Hazel put down her glass. “You know, one of the core precepts of my coven is, ‘No debt unpaid, no slight unavenged.’”
“I was aware of that,” Merrin told her.
She sent him a small, fond smile. “Of course you were.” The smile was replaced by a businesslike expression. “There was a guy started coming around here, about three weeks ago it was. None of us had ever seen him before that. He bought a lot of drinks for the regulars, struck up a lot of conversations. Most of those conversations led up to his asking about somebody who knew how to conjure a demon.”
“Did he say why he was interested?” Karras asked.
“No, not that I heard.”
“How about his name?”
“He was calling himself Bill Jones.” She made her eyes widen. “Gosh, do you suppose that could have been an alias?”
Karras ignored the sarcasm. “Can you give us a description?”
Hazel shrugged. “Human, white, mid-to-late forties. Around six feet, athletic build. Dark brown hair with some gray in it. Clean shaven. Dressed well, but not flashy.”
“You know what we really need, Hazel.” Merrin drained the last of his Scotch. “The name of whoever it was that put him on to Belasco.”
“I don’t know, guys, and that’s the Goddess’s truth,” Hazel said.
“When’s the last time you saw this ‘Bill Jones’?” Karras asked her.
Hazel thought for a moment. “I’m pretty sure it was last Friday night.”
“Who was he talking to?” Karras asked. “Anybody special?”
“As usual, he made the rounds.” Her eyes narrowed briefly. “Although, come to think of it, he did spend quite a lot of time with Forfin. More than the little bastard is usually worth.”
Merrin smiled without showing any teeth. “Forfin the Fixer,” he said softly. “My, my.”
“Is he here tonight, Hazel?” Karras asked.
Without bothering to check the room, Hazel said, “He’s in his usual table along the far wall, third from the back door.”
Karras looked at his partner. “Indirect approach?”
Merrin nodded. “Might as well. We don’t want to spook him. Besides, it’ll give us a lever.” He turned to Hazel. “Thanks for the help, darlin’. Now it looks like we owe you.”
“I know,” Hazel said with a contented smile. “I know.”
* * *
Miles Forfin was not, strictly speaking, a dwarf. But, at 4’8”, he was unlikely to be bothered by visits from pesky NBA recruiters. Form does not always dictate function, but in Forfin’s case, it had. Being small, short, and stunted, he had also become sneaky, sleazy, and shifty. He was like something out of Damon Runyon — except Forfin operated on the fringes of a world that would have given Nathan Detroit and his pals howling nightmares.
Unconsciously compensating for his shortcomings, both physical and moral, Forfin had developed a passion for self-improvement. Much of his life was spent waiting for someone, or something, and he filled the idle time with reading material that he vaguely thought of as uplifting. He was struggling through Chapter 3 of Pride and Prejudice when Merrin slid into the chair across the table from him.
Forfin looked up, his narrow face showing neither surprise nor welcome. “Detective,” he said with a slight nod. “Or should I say, ‘Father’?”
Merrin shrugged. “Either is acceptable.” He noticed the cover of Forfin’s book. “That’s a good story. Want to know how it ends?”
“Me, I’m still tryin’ to figure out how it begins.” Forfin tossed the book onto the table. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure, if that’s what it is?”
“Tell me about Bill Jones,” Merrin said.
“Bill Jones? That’s some holy-roller college down South, ain’t it? No drinkin’, smokin’, dancin’ or jerkin’ off, or so I hear.” Forfin shook his head a couple of times. “I never been there.”
“I could have guessed as much,” Merrin said. “No, you’re thinking of Bob Jones University. Bob, not Bill.”
“No shit? Well, thanks for settin’ me straight about that.”
“The guy I’m talking about is a good-looking fella in his forties, built kinda big, dresses well, and wants somebody to conjure up a demon for him.”
Forfin’s eyebrows drew down in a show of grave concern. “Demons, is it? Nasty things, them, and dangerous, too. Naw, I got nothing to do with demons, and I never come across this Jones guy, neither.”
Merrin nodded his understanding, his glasses flashing like semaphore as they caught the light from the room. He leaned over the table. “Forfin, listen to me,” he said softly. “I know two things with moral certainty. You hooked up the guy who was calling himself Bill Jones with Bela Belasco, because Belasco was claiming he could conjure demons. That’s one. Two, is that you’re going to tell me everything you know about it, right here and right now.”
“That so?” Forfin’s face was a case study of someone trying not to look nervous and failing miserably.
“Sure it is. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You figure I’m about to threaten to arrest you on some pretext, just so I can get you down to police headquarters and into the back room we have there. You’ve heard of the back room, haven’t you, Forfin?”
“Yeah, I guess. Maybe.”
“Well, don’t you give it another thought. Because, as a man of God, I couldn’t possibly do something like that, even to a Hellbound scumbag to you.”
“You serious about that?” Forfin’s voice was suspicious.
“Absolutely. But as a detective in the NYPD, here’s what I will do. If you don’t tell me what you know about Jones and Belasco, or if at any point I get the idea that you’re lying to me, I will wave to my partner, Detective Karras. He’s over on the other side of the room someplace.”
“Yeah, I seen him. So what?”
“So, when I wave, he’ll come over. I’ll say something to him, he’ll look happy, maybe clap you on the back or shake your hand. Then I’ll take out the four fifties that I’ve got in my pocket, toss them on the table in front of you, and Karras and I will leave, as if we’re in a big hurry.”
Merrin looked right at Forfin then, and the little man found that the cold gray eyes behind the spectacles held him like handcuffs. “We do that, and everybody in this place is going to think you’re an informant, and that you’ve just sold somebody out. The word will spread— fast.”
Merrin sat back in his chair. “Under those circumstances, what odds do you think your bookie would give that you’ll still be alive come morning?”
* * *
“Conjuring up a demon to kill his wife,” Karras said. It was his turn to drive, and he was piloting the car toward an address in Brooklyn as rapidly as he could without recourse to the siren. “Seems kind of drastic— hasn’t the guy ever heard of divorce?”
“Maybe he’s Catholic, Merrin said with no trace of irony.
“Well, establishing an alibi while a demon offs your old lady is original, I’ll give him that.”
Another couple of blocks went by, then Karras said, “You figure Evan Parnell is this idiot’s real name?”
“So Forfin says, and he would know. He told me that he persuaded Parnell to give his straight name and address by saying that the magus would only contact him directly. I suspect Forfin had a little blackmail in mind for Mister Parnell after the wife was killed.”
“I’ll say this for Forfin, he’s consistent.”
“The one fixed point in a changing age, the little shit,” Merrin said. “Slow down, I think this might be it coming up on the right.”
They drove slowly past the house, a big old Victorian that looked like it had been kept in good shape.
“Lights are on,” Karras said. “I wonder if anybody’s home?”
“Guess we’ll have to go find out. There’s a parking space up the b
lock, see it?”
As Karras parallel parked, Merrin pulled from a pocket a purple stole with a white cross sewn onto the fabric on each end. He touched it to his lips reverently, then placed it around his neck.
Merrin watched Karras turn off the lights and cut the engine. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.
Karras took in a deep breath and let it out. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” he said. It has been five days since my last confession. These are my sins….”
When Karras was done, they traded roles and Merrin became the penitent. A few minutes later, Karras was saying, “…and by His authority I absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Make a good Act of Contrition, and for your penance, find yourself a demon and send him straight back to Hell. Amen.”
“Amen,” Merrin said. “All right, let’s do it.”
* * *
The door was answered by a tall, broad-shouldered man in his forties. “Mister Parnell?” Merrin asked.
“Yes that’s me.” The voice was a pleasant baritone.
“New York Police Department, sir. I’m Detective Merrin, and this is Detective Karras. We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”
“What is this about?”
“Just routine, sir, but we really need to talk inside.”
“I guess you better come on in, then.”
They followed Parnell into the hallway and from there to a living room furnished in austere-looking Danish Modern.
Parnell gestured toward a sofa. “Have a seat, officers.”
“No, we’ll stand, thank you,” Merrin said quickly. “We’ve been sitting most of the day.” He touched his partner’s arm lightly. Karras understood, and started the questioning. “Sir, can you tell us where you were last night between midnight and five a.m.?”
While Karras went through the routine, Merrin wandered around the living room. Something was trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t figure what it was. The room appeared to contain nothing out of the ordinary, and Parnell was acting pretty much the way you’d expect— polite, but mystified and a little put out by it all.
The smell.
That’s what it was, Merrin realized. There was an odor, very faint but nonetheless distinct, and it had set alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind because it was the same thing he’d had in his nostrils not twelve hours ago, in Belasco’s apartment.
Fresh blood.
Merrin let his wanderings bring him closer to Parnell— no, the odor wasn’t coming from him, and there were no bloodstains visible on the man’s hands or clothing.
Merrin concentrated and followed his nose. There was another door leading off the living room. He drifted that way and thought the blood smell was imperceptibly stronger. As he got closer to the door, he could see another hallway with several closed doors along it.
“Can I help you with something, Detective?” It was Parnell’s voice behind him, and Merrin thought it was louder than it needed to be.
Merrin turned back. “Just looking for your bathroom,” he said blandly. “We had some coffee half an hour ago, and it’s gone right through me. You mind?”
Parnell blinked once, slowly, before saying, “Sure, no problem. Let me show you where it is.” He stepped forward, but Merrin was already moving. “No, why don’t you stay and let Detective Karras finish up his questions. I can find it myself, really.”
Merrin was already grasping the knob of the closest door, turning it, pushing it open into a dark room, and instantly the coppery stench of blood rolled toward him in waves. It took only a second to flick on the light switch, which was not nearly enough for Merrin to prepare himself for the sight that greeted him — the nude, spreadeagled form tied hand and foot to the bedposts, the flayed, eviscerated, scalped and ravaged body of what had apparently once been a human female.
What happened next was only possible because the detexorcists were slow, both of them. Merrin was, despite himself, transfixed for a crucial two seconds by the horror on the bed. Karras, whose sense of smell was impaired by his oft-broken nose, had not understood what was going on until too late.
The thing that had once been Evan Parnell seemed to know that Karras was the closest and hence the most dangerous. Instead of attacking in a way that Karras was used to dealing with, it pivoted sharply and sent a vicious karate kick to the inside of Karras’s right knee. Karras yelped, toppled over like a felled tree.
The demon then turned toward Merrin, who pulled himself out of his brief horrified trance just as Karras hit the living room floor with a crash that shook the house. Merrin’s hand went to the pistol holstered on his right hip, but the doorway where he was standing impaired the movement. As if in a dream, Merrin saw the demon reach under Parnell’s shirt, pull out a large, sharp carving knife, grasp it by the point, and rear back to throw it. Then, as through a lens changing focus, Merrin saw Karras on the carpet, pistol in hand and pointed at the center of the creature’s back. Merrin used what little breath remained in his lungs to croak, “No! Don’t kill him!” But his voice was lost in the sound of the two shots that followed.
* * *
Karras watched Parnell, or what had once been Parnell, fall to the carpet, two 12 mm slugs in his back. His ears were ringing from the shots fired in such an enclosed space, and his knee hurt like a bastard. What had Merrin been trying to yell just as Karras fired? “Don’t kill him?” What, and let him put a blade into Merrin’s chest? Not fucking likely.
Then, as he watched Merrin rush over to the fallen Parnell, Karras understood.
The death of the host frees the demon. Frees it to go anywhere it wants, into anybody it wants. Oh, dear savior Jesus….
Parnell’s body twitched once, then went limp. Merrin looked up from the corpse, and there was an expression on his face that Karras had never seen before. “How importunate of you, Karras,” Merrin said, in a voice that was not Merrin’s at all. “Well, no matter. I was due for a change of scene, anyway.”
Karras tried to scramble to his feet, but his damaged knee betrayed him. He fell again, landing on his back just as something that had once been his partner snatched up the carving knife and flung itself on him.
Karras let go of his pistol to grab the knife hand with both of his. Then the Merrin-creature switched the knife to his other hand, so Karras had to grab that wrist, as well.
Karras was younger, and stronger. But demons can impart abnormal strength to those they possess, as any experienced exorcist knows. Karras was having a hard time keeping the knife away from his throat, and he knew he could not hold off his attacker indefinitely. He could cry out for help, but there was no one to hear, except his attacker.
No one listening, except the demon….
Karras had performed the exorcism ritual many times, often enough to have it memorized. It was a lengthy prayer, and normally took quite some time to deliver.
But Karras had studied Speed-Talking.
Karras was trembling with the strain of holding off the knife, but he closed his mind to the pain in his arms, drew in as large a breath as Merrin’s weight on him would allow, and began to pray— loudly, clearly, and very, very fast.
“I-cast-you-out-unclean-spirit-along-with-every-Satanic-power-of-the-enemy-every-spectre-from-Hell-and-all-your-fell-companions-in-the-name-of-our-Lord-Jesus-Christ….”
After four minutes that felt like forever, Karras began to feel the first weakening in his opponent’s grip, could dimly perceive some uncertainty in the grinning face that hovered above him. Buoyed with hope, he raced on, still enunciating every syllable of the ancient prayer. Three minutes and twenty-eight seconds later, he shouted the final “Amen!” It was nearly drowned out by the departing demon’s final scream, a horrible sound that seemed to echo off the walls long after silence had descended on the Parnells’ living room.
Merrin looked w
ith wonder at the knife in his hand, then let it fall to the floor. Karras let go of his partner’s wrists, and groaned in pain from the cramps that immediately seized his hands.
Merrin found his voice a minute or so later. “Now you know why I said not to kill him,” he gasped.
“Yeah, I forgot, in the heat of the moment.” Karras sounded like he had been gargling with Drano. “Next time, I’ll try for a maiming shot.”
“Next time?” Karras showed the palest ghost of a smile. “Let’s both pray that there won’t be any next time. Not like that one, anyway.”
“Amen to that.” Karras flexed his injured leg experimentally. “Guess we’d better call this in, huh?”
“We’ve one more thing to do first,” Merrin said, and gestured with his head toward the corpse that lay a few feet away.
“Of course, sorry,” Karras croaked. “Gotta read him his rites.”
“Him, then that poor woman in the bedroom.”
Each of them took a small black book from an inside pocket. Then they knelt together on the carpet and began the centuries-old ritual of prayer for the soul of Evan Parnell.
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
The stories in this book span my writing career, such as it is, and so I feel it’s important to acknowledge people who have been important to my work at different points over the years.
My Mom and Dad, Eleanor and Austin Gustainis, didn’t live to see any of my fiction published— but I have a feeling they’re still cheering me on, wherever they may be. They always did.
My wife Pat was my biggest fan for many years, right up to her death in 2007. My first novel to be published after her death contained this dedication: “In memory of Pat Grogan. There’s a new star in Ursus Major now that the scientists can’t explain. Sleep well, bear.”
Michael Kanaly, C. J. Henderson, and Jim Butcher, each a superb writer in his own right, offered me encouragement and advice in the early years when I needed it most. C.J. succumbed to cancer in 2014— R. I. P., buddy.
The Devil Will Come Page 26
