Daemon: Night of the Daemon

by Harry Shannon

  Enrique sat forward, as if finally catching on. "Yes, that does sound like what we're looking for."

  "Good," Kilani said. "You should know this about his motivation, then. His end was so miserable that he turned to evil forces. Originally, he returns from the dead and seeks revenge upon the people that harmed him or his family. Naturally, over time and upon changing bodies several times part of his memory becomes weaker, like a document copied too many times, and then it kills indiscriminately. Incidentally, it is believed he may even move back and forth between corpses, discarding and picking them up again on a whim. And for the purpose of your story no one who crosses his path or angers him would be safe."

  "As I said earlier, can it be destroyed?"

  "The peasants in India used to believe that since the being was angry at the manner of its death, once you had identified the Bhuta you needed to dig up the original body and give it a proper funeral service and full cremation."

  "Cremation," Lehane whispered. "Not the words, but the fire."

  Sandy Hammer looked dazed. "Excuse me, but assuming it came back from the dead, how would it move from host to host?"

  "We have very little text to clarify that," Professor Kilani said, absently. "It is generally believed to be through the exchange of bodily fluids."

  Lehane felt his stomach flip yet again. "In other words through blood, spit or mucous?"

  "Precisely." The professor noted the intensity of their reaction to his last offering. He decided he'd imparted enough information and began to gather his things. "I had best be on my way, let you folks discuss your horror movie."

  "Thank you for coming, sir." Enrique had already motioned for Mike Castle to walk the old man back to the private elevator. Castle hustled around the end of the table and punched the button. The elevator opened with a soft pinging.

  "Professor?" Castle motioned with one hand remaining on the button.

  "I'm coming, I'm coming." Kilani picked up his scattered notes with maddening serenity, grabbed his cane and started to leave the room. He paused near Castle and turned his head around.

  "Mr. Diaz, one more thing?"

  "Of course, Professor Kilani."

  "I am quite sure that this fact will entertain and please your bloodthirsty teenaged movie goers. The Bhuta doesn't only eat the flesh of dead creatures it also often dines on human intestines…and their contents. In other words, excrement."

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Heaven and Earth do not take sides;

  they treat all of creation as a straw dog.

  The Master thus remains impartial;

  He treats everyone like a straw dog.

  The space between Heaven and Earth is like a bellows;

  this is totally empty, yet has not lost its power.

  The more it is used, the more it produces;

  the more you talk of it, the less you comprehend.

  Silence!

  It is better not to speak of things you do not understand…

  Enrique had pre-ordered a large buffet table of food for delivery to the conference room. The annoyed waiter, after being carefully searched by Castle, left with a generous tip. Lehane then called Pops and Guri. He instructed them to abandon their posts and come down to the meeting.

  Once assembled, no one in the group felt much like eating, especially considering the subject under discussion. So they all drank coffee, tea or ice water and waited, knowing that eventually it would be Enrique's turn to explain his involvement. The singer had other plans, however. After one long silence, he faced Lehane.

  "Mr. Lehane. Jeff. You reacted very strongly when the professor mentioned the Bhuta."

  "Very observant of you."

  "And may I ask why?"

  "Because that was the last thing Roger Gordon said as he died, except I thought it was 'boot,' like on your feet, and then 'ahh,'' or the sound of escaping air. But what he said was 'Bhuta.' When I heard the name just now, it gave me chills. We are finally on the right track."

  "I suppose it is my turn to explain myself."

  "I'd say so."

  "Her name was Maninjeh."

  "Maninjeh," Lehane mused. "That sounds Iranian."

  "Her family came from Teheran by way of Iraq," Enrique said. He got to his feet and began to pace, hands behind his back. "They had money in those days, and they wanted to escape to America. The war between Iran and Iraq was in full swing, chemical weapons and all.

  "It was awful. Hundreds of thousands of people were slaughtered right on the border, day after day. Maninjeh's father was terrified for his family. He had enemies everywhere. It was not safe to attempt to cross into Turkey and the border with Kuwait was sealed. In desperation, he made an expensive deal with an Iraqi criminal associated with Saddam Hussein to sneak his family across Iraq and into Jordan, where he had some business associates he felt he could trust.

  "Apparently, he thought that since he was Sunni and had a substantial amount of cash to throw around, better the devil you know."

  "I remember." Lehane nodded, slowly. "That was a common racket back then, bribing Iraqi officials to help people cross the country and get away from the war."

  "Yes, it was. Maninjeh's father made a deal. He gave two hundred thousand dollars to a man named Ali Basra for safe passage." Enrique looked up, caught the shocked expression.

  "Yes, Jeff. The same Ali Basra you raided near the end of the more recent Iraq war, the same Ali Basra who tortured and murdered for Uday and Qusay Hussein. He held cult meetings for them on his property. That's what I meant when I said I was half of the connection."

  "And I am the other."

  "Yes. Now, as I heard the story, Ali Basra demanded even more money. Maninjeh's father was prepared for that eventuality, and willingly paid the increased price. But then Ali Basra tried to lure the man into some of his daemonic practices. Maninjeh's father refused. There was some kind of physical struggle, and people were killed. Her father managed to escape and the family ran for their lives."

  "And eventually Maninjeh became your lover?"

  "I proposed to her," Enrique said. His voice broke. "I've never felt that way about anyone before. I met her while visiting the Greek islands two years ago. Her parents were already dead, both murdered. First her father, when the family was still hiding in Lebanon. Maninjeh and her mother fled back to Jordan, but whatever it was, it found them there a few months later. It slaughtered her mother, then dug her up and ate from her remains a few days later."

  Enrique leaned against the wall. "I thought she was hysterical, of course. No rational person could believe in monsters. Then I had some of my staff check the police records, and they found that her mother had been murdered, also that her body had been violated. So unless I was prepared to think that Maninjeh herself had committed such an abomination, I was forced to consider her story.

  "Some monster from antiquity had been unleashed by Ali Basra, or perhaps was Ali Basra himself, and it was now hot on our trail.

  "I took her with me on the remainder of my European tour, and we fell more deeply in love. As you can imagine, we changed cities every few days to a week, so it would have been virtually impossible for the creature to catch us. For a time I dared to dream that we had escaped from its clutches for good."

  Pops sighed. "No offense, guys, but I've been listening to all of this for the last couple of hours, and it's just…weird. Do I need to mention how ridiculous we seem by taking this crap so seriously?"

  Guri agreed. "This grave robbing is pretty sick stuff, but does that mean the answers have to be supernatural? I mean, look at Jeffrey Dahmer."

  "Let the man finish," Sandy Hammer said. "I want to hear him out."

  Lehane waved his hand for silence. "So do I."

  "A few months ago in London," Enrique continued, "I was rehearsing. Maninjeh went for a walk that night with one of my bodyguards and never came back." His eyes moistened. "The bodyguard was found dead near Hyde Park, but Maninjeh had disappeared. Do I need to tell you what happened next?"


  Lehane frowned. "Her body was found mutilated a few days later?"

  "Chewed was the word they used," Enrique said. His face went white. "The very idea sickens me."

  "What happened next?"

  "Naturally an attempt was made on my life two nights later. I had to leave for the states soon anyway, so I ran."

  "And Maninjeh?"

  "The police put it down as a homicide. They kept the details quiet so they would have some specific facts that would help them identify the actual murderer. The truth is that they never even identified a suspect."

  He looked up and pointed to Castle. "When I returned to the United States I asked around for protection. Two names name up, Spinks Security and Mike Castle. Mike was fairly low profile, so I hired him to supplement my regular staff. His job was to keep an eye out for whatever it was that killed Maninjeh and her family, and is now patiently stalking me."

  Lehane nodded. "How did you learn my name?"

  "I read in the paper that someone, assumed to be Allied Special Forces, staged a midnight raid on Ali Basra's compound, killed him and got away. I wanted to know if he was really dead, if the nightmare was over."

  Mike Castle spoke for the first time. "I still have a few friends with clout. I found out Spinks did the raid and that it was your mission."

  "So it was logical to hire Spinks when I came to Vegas, but then I found out you'd retired."

  "A fly in the ointment."

  "Exactly."

  "So you faked those letters threatening your life."

  Enrique sat up, clearly surprised. "No, I had Mr. Castle do that for me. How long have you known?"

  "As I think I mentioned the night we met, the letters struck me as having come from a real professional, not an amateur." Lehane rubbed his eyes. "There wasn't a trace of saliva or fingerprints, or the slightest bit of DNA or other evidence for the lab to work with."

  "I see."

  "So when the shooter turned out to be a middle-aged airline employee who could never have pulled that off, I started wondering. So, to answer your question, I have suspected there was something wrong about you from the very start."

  "I wish I had known. I would have admitted the truth earlier."

  "I wish you had."

  "Finally," Enrique continued, "I had to offer Charlie a small fortune to get him to bring you back for this one job so we could meet. I know how all this sounds, people. Jeff, I couldn't trust you enough to tell you the truth at first. Then your ex-wife Heather was killed, and although I thought I knew why, I couldn't be positive."

  "So you came to interview me," Lehane said. "And Ali Basra's so-called daemon must have been right behind you, in the body of that biker."

  "It certainly looks that way, doesn't it?" Enrique moved back to his chair, sat down at the head of the table. "I don't know what we are up against, my friends. Maybe it is really some kind of sentient virus changing hosts, something that was viewed as a living daemon in Muslim folklore, but whatever it is, it is relentless and monstrous and it will continue until Lehane and I are both dead."

  "Can it occupy two bodies at the same time?"

  "Who knows?"

  Pops crossed his eyes at Lehane. "Hey, remind me not to sit next to you very often, okay?"

  Enrique ignored the joke. "Perhaps worse still, even that may not satisfy the thing. In fact, after being free now for so many years, it probably enjoys killing far too much to ever stop."

  "Oh, man," Pops said. His face registered the pole axed glow of the newly converted. "Now I understand why that kid, the poor brother-in-law, walled himself into the basement. He did that after eating his own dog. The word 'no' on the wall was his way of saying he couldn't let this happen to him, he'd rather starve to death. And those trace elements, like from a dead body, they were from a dead body. Holy shit."

  Sandy touched Jeff's hand with her fingertips, while directing her question at Enrique Diaz. "So, what do we do?"

  "The police will not believe us," Enrique replied. "It is useless to have them involved beyond where they are now, as a kind of civil adjunct to your own work."

  "They won't stay out of our way forever," Lehane said. "They can't, it will get too hot for them to lay low."

  "I know, but I have an idea."

  Pops grunted and rubbed his temples. "That's good, because we sure as hell don't." Dry chuckles all around.

  "Fortunately, I have a great deal to bring to our problem," Enrique continued, "and it is my understanding that you people are the best in the world at what you do. So what I propose is that we act as a team."

  Pops snorted. "You plan to strap on a gun?"

  "Of course not, I have little experience in such matters. What I do have is money, and plenty of it. I see no reason for Mr. Spinks to foot the entire bill when I am in a position to help out." Enrique stared at Lehane. "And Jeff, you would, of course, lead our team. I will double all your salaries until the job is done and there will be a generous bonus at the end of the road."

  Guri muttered: "For anyone who survives."

  The silence built, no one spoke. The enormity of the project began to sink in. They would have to find and kill something that was as indestructible as a cockroach and virtually immortal, keep their actions a secret from the world, and somehow avoid becoming casualties in the process. Enrique drank some water before going on.

  "My tour is over and I'm completely exhausted. Even if I wanted to, I don't believe I could run any more. I will stay here at the hotel and sign any check Mr. Lehane sends me."

  "That sounds fair enough."

  "I want whatever killed all these innocent people to suffer and die for its actions. I do not care what this costs, money is no object. Please work to hunt down this monster called the Bhuta. We must not stop until we find a way to kill it. Are you with me?"

  Lehane responded within seconds. "Okay, I'm in."

  Guri: "Then so am I."

  Sandy just nodded, Pops shrugged and smiled. "If you're saying you don't care what it costs, than what the hell, right?"

  Mike Castle was the last to speak. "Okay, I can follow orders. But how are we going to get this thing done?"

  "May I suggest that we start with this young physician who was murdered last night," Enrique offered. "His name was Benjamin Goldberg. The Bhuta has a pattern, it returns to most of its victims within twenty-four to forty-eight hours to eat of their flesh. We have no reason to think it will be any different this time."

  "Agreed," Lehane said. "Where is Goldberg's body being held?"

  "Whiz says what's left of him is still in the morgue." Guri was still directly in touch with Whiz, because he hadn't removed his headset. "He says he's in too, and asks what do you want him to do?"

  Lehane got to his feet. "Pops, you remember that abandoned mortuary we used as a safe house last year, when we protected that Enron executive?"

  "It was outside of a little town called Flat Rock, or something, up north quite a long, long ways."

  "What was the name of it?"

  "Bouquet Funeral Parlor, something like that."

  "Right. Right. Who owned it again?"

  "Some whacked out mortician by the name of Donald. I can't remember the last name, but I can look it up."

  "Find it, and fast."

  Guri snapped his fingers. "Pinker, Donald Pinker. The little guy barely kept the doors open, remember?"

  "Pretty sparse population out there," Pops said, mildly. "Lots of time to get high and watch television."

  Sandy: "That's probably why he didn't mind taking our money."

  "The place has everything we need," Lehane said, turning to Guri. "Whiz, I want the body moved there immediately, and the paper trail should say that it is for immediate cremation."

  Castle interrupted. "Wait, the guy sounds Jewish with a name like Goldberg. I thought they didn't believe in cremation."

  "Some of us do, some don't." Something about the way Castle pronounced 'Jewish' irritated Guri.

  "We do the paperwork
perfectly," Lehane said, ignoring them both. "Everything needs to look right."

  Castle again. "What, now you think this shit-eater is smart enough to read?"

  Lehane fought down rising irritation. "The Bhuta managed to track a dozen people down, travel to another country, move from place to place in public before the host body decayed too badly, and found Enrique and over and over again. I'd call that smart enough, wouldn't you?"

  Castle looked down and away, cheeks pink. "I guess you're right."

  "Now listen up, people," Lehane said, briskly. "We do not, repeat do not tell the family or this girlfriend who saw the Bhuta last night that we're moving the body. Guri, ask Whiz where she is right now."

  "He can hear us, Boss. I left the mike on." Guri listened for a moment. "Whiz says she's in a nut ward today, doing the Thorazine shuffle in a backless gown. No problems there. I can't say that I blame her."

  "Me neither. Whiz, you heard Enrique, it doesn't matter what this costs. Pull every favor you have to, but get it done. I want Goldberg's corpse at the Bouquet Funeral Home in Flat Rock by tonight. We're going to use him as bait."

  Pops and Guri were already half way to the elevator. "You two will go wire the place for Whiz. I'll meet you there this afternoon. Let's move."

  "We got you, boss. We're half done already."

  "Okay, then. Mike?" Lehane finally turned back to Castle. "You're going to go find us some weapons that can't be traced."

  Sandy touched Lehane on the shoulder. "Jeff, can I see you for a minute?"

  He followed her toward the now curtained windows. Sandy kept her voice low and spoke urgently. "With all due respect, we haven't checked in with Charlie in days. This whole thing could really blow up on us if it goes south. Don't you think we should talk to him about it first?"

  Lehane winked. "He's in the air, on his way back from Prague, Sandy. With a little Irish luck, it'll all be over before he lands."

  "From your mouth to God's ears."

  TWENTY-SIX

  Flat Rock, Nevada was a steadily imploding ghost town nestled in the low desert, between two long ridges of washed-out red rocks threaded with limestone. It had at one time been a bustling mining town with two saloons, a whorehouse, a doctor who doubled as a veterinarian and a sheriff, but the latter half of the 20th century had not been kind. The main highway up to Ely bypassed the area, and when the ground went barren the population dwindled; first to a hundred or so and finally down to a running average of fifteen. The abandoned silver mine was now a dumpy, seldom visited tourist trap.