He was nodding and grinning as he pulled a cigarette from his jacket.

  He lit the smoke and handed it to me.

  “I’m definitely putting that in the script,” he said shaking two fingers at me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kathy ran up to me when I came out of the bathroom, wrapped her thin arms around me and squeezed me until I had to go the bathroom again.

  “I’ve only been gone a few minutes, sis.”

  “Eddie told me what happened.” she said, her eyes moist. “You could have been killed. Both of you could have been killed.” She absently flipped a lock of her curly blond hair behind her left shoulder. Her deep blue eyes filled with concern.