The four last things sg-1

by Timothy Hallinan

  "We know what Eleanor knows," he said. "She was very cooperative last night. She was more cooperative, in fact, than you're being. She told us, for example, that you asked her to look into the death of poor little Anna, which she didn't, and to locate Caleb Ellspeth, which she did. I'd say Eleanor knows quite a bit more than you're telling me. I wonder whether we shouldn't call Barry in here?"

  "No," I said, very quickly.

  "You've just gotten your only break," he said. "If Barry comes back in, I'm going to let him do a double. He'll enjoy that much more than you will. Was your talk with Mr. Ellspeth productive?"

  "He told me more about Meredith than he did about you."

  "Of course. He barely knows me. The man was away from home practically all the time. Do you think he's a danger to me?"

  "No. He's frightened. I had the impression that you had something on him."

  Merryman was watching me very intently. "He didn't tell you what it was?"

  Praying that Eleanor hadn't told them, I said, "No." If I didn't get out of there, I didn't want them going after Ellspeth and Ansel.

  After a moment, he dropped his eyes and studied the nails of his left hand. "Good," he said. "Then that's under control, isn't it? Still, I think we'll have Barry drop by and remind him that we'd really rather he didn't talk to strangers."

  "Why tell me?" The confidence didn't make me feel comfortable.

  "Why not? I feel as though you know everything already. I have to congratulate you, Simeon, you've done very thorough work. There are a few details wrong here and there in the account you gave Meredith, a few wild guesses, but by and large it's been very instructive. There are any number of loose cannon rattling about, it would seem. You've done us a service, actually. You've been profoundly irritating, but you've identified quite a few points of entry that should be shored up immediately."

  "Glad I could help," I said.

  "The first ten or fifteen years, before you get to be institutional, are always the most vulnerable in a business like this," he said. He sounded like he was talking to a trainee. "Everybody, when faced with something new, wants to take a crack at it. Politicians, the media, the competition. We know that. We've invited it by making the Church as vivid as possible. Beautiful little girls, a billion-year-old spirit, rather nice sermons, if I do say so myself." He waited for a compliment.

  "The one I heard was very impressive."

  "Thank you. I had no idea I could write until I actually had to sit down and do it. And even then, it wasn't until we printed little Jessica's first twelve Revealings and I saw them on the page that I knew how good they really were."

  "You can't delegate that?" I said, just to make conversation and to keep Barry out of the room.

  "Oh, no." He gave a manicured little laugh. "Very few people know how the Revealings work. Not even Mary Claire. Just you and I. And Brooks, of course. And Miss Chan."

  "She doesn't know," I said.

  "She certainly didn't seem to," he said absently. "She would have told us if she did. She would have told us anything. Barry rarely gets a chance to work on a woman. There was Miss Oldfield, of course, but that was over almost before it began. From Barry's point of view, I mean. I imagine it seemed longer to Miss Oldfield." He gave me the smile again.

  "At any rate, we made the Church colorful on purpose. We wanted to be good copy. We wanted a certain amount of challenge. A religion can't survive without opposition. It knits the membership closer together, builds loyalty and so forth. The bunker mentality. And then, there's all that publicity. So, as I say, we invite a certain amount of adversity."

  "Very wise," I said. My right hand felt bigger than the Goodyear blimp.

  He leveled a finger at me. "But you're something quite new. I suppose we should be thankful that both you and Miss Chan had good reason to keep quiet about what you were doing. You wanted your money and Miss Chan wanted her story. That keeps the circle small. Manageable, in a manner of speaking. If you hadn't, I suppose I'd be packing now."

  "Instead of sitting here talking to me."

  "I almost wish we'd met under different circumstances." He sounded wistful. "You're smart and thorough and greedy. We could have used someone like you."

  "You still can."

  "No, I'm afraid not. You know too much to justify the level at which you'd be employed. It would make me uncomfortable, Simeon, and I can't work when I'm uncomfortable." He looked at his gold Rolex. "Barry," he called. I flinched.

  Merryman laughed as the door opened and Barry came in. "Don't worry," he said. "Not yet, anyway. Meredith? Could you come in too, please?"

  Brooks came through the door like a man walking into a forty-knot wind. He didn't look at any of us.

  "Look at him," Merryman said cheerfully. "What you're seeing is the mummy when it's unwrapped. After centuries of miraculous preservation, he's about to turn to dust. You've been a bad boy, Meredith. We're going to have to evaluate our deal. In the meantime, I'm sure you'll be glad to know that this little forest fire is confined almost entirely to Simeon and Miss Chan-Eleanor, I mean." The name came out of his mouth coated with oil.

  "When do I get paid?" I asked with a bravado I didn't feel.

  "Well," Merryman said expansively, "I'm afraid you don't. If it had been just you, I might have bargained you down a few hundred thousand and let you go on your way. Even though you've irritated me. But there's Eleanor too. I could believe in your greed, but what am I going to do about Eleanor? She seems to be a pure spirit. Anyway, I've already promised you to Barry."

  Barry grinned like a hound in a steakhouse. Brooks sagged against a wall.

  "Don't like it, do you, Meredith?" Merryman laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "You'd rather be behind your big clean desk in Century City, adding up zeros while I take care of the loose ends. Well, you're in the middle of this one, my friend, and you're going to get very dirty. And then we'll sit down for a little heart-to-heart and see who has what on whom. Who knows? Maybe I'll even get to meet the fair Adelaide."

  Brooks swallowed audibly. "Sure, Dick," he said. "Just an oversight."

  "Maybe we'll all do lunch," Merryman said in a gleeful parody of a Hollywood agent. "Just you and me and Adelaide. I think we should all be a lot closer, don't you?"

  Brooks managed a nod that looked like it fractured all his cervical vertebrae. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out but air.

  "Fine," Merryman said. "All settled, then." He gestured dismissively at me. "You can have him, Barry. You can have both of them. But for Christ's sake find somewhere to put them this time. Not like poor Ellis."

  Barry took two steps toward me.

  "Wait," I said. 'There's a kicker."

  "Kicker?" Merryman said politely. His voice was almost indolent, but the muscles in his shoulders tensed and bunched. "And what would that be?"

  "There's a cop involved," I said.

  "Too late," Merryman said, relaxing. "You and Miss Chan have been very persuasive on that point."

  I forced myself to shrug, although my shoulders weighed a hundred pounds apiece. "What can I say? We lied."

  Merryman looked at Brooks, and Brooks found his voice. "This is nonsense," he protested. "You were after a million dollars. Why would you talk to the police?"

  "Merry," I said, "I don't know how to tell you this, but I wasn't really planning to collect the money."

  Everybody looked at everybody else.

  "Then why are you doing this?" Brooks finally said.

  "Oh, who knows?" I said. "Adventure. Diversion. You know, Merry. Tally-ho."

  There was a long pause. Then Merryman said, "Barry. Do something to him."

  Barry did something to me and then he did something else, and a cloud of red came down behind my eyes and I heard my voice torn to tatters in my ears. When it was over and I was whimpering, Merryman said, "Are you finished, Simeon?"

  "Al Hammond," I said in a whisper. Then, louder, I said, "Al Hammond." I think I said it three times.


  "Hammond," Merryman said tonelessly.

  "Hammond comma Al," I said. "You heard the messages on my answering machine," I said to Barry. "You know that Al Hammond called me."

  "Barry?" Merryman said in a voice that would have frozen vodka. The charm-boy was long gone now, vanished to sunnier climes.

  "There was an Al Hammond," Barry said. "He didn't say he was a cop."

  "Is he a cop," Merryman asked, "or are you playing games?"

  "He's a cop. Call the LAPD. Ask for Records and then ask for Al Hammond. Sergeant." I said. "Sergeant. Alvin. Hammond." I couldn't talk anymore.

  Merryman pointed at the phone. We all sat there while Barry dialed and asked for Al. Then he hung up very slowly. "He's there," Barry said.

  Merryman gnawed at the inside of his cheek. "I knew it was too easy," he said to no one in particular. "There are far too many loose mouths in this organization. Time to clean house." He seemed suddenly childish, anxious to fix blame.

  "But this is awful," Brooks abruptly said. "The police? This is terrible."

  "Shut up, Meredith," Merryman said. "You act like it's the end of the world."

  "It is," Brooks said. Then he swallowed again.

  "Not by a long fucking shot it isn't," Merryman said, gaining strength. "Go home to Adelaide. Borrow one of her dresses. When you've got it all out of your system, come back and we'll talk business." He looked at me. "This is a business, you fuckhead, a good business, and you're not going to disrupt it. Barry," he said, "put him on ice."

  Barry came around behind me and I tensed, but all he did was undo the belt. He prodded me to stand up. When I did, he untied the handkerchief around my wrist and stuffed it into the pocket of my shirt. "There," he said. "You're beautiful again." He gave me a yellow grin and took my arm.

  "One minute," Merryman said, assembling his poise piece by piece like a knight tying on his armor. "I want you to know something, Simeon, because you're going to wind up in Barry's hands sooner or later. It's inevitable. This is just a delay. Anyway, I want you to have something to think about in the meantime. His name isn't really Barry. We chose it for him because it's a name rich in the annals of sadism. Have you ever heard of the Doll?"

  I shook my head.

  "He was a guard, a very handsome guard, at a concentration camp. Some of the women in the camp developed extremely complicated attitudes toward him. He was that handsome, you see."

  "His real name was Barry?" I said.

  "No." Merryman gave me the full fifty-kilowatt smile. "His dog's name was Barry. A big German shepherd, passionately devoted to his master. Actually, an ordinary enough dog by all accounts. Except that he had a trick. Would you like to know what the trick was?"

  "Not really."

  "Well, darling, too bad for you. It was only one trick, but it was a good one. He was trained to chew off the genitals of male prisoners. He got very fat." He paused to see the effect of his story. I didn't speak. Merryman shrugged. "So," he said, "that was Barry."

  "And you," I said, "haven't got any genitals. You piss sitting down. Out of choice. And when you're finished you dry that teensy little thing in the breeze and go bother some twelve-year-old because anything else would be too loose for you. You haven't got a cock. You've got a hypodermic."

  Merryman looked very ugly all of a sudden. "You shouldn't have said that," he said. "And if you did say it, you shouldn't have said it in front of anyone else. Barry is going to take special care of you, aren't you, Barry?" Barry nodded fervently. "But first, in front of you, Barry is going to take special care of sweet little Eleanor."

  "Zip your trousers," I said. "Your mole is showing."

  Merryman's face filled with blood. "Put him on ice," he said to Barry.

  Barry grabbed me under the arm and hoisted me up in a lopsided fashion. "Walking time," he said.

  We went out the door and down the hall to the elevator. In the elevator, Barry produced a small silvery key and inserted it into the slot marked basement. We started down. I leaned against him adoringly.

  "Lover," I said, "what a surprise. You're taking me where we met."

  He pushed me away roughly. "Later," he said. "We'll have our laughs later."

  "What do you eat for breakfast?" I asked. "Babies?"

  "Tomorrow, I'll have liver. Yours."

  "I'll bet you say that to all your dates," I said.

  "Keep it up," he said. "You don't know what a long time is yet."

  The elevator doors opened and he pushed me out into a dark hallway. It was still wet from the rain. It was probably always wet.

  "Have you been to Venice?" I asked as he steered me along. "You'd feel right at home. Water, rats, the whole schmear. You could probably get work chewing barnacles off the bottoms of gondolas. Or else you could eviscerate chickens in the marketplace. Somebody has to do it. Italians love chicken." Three of my fingers felt like water balloons that had been filled with blood. "Listen," I said, "why don't we go out to dinner? I'll buy. Italian, Mexican, Thai, you name it. I love the way you handle a fork. I'd love to see you try it on food."

  "You're going to see a lot more of it," he said. We were heading toward the kitchen. "You'll see it on your girlfriend."

  "You're going to fork my girlfriend?" We passed the air-conditioning unit, humming busily away. "That's not very polite. Where I come from, a gentleman doesn't say that to another gentleman."

  He grunted.

  "So much for snappy patter," I said as he propelled me into the kitchen. "Oh, I see. Put me on ice. It's that sweet little refrigerator, isn't it? Good. I have a theory. All shivering is caused by the attempt to reduce the amount of body surface exposed to the cold. Open up, I always say. Open up and let the cold in. Then you won't shiver. What do you think?"

  "I think," he said, opening the refrigerator door, "that you're going to want to be cold in a few hours."

  "Jesus," I said. "You sound like a Friars' roast for one of Bob Hope's writers."

  "Bundle up," he said, pushing me in and closing the door.

  Somebody inside sighed.

  "Well," Eleanor said, "what took you so long?"

  Chapter 28

  The darkness was absolute. The rods and cones of my retina worked overtime to impose squirmy little red and green paramecia on the air, but when I looked down I literally could not see my body.

  "He hurt my fingers," she said.

  "It's his hobby," I said. "Some men collect stamps or guns or varieties of begonia. He collects fingernails." I was babbling. I'd been talking compulsively ever since I'd unloaded on Merryman. It was as though that action, childish as it had been, had pulled the cork on all the emotions I'd been choking down since Merryman's call woke me up. I bit down on my tongue until it hurt and counted to twenty. Then I leaned over and tried to kiss her on the cheek. I felt her lips beneath mine, and then her arms went around me. She'd been looking at me in the total darkness, the way a lover will. Her hands on my neck were icy. I put my arm around her waist. The slenderness of her was familiar and sweet.

  "How long have you been in here?"

  "Forever. I can't tell. What time is it now?"

  "A little after nine."

  "Four or five hours, then. Simeon, there are rats in here. One of them touched my hand, and then it ran over my feet. I screamed. I felt so stupid, screaming in a refrigerator when obviously no one is going to come and help me. I mean, why do you scream? For help, right? But this was just screaming. The way I screamed when that man hurt me."

  "We're going to kill him," I said, wishing I believed it.

  "Oh, be real. We're locked in this thing and there's no way in the world to get out. That door is six inches thick and they've pulled off the handle on this side. There's nothing there but some greasy-feeling rollers. I threw myself against the door so hard that I've got a bone bruise on my shoulder, but it's closed tight. Even if we get out, we're in this awful basement and we're surrounded by zombies."

  "Listen," I said, laughing at the cliche in spite of mysel
f, "I have a plan."

  "Well," she said, "I'd love to know what it is."

  I felt around in my windbreaker and located the bottom of the zipper. I peeled back the lining and pulled out the pimp's knife, then took her hand and dropped the knife into it.

  "What's this?"

  "It's a pimp's knife," I said.

  "What are we going to do, commit double suicide? Boy, wouldn't that burn them up?"

  "The door closes through a system of rollers, the ones you got your hands all greasy touching. We're going to use the knife as a lever to manipulate the rollers. Then we're going to push the door open and walk out."

  "Into the arms of the zombies."

  "One thing at a time."

  "Okay," she said, "I'm game. Anything's better than sitting here feeling like the Thanksgiving turkey. What do you think the temperature is, anyway?"

  "Low forties. Cold enough for hypothermia."

  She handed the knife back to me.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Wait for a while."

  "What for?"

  "The Revealing. It's on television from the studio next door. Everybody goes to watch. It will cause a sudden drop in the zombie population. Also, we're waiting for a man."

  "Who?"

  "I don't really know how to tell you. If he shows up, I'll introduce you."

  "If he shows up?"

  I gave it a moment's thought and then shrugged. "I didn't have time to put him under contract," I said. "You came as a bit of a surprise."

  "They were waiting for me in the parking lot. I'd just said good-bye to Jeannie Seaver, she's in Features, and I opened the car door and got in, and this man got in next to me and pushed me into the passenger seat. It was the one called Barry, the one who did that thing to my fingers. Then he unlocked the back door and another man got in, and they drove me here."

  "Where you met Dr. Merryman."

  "Is he that ghastly handsome man? Oh, Simeon, he oozes poison like a toad. Barry's awful, he's sick and revolting and vile, but the other one's worse. He smiles at you and even flirts with you, and there's nothing in there but cold. When the other man, the old man, I mean, Brooks, arrived, Merryman peeled him alive in front of everybody. This was about midnight. He just poured abuse on him for an hour or so and then got up in the middle of a sentence and left the room. When he came back he'd changed his shirt, and he picked up exactly where he'd left off."