The Dead Pools

by Michael Hesse

  He was leaning up against the tree we’d passed, dressed in jeans and his cut. His face was a mass of curling stripes that reminded me of Polynesian tribal tattoos, but I knew from experience they weren’t. If you watched them closely, you’d notice that the design was constantly evolving, but it was difficult to detect, as was everything about him. Bender had the uncanny ability to be seen only when he wished it.

  “Bender,” I cried, genuinely happy to see him. If he’d shown himself then Thomas wouldn’t be far.

  “You know this guy?” Ramirez asked.

  “Aye, he knows me,” Bender replied. “I pulled him from a snow bank some years ago. I taught him how to fight too, although he was never very good.”

  “That hasn’t changed,” Mac growled and Ramirez laughed which bled off some of the tension.

  I flicked my fingers through our danger sign and hoped the team would pick up on it. If Bender was here, Thomas was close, but Bender was also one of the most dangerous men I’d ever met.

  He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d taught me to fight, though it was only the fundamentals and at Thomas’s direction. He was amazingly fast, able to move almost before your eye could detect it. After all the time I’d spent with him, I still wasn’t sure if he was entirely human.

  “Is Thomas here?”

  “He’ll be along shortly,” Bender said as he stepped away from the tree. He crossed the twelve feet between us in the blink of an eye, eliciting gasps from Ramirez and Stevens. If things went bad, they’d be the ones tasked with cleaning it up. Without any effort, Bender proved how difficult that would be.

  I pointed back to the park’s entrance, “the coffin’s a bit much, isn’t it? Thomas’s style is usually a little more subtle.”

  “A rapist thought he would be safe if he pulled a woman over the line,” Bender said. “He was mistaken.”

  “There’s a body in there?” Mac asked.

  “The Medical Examiner’s office is running behind today, we’re told.”

  Mac took a step forward. “So, you just killed a man and left him there?”

  “His guilt was ascertained. Judgment was rendered.”

  Mac clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to contain himself. I whispered a quick prayer that Mac’s morality wouldn’t kill this mission. “You can’t kill people just because you think they’re guilty.”

  “We didn’t think he was guilty,” Bender replied. “I said his guilt was ascertained. He was guilty of that assault and much more. Mr. Sinistra’s law is quite clear. We will not allow that sort of activity within our borders.”

  “By what right—

  There was a soft pop, sort of like the rush and whoosh you hear when you light a gas range and a flicker of bluish light appeared behind the tree. It vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

  “Mine,” Thomas said. His voice was distinctly cultured, almost British in inflection, “by my will alone. I will not allow any place I rest my head to become contaminated with anarchy just because your authorities are too meek to dispense justice.”

  “And you are?” Mac asked, though I was sure he already knew the answer.

  “Thomas Eliphas Sinistra,” he said, “only son of Salvatore and prince of the House of Death.”

  Chapter 25

  Jacksonville, Wednesday 0-dark 30

  Park outside the Rookery

  “You claim the title now?” I asked, astonished. I shouldn’t have been, the knight had used it, but I thought it an affectation. To hear him claim his birthright was a completely different matter. I wondered if I’d made a mistake in coming here.

  “Good to see you too, Julian. It’s been some time.”

  “You too Thomas, but you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Is that the way you wish to start?” Thomas asked before turning to the men behind me. “Please forgive Julian’s rudeness,” he said. “He was raised outside polite society.”

  Striding past me as if I were no longer of consequence, Thomas thrust out his hand. “You must be Sergeant William MacKenzie,” he said, “I’ve got a file on you.” Mac hesitated; his distaste for what Thomas represented warring with his good manners. Manners won and after a tense moment he clasped Thomas’s hand.

  “You can learn a lot about a man through his shake, don’t you agree Sergeant?” After Mac said nothing Thomas continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “You, for example, your shake is strong, confident,” he said. “You didn’t try and crush my hand to underscore your strength. It’s that control that makes you a dangerous opponent.”

  “Ramirez I already know,” he said nodding once towards him, “so that makes you Benjamin Stevens. I had a grandfather Benjamin, tough old man, smart as Hell. Saw all this coming years ago. Your file’s quite thick. Lots of nasty things in there, if you ever leave the Company you should look me up. I’ve always got work for men like you.”

  “Thank you for the offer,” Stevens grinned, “but I think not.”

  “Fair enough,” Thomas said, “but the offer still stands. Think about it. How long will your government allow dangerous men like you roam free?”

  An uneasy feeling scratched along my hindbrain. Something wasn’t right. Thomas was too amiable, too cultured. He introduced himself to the unit, my unit, as if they were a group of school kids on a field trip. So, Sammy, what do you want to be when you grow up? My, that’s fascinating, why don’t you work for me when you graduate? He was up to something.

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to Mac. “Shadow Company works in five-man teams and there are only four of you here. I assume it was your orders that sent the fifth onto my rooftops. Nunez isn’t it, the little one who thinks he walks unseen?”

  There it is. He knew about Nunez. This is the reason behind the dog and pony show. For a moment I saw the calculations peeking out from behind the man. He played it cool and ran the delay, but now he’s made his first mistake mentioning Nunez. He thinks to use it as leverage, but he misjudged my team.

  He’s read our files, but files don’t tell you everything about a man. All they can tell you is the things he’s done, but not who he is, how he will react in any given situation. That is why we train. It’s about more than muscle memory, far beyond honing skills razor sharp. We train together day in and day out so that we know—instinctively we know how we move. Who will go high, go left, right, who’s blind spot is uncovered, and who’s covering yours. You can’t learn that in a paper file.

  I knew before Thomas that he’s made a mistake. Hearing Nunez’s name won’t make us hesitate. It’s not a conscious decision. It’s instinct. A heartbeat later, everything fell apart.

  Hands reached for guns, but we’re too late. The ground erupted beneath us. Vines whirled and twisted through the undergrowth tangling our feet and racing up our legs while trees bent and knocked us off our feet. Within seconds we were flat on our backs looking up at the guns Thomas’s men held on us. Somehow, he’d factored that in too.

  “You son of a bitch,” I snarled. “We came to talk.”

  “Did you,” he asked, “with a sniper on the roof and guns at your back? You knew better Julian. How did you think I’d react when you breached my peace? You’re responsible for this.”

  Thomas waved his arm and men boiled out of the night. They were dressed like bikers in dirty jeans and rough leather jackets, but they moved with military precision. Two men moved into flanking positions, covering us with M5 carbines while the others surged forward and quickly stripped us of our weapons, piling them by our feet.

  The sheer number next to Ramirez was astonishing. Somehow, he’d secreted three knives, two semi-automatics, two grenades, and a garrote about his person. One of the men handed Thomas the tarot card from my pocket. He glanced at it once before tucking it away into a deck of similar cards.

  “What were you going to do,” Thomas asked Ramirez, “fight an army by yourself?”

  “Just one fucking black sorcerer.”

  “Keep your eye on that one,
Dozer,” Thomas said to one of his men. “I doubt you got them all.”

  “He’s clean sir. I swear it.”

  Thomas looked back over to where Ramirez was struggling on the ground, fighting against the roots and vines that trapped his arms. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said. “That one would fight you with a stick if you stripped him naked.”

  I tried once again. “Thomas, we’re here to talk.”

  A long moment stretched while he searched my eyes. Nodding once, he turned back to the group. “Talking, negotiations, contracts, these are possible only with mutual respect. When one side feels it holds all the cards there is no need for diplomacy. I would hope that I’ve disabused you of that fallacy. If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead. The only reason you’re alive and on the ground is due to my love for Julian, but don’t think that extends to you and yours. In a moment I’ll release you and you have a choice to make. You can turn and walk away or you can sit and talk like reasonable men. The choice is yours.”

  “Bullshit!” I cried as soon as I could force air back into my lungs. “You need us more than we need you Thomas and you know it. You can’t let us walk away. Did you think I learned nothing from the road? You proved your point, now stop the games and let us up.”

  I don’t know who was more shocked at my outburst, my unit or Thomas, but I was betting on Thomas. I saw his smile crack for just a moment, but long enough to confirm that I was right. He took a breath, but I cut him off before he could speak.

  “Don’t do it,” I warned. “Don’t make the ultimatum you can’t reverse. I know you Thomas, I see your hand behind the scenes; scheming, pushing, cajoling, lining up the dominoes so we have to come and beg the favor. Do what you do best; reassess, recalculate. The odds have turned.”

  He hesitated, just as I knew he would. I wasn’t kidding, I had learned a lot from my two years on the road with him. I’d learned the types of things you can’t put down on paper. I’d learned how he moves.

  I also knew it wouldn’t be enough, not here, not yet. He needed another little shove in the right direction. “I saw what happened in Bajios Noche.”

  It’s just a whisper. I barely heard the words slip between my lips, but I knew it’s the right thing to say. I saw it hit him like a thunderbolt. His head snapped around. His eyes flickered towards mine and then over to Bender who watches from the trees. I see the slow careful nod as if he too is running calculations in his head and the proper sum just appeared. Somehow that damned village is the key. I only wish I knew what it meant.

  Thomas stepped back. It was a small unguarded movement, the slightest retreat, but it was enough. The tides shifted again. “What did you see?” he asked.

  I held his gaze for a long moment, long enough to make my point. “Diplomacy.”

  A slow grin spread across his face before he turned to the men behind him. “Briar, Whiplash, collect their weapons and take them back to the car. Stand guard. I don’t want any of the locals tempted while we talk.”

  Two men I don’t recognize from the road broke away from the pack. They gathered the guns into their massive arms and disappeared into the dark. As soon as they were gone Thomas broke the spell with a twist of his hand. The vines sighed as they slackened and slithered back from where they came.

  We rose slowly, ever mindful of the guns still pointed in our direction. Ramirez growled deep in his throat. “Mind your dog,” Thomas said before he turned and set off in the opposite direction. I’m not looking forward to the next time they meet.

  We don’t follow until Mac nods his head. “Well played, but I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said. I don’t answer. I hope so too.

  Thomas led us through the park and around the back of the brooding monastery. There he’s taken the monk’s chapel for our meeting. Mere theatrics or is there some deeper meaning in its choosing? Probably both and more, I decide.

  Nunez sat at a long table beneath an enormous crucifix suspended from the ceiling. It is a master-work, blackened with age and incense smoke, yet so finely crafted that I could see the man writhing under a Roman sun. The floor beneath is stained red as if with blood.

  Mac stumbled crossing the threshold, his eyes drawn to his savior on the cross. Throwing evil glances Thomas’s way, he crossed himself and then rushed to Nunez’s side. I stopped inside the doorway, forcing Ramirez and Stevens to slip around me. I heard the emotion, their joy at finding Nunez whole, but I can’t catch the words.

  I stared at the weeping Christ above the table and then over to Thomas with Bender by his side. Thomas was right about much more than he realized. I have done this. I have dragged my unit down with me. For the love of their brother they would have slipped the border, freed me and returned to embrace their fate. They would have saved me and paid the price for it.

  I’m unworthy. All I’ve done is drag them further into the muck and mire. My pride drove me into the ghost walk. Fear and anger drove me to pluck the memories from Ortiz’s head. Pride again kept me from running. Because of me they have become hunted men.

  I shook the thoughts from my head. Regret is a slow poison. There is no going back, there is only forward. Up until now we have been reacting; to the Santa Muerte, to the OSS, to the plans Thomas laid. It is time to change the paradigm, to take the battle to our enemies.

  I stepped up to the table and sat alongside my brothers. “All right Thomas, don’t you think it’s time to explain why you need our help?”

  Chapter 26

  Jacksonville, Wednesday 01:30

  The Rookery

  In all the years I’ve known him I’ve never caught Thomas off guard before and now I’d done it twice in the same hour. My question hit him right between the eyes. I saw it. He’ll deny it, but I saw it all the same. He whipped his head around, breaking off his conversation with Bender, his eyes growing round in surprise. Just a little mind you, not enough to be called shock, but off-guard, startled, I have no doubt.

  He caught himself quickly though, I’ll grant him that. He strode over to the table wearing a false grin plastered across his face. “I think you’re a bit mistaken,” he said. “You contacted me, remember?”

  “Cut the crap, Thomas. You’ve gone to enormous trouble to get us here. What the fuck do you want?”

  Behind him Bender stifled a chuckle. “I told you he’d figure it out.”

  “Shut up,” Thomas snapped, but there was no malice behind his words. Before I could speak another word, he held up his hand. “First things first,” he said while rifling through his wallet. A moment later he slapped a hundred-dollar bill onto the table. The money vanished before he closed his wallet again.

  All around me the unit was jumping to their feet, demanding explanations, but Thomas merely smiled. “When did you figure it out?”

  “I put most of it together on the drive down,” I said, “but it wasn’t until the park that I was sure.”

  “Go on,” he nodded. Already his earlier arrogance faded, he was eager to learn where he’d made his mistake. It was one of the habits that made him such a dangerous opponent. He wasn’t invincible. You could beat him, but never the same way twice.

  Before I could say another word, Mac’s hand crashed down on my shoulder spinning me around. “You owe your unit an explanation, Private. We’re down here to find out who sicced the Santa M—

  “Don’t say it,” Thomas shouted. “Don’t speak her name. Don’t even think about it. Every mention draws her near. Do you know nothing of the creature?”

  Thomas spun back in his chair, “Bender, quickly fetch the chips. We must secure the area before they bring us any more unwanted attention.”

  A moment later Bender set an ebony box before Thomas. It was small, maybe five inches by two and only three inches tall but it thunked down onto the table as if it were filled with lead.

  “I apologize in advance Sergeant for what I’m about to do. I know it’ll offend you, but understand that neither your sorcery nor Julian’s witchery can shield you from her sight.
The creature you’ve fought lurks in every shadow, crouches upon the threshold of every death. You cannot use the energies of life to shield you from her notice. This is the only way.”

  The lights in the chapel dimmed when Thomas opened the box revealing thirteen stone disks nestled in a bed of black velvet. The temperature plunged along with the light, rapidly sliding from thick Florida heat into arctic chill. Little wisps of vapor trailed from Thomas’s mouth when he spoke.

  “Death’s-head agate is the necromancer’s most valuable tool,” he said plucking the first of the disks from the box. “It’s said that it’s mined from Hades’ own pits, but all I know for sure is it’s rarer than true love. A single stone laid upon the chest of a corpse can compel the dead to speak, but a circle of thirteen can hide those inside from death itself.”

  He stared a moment at the stone between his fingers before placing it carefully on the table. It rang like a funeral bell as he sat it down, tolling with a deep melancholy note. Before the sound faded, he quickly plucked the next from the box and set it besides its mate. Each stone rang in a different pitch, but each was as mournful as the next. When all thirteen had been placed upon the table Thomas set the box aside and produced a thin blade, he’d hidden up his sleeve.

  He held the knife in his left hand and passed it slowly above the stones. “Sergeant, I respect your beliefs even if I don’t share them. You may stand outside the circle if you wish, but you won’t be privy to anything that passes within.”

  “I’ll stay with my men,” Mac replied.

  “Very well,” he said before sweeping his eyes across the rest of us. “Necromancy is a delicate art, do not get squeamish and don’t interrupt. The results could be quite unpleasant.” Asses shifted nervously in chairs, but no one said a thing.

  “Everything worthwhile requires pain,” he intoned before thrusting the knife into his right palm. “Every striving demands blood.” Working quickly, he cut a series of jagged lines and swirls into his flesh before the welling blood obscured the design. When he finished, he carefully laid the knife atop the opened box and picked the first of the stone disks off the table.