Jobe. Jobe had been in the Navy for three whole years. He had served aboard the aircraft carrier for most of that time, and he had been particularly proud of his time on the Kitty Hawk.
How had they gotten to Jobe? Had it been Jeremy?
And Penelope abruptly remembered the safe’s combination, written by Jobe’s own hand, on a piece of paper from the company he worked for. It had been folded up in her pocket. Along with her leather gloves, she clearly recalled putting it back into her pocket when she had first faced the seatco. At the moment she had been trying to talk her way out of a bad situation, still unclear about the danger she had been facing. Am still facing, she amended silently.
Mentally shifting forward in time, she remembered when she had emptied her pockets at Jeremy’s apartment. Somewhere from the point in time when she had put the paper into her pocket to when she had gotten rid of everything, she had lost it.
Drawing a conclusion as to what might have happened wasn’t hard. Either it had been Jeremy, or it had been the piece of paper, and up until Penelope had robbed the house, Jobe had been safe and sound. He had left a half-dozen messages for Jeremy on his voicemail, the last being the day before the creep. His messages had gotten a little angrier with each call. Penelope had read it as Jobe getting irate that Jeremy hadn’t pulled the job at the house on Durfrene Row and cut him in for his share.
Someone at the house had discovered the paper and drawn another conclusion. The security company that Jobe worked for was small enough. It wouldn’t have been difficult to narrow down a suspect. Perhaps it had even been one of the contractors who had actually been in the house or perhaps one who had actually programmed the safe’s combination for the owner. Possibly it was the man who had peered into the safe for a single second and seen the contents. But not only could he have seen the stacks of money and the Native American jewelry, he might have seen something else. Had Jobe even glimpsed the black diamond, the stone that Will had called the Tears of the Spirit?
Did it matter if he did? Penelope knew that it did not. Jobe was dead. Dead like Sammy. Dead like she was going to be, like perhaps Jessica was going to be. With a low moan of distress, she launched herself out of the bed and ran for the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before she violently disgorged the contents of her stomach.
When Penelope was done and had wiped her mouth clean with a wet washcloth, she vowed never to eat Oreos again. She also prayed that Artemis would hurry up and call her.
Chapter Seventeen
Sunday, July 6th - Monday, July 7th
Bladder (slang, origin unknown, probably 1930s American) - An underworld newspaper with miscellaneous information as to deals going down and crews needing work. Not actually a newspaper but word of mouth among individuals who specialize in the vocation.
Anthony stared at the torn remnants of the seatco. One arm hung by a shred of skin from its torso. A massive tear of bloodless flesh draped over the darker half of its massive head, leaving a hunk of ashen skin hanging. Several broken bones had punctured the flesh and shone whitely. It stumbled more so than its usual awkward self, as it pried repeatedly at the earth with a disjointed hand. Several of the shadow people had carried it into the basement, forcing it past the narrow doors by twisting it this way and that, like some oversized piece of furniture.
Merri had brought the beast back just before dawn, having been forced to leave the Suburban. An aggravated snarl lined her still-beautiful face and exposed the evil that lurked beneath. Concerned with its presence on the street, Anthony quickly had the seatco brought inside and downstairs. There it would return to the worms to heal itself. How long that activity would take, Anthony was uncertain, but within a limited amount of time the thing would be ready to lead them unerringly to the thief.
But Anthony was hardly at a standstill. Information from the security consultant, Jobe Cooper, proved to be more insightful than Anthony would have imagined. Jobe had greedily provided the data about the safe and the combination to a thief named Jeremy. Jeremy had been introduced to the seatco sometime before. But Jeremy also sometimes worked with a partner. The partner was a young woman named Penelope Quick. “Pa-nel-o-pee.” The thief who had robbed Anthony of his greatest accomplishment was none other than this Penelope Quick. And thanks to Jobe’s formerly loose tongue, Anthony knew much about the elusive cat burglar.
Merri confirmed that they had found Penelope’s lair and her as well, but she had narrowly escaped them. A secondary scent had led the seatco to another location where Penelope had apparently waited for someone. This time there was a worse outcome, one that was not favorable to the seatco or to Merri.
“Did you kill the security guard?” Anthony asked as the seatco began to pile black dirt from the basement on top of itself.
The thing that had once been Merri shrugged disdainfully. The unfeeling creature that she was didn’t care if she murdered a thousand humans. “He hurt me.”
“Hurt you?” Anthony repeated incredulously. “They call your kind a thousand different names. All the tribes have their own name for you. They fear you in the deepest night. Some worship at your feet in order to feel the warm drops of blood on their own flesh. A manitou. Sisiutl. A shape shifter. A puca. The most malevolent of all second-world creatures. And a mere human being hurt you?”
Merri snarled and twisted away. A wretched voice that was nothing like the human Merri’s dulcet tones emitted furiously in the Native American language of his people, “We are not invulnerable, Anthony. And neither do we have the patience of Christian saints. You’d do well to remember that.”
Anthony almost smiled. It did him good to have the evil ones he had embraced to his blackened soul reveal the chinks in their armors.
Then the normal voice resumed, and Merri added in English, “It was a human weapon. Like the one you pretend you don’t have.”
“A pistol?”
“It was more compact, squared. It shot the rays of the sun and damaged the tissues of this human façade I wear,” she finished, obviously unhappy with her report on her susceptibilities.
Nodding, Anthony said, “A stun gun. It’s meant to incapacitate not kill. The electricity must have had…an interesting effect on your human side.” He came to the conclusion that Merri, the thing that had once been her, had been frightened. Seemingly unassailable to the weapons of man, she had grown arrogant. Faced with something that had caused pain, she had gathered up the seatco and fled into the darkness.
“I’m not human,” she growled, reverting to the deeper, harsher inhuman voice.
I’ll remember that. Anthony nodded toward the lingering remnants of the seatco. “And it, how long before we can use it again?”
Merri shrugged again. Her features had taken on an animalistic guise but slowly relaxed into the human she portrayed. She examined her blood red fingernails as if looking for chips and displayed them in front of her face like a feline stretching its claws. “Days. Weeks. We don’t need it anymore anyway. We have her name. We know what she looks like. We can find her and the Tears of the Spirit as well. And long before we have need of it.”
“Quite right. The thief went to Cedars on the Ridge for a specific purpose,” Anthony said calmly, knowing that Penelope’s purpose there had been to protect her only living parent, a woman named Jessica Quick. “Apparently, she somehow became aware of the seatco’s unique abilities. She knew it might be drawn there despite her lack of presence.”
“How would such an insignificant thief become aware of the otherworldly characteristics of an evil spirit brought from another realm?” Merri said, coldly regarding Anthony as if considering whether she needed him any longer. But he knew that she did.
“I have a suspicion about that,” Anthony said placidly. “William, of course. I wasn’t sure, but I thought for a moment on Friday night that I could sense his company. But it was so fleeting I wasn’t certain. If the girl knows something about us, then it could only be him.”
“William,” Merri repeated. �
�I’ve very much wanted to meet him. I think I would like to taste his blood.”
“And I think we can draw them both out,” Anthony said and grinned wickedly. “Like the trickster, Coyote. All one has to do is to provide the proper…bait.”
*
Jeremy’s cell phone rang at 9:30. Penelope had avoided calling Freddy for two reasons. First, she didn’t want to hear her mother shriek in her ear. And second, she didn’t want the phone to be busy when Artemis called her back. Of course, the latter was a weak reason for sanctioning the first rationale. But if Penelope wished to continue having her mother at a safe distance away from danger, then sooner or later she would have to call and proffer an explanation that would satisfy Jessica. Otherwise, Jessica would return, looking for her one and only child, and the fact that she was legally blind would be a moot point.
“Yes,” Penelope said cautiously into the phone after noting that the caller ID did not identify the caller.
“Yo, baby,” Artemis said. Then his voice lowered into a gruff parody of a gangster. “This is your connection. You know who.”
Penelope smiled to herself. Talking to Artemis was like taking a breath of fresh air. He was young, perhaps somewhat naïve but unsullied and alive, as if he had the whole world ahead of him. He honestly believed that the items he sold were not exactly illegal, but more like borrowed or that they were unlawfully regulated to begin with. So Artemis provided valuable service-affordable cell phones. At cost. He paid off his hackers, put some away in the bank, and probably bought his mother a steak dinner at the Four Seasons in Las Colinas once a month. To be specific, Artemis was just Penelope’s kind of people, a crook with a cause.
“You have something for me,” she said after a pause.
“I do. I do. And it wasn’t hard. Although my guy that I know wants a couple hundred bucks. But don’t worry; I put it on your tab. You can pay me next time.”
“I’ll leave you five hundred at Rocky Ray’s,” she said. Rocky Ray was a fence. He was one of many that Penelope had used or that Jacob’s crew used. He ran a jewelry store down the street from where Artemis plied his wares and often held onto various packages for people for a slight percentage. There was an unspoken message behind her words. The extra money was for Artemis to keep his mouth shut. “First thing tomorrow. Okay?”
“Five hundred. Ro-kay,” Artemis agreed. “Whatever works for you, sugar lips.”
“Don’t call me sugar lips, or I’ll call you by your first name,” Penelope warned.
“Oh, God, not that,” Artemis said dramatically. “Anyway, your dude does not have an official capacity. Unless you count tenure at some university in Oregon.”
Penelope thought of the temporary employee card for Dr. Littlesoldier. “What else?”
“I mean, he’s a doctor. A Ph.D. in…uh…let me look at the back of my hand. Cultural anthropology. I don’t know what the heck it means.” Artemis giggled and he suddenly sounded like the sixteen-year-old boy that he was. “He has a tenured position at the University of Oregon. He’s thirty-five. Belongs to an Indian tribe in Oregon, also. I wrote down their name, but the ink smeared. Something that starts with an ‘E.’”
“I know the name of the tribe,” Penelope said curtly. “And he’s not law enforcement?”
“Well, I don’t think so. I mean, his name didn’t trigger any alarms or anything like that when my guy started looking in his little private databases. My guy was a little puzzled as to why you’d be asking about this doofus, considering, I mean, he’s like a professor. He makes bupkus. He probably only clears like sixty grand a year. He’s published a bunch of articles on sociological aspects dealing with Native American culture and two books on Indian mythology, but I’m pretty sure neither were best sellers. Unless you’re an anthropology nerd you probably wouldn’t even know who the hell he is.” Artemis made a noise under his breath and then added, “And you sure as heck don’t look like any anthropology nerd I know.”
“Traffic tickets? Arrests? Arson, murder, rape?” Penelope said.
“Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope and nope,” Artemis laughed. “He’s so clean they could use him in a soap commercial.”
Penelope said nothing.
Artemis was silent for a moment and then added, “He’s working in town for a while. Been here about two months. I have a work address for him but nothing on his home address. He doesn’t have stuff to steal, and I can’t understand what you want with him.”
A cultural anthropologist who works for a museum and has tenure in a university, Penelope thought about it. A man who happens to be a Native American and knows about legends and mythology in detail. So he happens to be around when I need him. How did he even know who I was or that I’d taken the gemstone? The things at the Durfrene Row place didn’t call the police on me, but if you were staking it out, waiting for an opportunity yourself, then you might call the police if you saw a woman all dressed in black running down the street from the things out of the pages in your book…Ah, clarity.
Artemis cleared his throat. “I got a credit card number for him, too. He’s got a platinum card.” He said the last as if were the brass ring to be grabbed from the carousel ride.
“I don’t need it,” Penelope said. “You can get your money at Ray’s tomorrow.”
“I’ll swing by before I hit the road for a dive,” Artemis said easily. “We’re going into a missile silo, baby. You know, everything looks bigger under water.”
“Okay,” Penelope said, ignoring the lecherous statement. “You didn’t talk to me. And if some very strange people come looking for me, don’t stop to ask questions. Just run.”
Artemis became serious. “Run? Pen, what the hell, over?”
“No questions, kid,” Penelope reiterated gravely. “Just remember what I said. And you might want to get rid of that five hundred bucks ASAP. Put it in the bank. Ask for twenties instead. My best advice. And forget this number and that information you gave me.”
Suddenly aware of her gravity, Artemis said, “I’ll do that. Hope to see you soon, Pen.”
“No, you don’t, Artemis,” she said quietly and disconnected the phone.
Now Penelope had an idea of what to do next. She had someone to talk to, and this time she was better prepared than they were.
But first she had to do something really terrifying, something that made her knees quiver and her stomach twist with anxiety. She had to call and speak with her mother.
*
Fair Park was a national historic landmark, so designated in 1986. The park was the site of the 1936 Texas Centennial Exposition and had a longer history as the location of the State Fair of Texas, dating all the way back to 1886. Art deco and 1930s style buildings abounded at the park, remaining intact and conserved for decades. When the park was not a booming mass of people visiting the state fair, it was a den of cultural and historical activity. There was the Dallas Aquarium at Fair Park, the Age of Steam Railroad Museum, the Women’s Museum, the Dallas Symphony, the Science Place with its IMAX theater, a Vietnam Veteran’s Monument, and two separate museums of history, including the Dallas Museum of Natural and Cultural History.
Penelope knew the park reasonably well. It had been a favorite location of Jacob’s, when he wasn’t supporting the family. He had taken her there on a regular basis.
The Dallas Museum of Natural and Cultural History was contained in a large art deco building located on the southern end of Fair Park. Nestled in a group of like buildings, at first glimpse it appeared small. But from personal experience Penelope knew that it covered tens of thousands of square feet and seemed endless when one was wandering around on the inside.
Penelope hadn’t been back since her father’s death. Standing outside the building with its magnificent art deco carved pillars and façade constructed of Texas yellow stone gave her a sensation of the past that she hadn’t felt for years. She had the feeling that if she peered over her shoulder, her father would be there, smiling genially at her, ready to pat her on the back an
d tell her some quaint moralism that would aid her in future endeavors.
When she actually did just that, Penelope was peculiarly disappointed. It was as if Jacob Quick should have been there, instead of dead and gone for a decade.
Penelope looked forward again. She had driven from Waco to Dallas this morning and visited Rocky Ray’s in the full light of day, feeling oddly safe with the bright sun shining on the back of her neck. Ray had given her an anomalous stare, but he had taken the envelope for Artemis and another C-note for himself. He had done business with Jacob and Jacob’s crew for the better part of forty years, and he wasn’t known to be a squealer.
As Penelope had pushed open the door to Ray’s hole-in-the-wall establishment, he had called after her. “Hey, Jake’s kid,” Ray said with a hoarse, cigarette-influenced voice. Penelope had paused, but she hadn’t looked back. Ray cleared the phlegm from his throat and said, “You been the subject of conversation of late. You know what I’m saying?”
She’d known what he was saying. Someone had asked after her, either by name or description. Either way it wasn’t safe in the city for her. Penelope almost shrugged. Since when had she been safe since she had creeped that house? She hadn’t said anything to Ray but merely nodded and left his establishment as fast as she could.
Avoiding her old haunts, she didn’t even dream of going by her apartment or Jeremy’s for that matter. She waited until after lunchtime and parked the Suburban in the lot of the museum, looking over the scene for the Lexus that she had seen Will Littlesoldier driving.
Penelope didn’t miss a trick. She had searched the Suburban for clues and hadn’t even found a registration or proof of insurance in the glove box. It had been stripped clean. Only the license plates remained to prove to whom it belonged. From the fading stench inside the vehicle she knew that the seatco had ridden around in it for an extended period of time.
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