It bore the name JOVA—purposefully misspelled—and featured a mix of overpriced coffee, assorted pastries, and concoctions that reminded Clay of milkshakes and had some Italian name. Clay entered JOVA, ignored the occasional glance and scanned the interior of the coffee shop. A small boy in a booth in the corner turned and spotted him. He waved wildly and Clay headed over. He emitted a happy creaking as he slid into the booth.
“Hello, Henry,” Clay said.
The youngster—a boy no older than twelve—beamed at Clay from behind a cream-topped milkshake. He seemed slight for his age, with very dark hair over a pleasant, round face mixed with freckles. Square spectacles perched on his nose. He still wore his school uniform, his collared shirt with the school’s crest marked on the pocket, under a light camo jacket. “Mr. Clay.” He turned to the young woman at his side. “This is Emmet Clay. He’s a friend of my family.” Henry Mackintosh-Holtz turned back to Clay. “He’s been a big help to us, many times.”
One of Henry’s ancestors—a great, grand-uncle and rabbi by the name of Chaim Holtz—had created Clay, bringing him to life in the chaos of the Russian Revolution and then casting him out. Clay had then traveled to America, and found sanctuary thanks to Henry’s grandfather. Clay had been helping with Henry’s family ever since. However, the young woman sitting next to Henry didn’t need to know all those details. She probably wouldn’t believe that Clay was a golem anyway.
“Henry’s been talking a lot about you.” She held out her hand and Clay shook it. “I’m Talia Goldstein. Henry’s mom hired me to look after him. I picked him up from school and I’m taking care of him until she gets home from work in the evening.” Talia had auburn hair in a neat braid and an easy smile. She wore a light coat over a dark sweater, with a silver Star of David shining just past the collar. “You know, babysitting—well, kidsitting.” She corrected herself quickly. “I live in the apartment next to Henry, actually. We’re good friends. I stop by to play his video games, sometimes.”
“Talia was in the Israeli Army, Mr. Clay,” Henry explained. “She’s an excellent soldier.”
Clay couldn’t help smiling at the boy’s enthusiasm. “Really.” He settled into the booth.
Talia shrugged. “Not exactly. I joined up after a sponsored trip, did a few tours. Just camping in the Negev, mostly. Weapons training and combat simulations. The IDF’s not dumb enough to let a bunch of American kids see any action.” She had a sip of her coffee. “Now, Henry was saying that you’re, like, a detective? Like a private investigator. Is that true?”
“That’s right,” Clay agreed. “I’m a one-man agency. Clay Investigations.” He handed her his card.
“Is that why you’re dressed like Humphrey Bogart?” Talia asked.
“I’m used to the get-up,” Clay replied.
“That’s pretty awesome.” Talia seemed impressed and Henry beamed. He obviously cared for his babysitter’s approval. “So, what sort of cases do you do? Do you like spy on people cheating on their wives or husbands or anything like that?”
“No. I mostly leave that to other detectives,” Clay explained. “I tend to handle strange cases.”
“The occult, Talia,” Henry explained.
“Like ghosts?” Talia asked. “Werewolves? Dracula?” She grinned into her coffee.
“You’d be surprised,” Clay said.
Before Talia could reply, a commotion came from the door, followed by a series of screams. The line scrambled away from the counter as the glass door smashed open. A pair of strange, spindly figures, each standing head and shoulders taller than any man, rammed their way through the door and sprang into JOVA. They had the general shape of humans, with chests, arms, legs, and lumpy heads—but every piece of them had been assembled from garbage. Broken machinery formed their limbs, with crushed aluminum cans and bottles as their fingers. Wrappers from fast food burgers covered their bodies, mixed with torn pages from magazines and aluminum foil. Rotten fruit and vegetables protruded from their chests, making them stink as they rushed into JOVA.
Tattered hand-written pages had been stapled to their foreheads, which dangled down over their bodies. Clay spotted some of the lettering on those pages. He had similar letters, carved onto his own forehead—the Hebrew word for truth. That meant these were golems, just like him. He sprang to his feet, squaring his shoulders as the garbage golems hurried across the coffee shop. Diners darted out of the way as the strange forms loped closer. One smashed aside a shelf of easy-listening CDs and crockery. Metal jugs and cups bounced their way across the tiled floor. It couldn’t be a coincidence. These garbage golems were here for him.
Clay faced the foremost golem. “Protect Henry!”
He charged for the garbage golem, his hands swinging at his side. The garbage golem grabbed a nearby stool and hurled it in Clay’s direction. The stool smashed against Clay’s shoulder, the curved wood shattering against his skin. Clay took the blow, letting the stool break, and slugged the garbage golem with both fists. He punched through the golem’s chest, ripping into garbage and sending litter flying through JOVA. The garbage golem fell on the ground, becoming a heap of trash.
The next garbage golem leapt on Clay from the side. It crawled on top of him. Clay felt like he had been buried in a junkyard avalanche. He stumbled back, his boots sliding on the tiled floor, and banged into the counter. Clay struck out wildly. He drove his fist straight through the golem’s chest. Trash sprayed out from the wound and clattered on the floor. Clay grabbed the golem’s head next and rammed it into the counter. But the golem didn’t collapse. Powerful bonds held the garbage together. It coiled around Clay like a serpent, one of its hands elongating and reaching up. The hand reached Clay’s face, welled up like it had suddenly ripened, and unleashed a spray of liquid sewage into Clay’s face. It blinded him. He crashed back against the counter.
“Mr. Clay!” Talia hurried out of the seat. “Hold on. I’ll think of something.”
She kicked the garbage golem, driving a rapid series of blows with her boot into what passed for the monstrosity’s head. The garbage golem fell to the side, rolling off Clay and striking the ground. It lunged for Talia and she held her arms out, caught the blow, and deflected it. Her arms reached out, found hand-holds in the garbage golem’s head, and drove it into her knee. Her elbow rammed into the back of its head, and it struck the ground.
Talia looked at the counter. She reached past the terrified employee in his dark apron and grabbed a heavy steel cylindrical keg of coffee. Steam boiled up from the spout. “I’m sorry. You can bill me later. If you want.” Talia tossed the keg down onto the garbage golem. It broke. Steaming coffee spilled over the garbage golem, drenching it in dark liquid. Steam roiled up from the golem, which quivered and shuddered, but did not move.
Henry stared at them from the booth. “That was amazing!”
“Just a little Krav Maga,” Talia explained. “We’d practice a lot, during my army training.” She glanced at the garbage golem. “Weren’t there two of these weirdos? Where’d the other—” Garbage rustled across the floor near the booth. Clay and Talia turned. “Henry!” Talia cried. “Hurry! Get over here before—”
The garbage golem lunged up from the ground and reached Henry. The boy let out a single, terrified squeak as the garbage golem wrapped him in an embrace, and then tucked him under one of its elongated arms. It raced to the door, dragging Henry with it. Talia and Clay raced after the garbage golem, pounding through JOVA and pushing aside bits of furniture. The drenched garbage golem on the ground rolled over, and sprang up as well. It broke into a run and raced past Clay and Talia. The two garbage golems reached the door together. Clay groaned in panic. He had been wrong. The garbage golems hadn’t come for him at all—instead, they had come for Henry.
“Don’t worry, Henry!” Talia cried. “We’ll get you back! We’ll rescue you.”
“Talia
! Mr. Clay!” Henry cried their names as the garbage golems leapt through the damaged doors and onto the sidewalk. Clay and Talia hurried after them, the two golems leapt into the street, landed on separate cars, and launched themselves into the air. Tattered paper and straightened aluminum slid out from their sides, fringed with pigeon feathers. They flapped rapidly, and the garbage golems soared up into the sky. Their legs whirred like propellers to speed them along. Clay and Talia stood on the sidewalk, watching in stunned silence as the garbage golems escaped—taking Henry with them to some unknown destination.
“Oh no.” Talia let out a slight moan. “That poor little guy.” She turned to Clay. “We gotta help him. We need to find out where those garbage men things took him and rescue him.” She thought for a few moments, thinking calmly. “I’d normally suggest telling what happened to the police, but I don’t think they can help with this.”
“True,” Clay said. “But I know someone who can.”
Talia stared at him. “You said you were an occult detective, right? So where those garbage dudes come from is some sort of occult thing? Like some magic spell summoned them, joined them together, and animated them?”
“They’re golems,” Clay explained.
“Golems.” Talia shrugged. “Okay. Sure. Well, Mr. Clay, who do we go to for help?”
Clay led her to his Studebaker. He opened the door and motioned for her to join him. “She’s in North Haven Street. I’ll drive.”
“You drive an old-fashioned car too. Great.” Talia slid into the passenger seat as Clay started the engine. “You know, in the IDF training, we got a lot of lectures from some of the old timers—veterans of the wars in Lebanon, as well as ex-Shin Bet agents and soldiers who had gone into Gaza or the West Bank. They had one piece of advice that stuck with me: be prepared for the bizarre. You never know how surreal and strange modern warfare can be, and nothing prepares you for it.” She glanced Clay. “I guess this is something similar, right?”
“Could be.” Clay started the engine and they roared off down the street as sirens wailed in the distance.
~~~
They headed to North Haven Street, and a psychic and fortune teller’s store, nestled between a community garden and a feminist bookstore. North Haven Street had always been a little Bohemian. Time hadn’t changed that—it had only made North Haven Street more expensive. Clay parked the car, and he and Talia headed into the fortune teller’s store, a square, cozy structure called Mama Lilith’s. Clay had switched trench coats in the car, which helped with the smell. He would have to take a careful shower when this case was closed and Henry was safe.
The bell on the door tinkled as Clay and Talia stepped into the lobby. The place looked like it belonged in Tibet. Strands of prayer flags dangled down from the ceiling. Various statues of Buddha from all across Asia sat in the corner. There were no chairs, only thick cushions. The beaded curtains in the back rattled and a portly woman in her fifties entered. She had long hair, dark and streaked with gray, and a friendly, knowing smile that said she knew plenty and didn’t mind sharing. She sported a shimmering crimson sari, with a large necklace and a silver Chai symbol dangling over her chest.
“Ah—Emmet Clay. Namaste.” She pointed to the beaded curtain. “Come on in, and introduce me to your friend.”
She slipped back through the curtain. Clay and Talia followed her into the back room. They stepped carefully through the beaded curtain and entered a room resembling a cross between an office and a meditation chamber. Thick cushions lay on the carpet, Hebrew calendars and colorful pictures of Sanskrit writing covered the walls, and more Buddha statues squatted or sat on almost every fat surface. Their hostess torched an incense candle, and then moved to the mini-fridge in the corner and set a large jug and a pair of glasses on the table.
“This is Cornelia Deutsch,” Clay explained. “She’s a psychic, mystic, and Jewish Buddhist.” He pointed to Talia. “And this is Talia Goldstein.”
“A Jewish Buddhist?” Talia asked. “Is that a real thing? I heard of it, I guess, but I never met one.”
“I’m a regular Jewbu, honey,” Deutsch explained. She filled two tall, colorful glass cups with some thick, green liquid that resembled toxic waste from a cartoon. She offered Talia a cup. “Herbal juice. I make it myself. That’s the only way to handle it.” She faced Clay. “I’m glad you stopped by, Emmet. Lots of trouble going on in Haven Street. Lots of bad vibes.” She slumped into a large cushion, resting her hands behind her head. “And I think I found the source.”
“What would that be?” Clay asked.
Deutsch sighed. “Well, it’s the Kosher Kave getting bought out.” She turned to Talia. “You grew up around here, right? You know about the Kosher Kave?”
“Sure. I used to have my birthdays there, when I was a little girl.” Talia sighed. “It’s a neighborhood institution. They sell kosher burgers and hot dogs. An old Orthodox family has owned the place since the Sixties. Every kid in the neighborhood goes there for burgers and homemade lemonade after Hebrew School. But I guess that won’t happen anymore. It’s been bought out, and the new owners are going to close it down and demolish it.”
“It’s a tragedy,” Deutsch said. “I’m a Pescetarian, but I loved their tofu burgers.” She faced Clay. “And now you’re here. That usually means some other kind of big time danger is gonna strike Haven Street. What is it this time?”
“Other golems,” Clay explained. “Made of garbage. They attacked us when we were in some coffee shop on Atlas Street.” He paused. “They kidnapped Henry.”
“That nice little boy?” Deutsch frowned. “Terrible.” She stood up, grabbed her juice and drained it in a few gulps. “I’ll meditate on it. Send out some psychic feelers and see if there’s any major outpourings of mystic energy in the city. Hopefully, I can figure out what created the golems.” She set down the cup and moved to a large cushion in the corner, flanked by two statues of a handsome Indian Buddha. “Don’t interrupt me.” Deutsch sat down, crossed her legs, and began to meditate. Her eyes rolled back and she released a slight moan—then said nothing at all.
Talia stared at her. “How long does this normally take?”
“Not too long.” Clay sat down on another large cushion. It flattened under his weight.
“Okay. Well, I’ve got a few questions for you, Mr. Clay.” Talia pointed at Clay. “First off, how do you know Henry’s family? He seemed very excited about meeting you, and he said that you’ve helped his mom and dad in the past?”
“I’m just an old friend of the family.”
“I don’t buy it. You’re clearly immortal.” Talia lowered her voice. “Are you... a vampire?”
Clay let out a slight laughing creak. “Nope.” He decided she could be trusted. Harvey certainly trusted her. “I’m a golem.”
“You’re kidding.” Talia walked closer to Clay. “You’ve got normal skin, it looks like.” Clay let his illusion drop. “Oh.” Talia moved back. “Well, maybe not. But a golem? Maybe you’re just a guy with a skin condition. With weird eyes.” She folded her arms. “Look, I know about golems. I’ve heard the story about the rabbi in Prague making one. They’re supposed to be mindless, right? Unstoppable engines of destruction. Maybe those garbage guys were golems, but you’ve definitely got a mind and a heart too. You really care for Henry and you want him to be safe.”
“Maybe I’m just a different sort of golem,” Clay explained.
Then Deutsch let out a sudden cough. Her eyes winked open. “Crap.” She came to her feet. “I made a mistake. I found the source of the psychic energy, but it found me as well.” She straightened her sari as she paced around the room. “It caught me peeking and didn’t like getting spied on. I think it sent something my way—to come after me.” She spun and pointed to the wall behind Clay and Talia. “Oh God. There it is.”
The outlet in the center of the wa
ll suddenly released a crackling blast of electric energy. The energy tore out of the outlet, falling to the floor in a stream of flashing lightning. It boiled and bounced around the floor, coiling together and growing into a vaguely humanoid shape. Soon, an entire human form of glowing electricity stood before the wall. Sparks flew down from its limbs as it walked toward Deutsch, its glowing arms outstretched like a zombie. Brilliant energy composed the creature, which danced and shifted and made Clay’s eyes ache. Still, he looked at the forehead. He could make out the Hebrew characters, cast in dancing lightning letters. This creation of energy was a golem.
Talia realized it too. “Another golem.”
“Yeah.” Clay stepped in front of the golem. It lashed out, its fingers slapping against him like whips of lightning. The energy coiled around Clay, burning his skin and knocking him back. He stumbled, tripped on a cushion, and fell to the floor. Clay kicked the energy golem, ramming a boot into his chest. The force surprised the energy golem, buying them some more time—but the strange creation slid past Clay and continued to advance on Deutsch. Clay reached behind him, trying to grab onto the energy. His fingers passed through, lightning burning his fingers.
Quickly, Talia ran to the table. She grabbed the jug of herbal juice. “Hold on!” Talia hopped onto the table, stood above the golem, and then upended the jug. Green sludge spilled down and covered the golem. The liquid splashed over the energy golem. Steam rose from the contact, as the juice started to melt. But the energy golem still sunk down to its knees. Talia kept shaking the jug, spilling every last drop of herbal juice onto the energy golem.
The Dagger Men: A Novel of the Clay Shamus Page 33
