The Ebony Finches: A Transition Magic Thriller

by J. E. Hopkins

  She’s not pissed. She’s afraid.

  Hammer reached toward his inside jacket pocket where’d he’d put the warrant. Stony put a hand on his arm and shook her head. “I’d like a few minutes alone with Ms. Wells.”

  Hammer hesitated, frowned. “Fine.” He stood and stormed out of the house. He and Stony hadn’t rehearsed playing good cop/bad cop, so she figured that she’d pissed him off.

  “I thought it might be easier for you to talk with another woman,” Stony said.

  Wells grimaced and nodded toward the front of the house. “Get out. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”

  “Call me Stony. May I call you Claire?”

  Sullen silence.

  “Who beat you, Claire? Your face looks pretty bad and, from the way you’re holding yourself, I’m guessing you have some cracked or broken ribs.”

  Tears spilled out of Wells’ eyes and striped her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I said, get out. I’ll call the police if I have to.” Her voice carried little conviction.

  “Your husband beat you, didn’t he?”

  “We had an argument, that’s all. It was my fault and none of your business.”

  “So he didn’t leave the day after he got out of prison. Where is he, Claire?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Do you think he might come back and beat you again? Is that why you’re so afraid?”

  Wells snorted. “He’s never coming back here.”

  “Then why are you so afraid?”

  Of course.

  “GT isn’t at school, is he? Your husband took him. Threatened to hurt him if you talked to anyone.”

  Wells’ eyes widened in terror. “I’m done talking to you.” Her voice was desperate, pleading.

  Stony called Hammer back into the house to serve the warrant. He smiled as he walked though the door; his flash of anger had been an impromptu acting job.

  Oscar worthy, for sure.

  His team politely searched the house while Wells sat, unmoving, in the living room.

  The search was a bust. They didn’t find the computer that was the source of the threats and were unable to tell whether any of GT’s clothes were missing. Nor did they find any of Robert Wells’ clothing or personal items. Stony used Google on her phone to find the school principal’s phone number, called, and asked if he could confirm that GT was still at the school. He promised to check and called back a few minutes later, reporting that there were no late activities at the school and that Gary Thomas had been absent for the last two days.

  Stony and Ron put their cards on the coffee table with one last plea for Wells to tell them where her husband had gone and if GT was with him. She responded with a vehement “fuck you.”

  The Pecos Municipal Airport, three miles south of the town, had gotten its start as an Army Air Corps facility during World War Two. The two, six-thousand-foot runways that were built in the early forties remained and supported an active general aviation operation. Ron parked their rental next to the small painted block building that housed airport operations and a half-dozen vending machines.

  As the team walked from the Chevy to the waiting jet, Stony’s cell started playing “You Don’t Know Me,” by Ray Charles—her ring tone for an unknown number. She glanced at the screen and almost sent the call to voice mail because she didn’t recognize the area code. She caught herself and took the call.

  “You’ve got to save my baby.” It was Claire Wells, her voice tight with tension.

  “Claire? I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to get him back for you.”

  For a moment Stony thought the connection had dropped. She stopped walking and began tapping a nervous beat against her left thigh with her free hand.

  “The only thing Robert Lee told me when he left was that he’d hurt GT if I called the cops. But a couple of days ago, when we were in bed…”

  Stony waited, sensing that if she pushed, the frightened woman might shut down.

  “He said he wanted to visit my brother. Willard lives just outside Denton. He and Bob Lee were shit-kicking buddies before Bob Lee got sent to prison. ” She gave Stony Willard’s address.

  “Okay, Claire. We’ll check it out. Why did he take GT with him?”

  “I don’t know. GT was a little crazy because Bob Lee beat me. He was babbling, not making any sense. Something about using magic to kill the president.”

  Goddamnit.

  “Was GT in Transition?”

  “Yeah, I think so, but his eyes were the wrong color—black instead of lavender. I don’t know what that means. Bob Lee wouldn’t let me take him to the doctor.”

  “Was GT feeling okay?”

  “What kind of stupid question is that? Of course he wasn’t okay. He was scared to death.”

  “Calm down. I’m just trying to make sure I understand everything. You never know what might help. Did Bob Lee take your car?”

  “Yeah. A blue, ’93 Dodge Shadow two-door.”

  “License plate number?” Stony knew Hammer had the info from the Texas bureau of motor vehicles. This was a simple way to see if Wells was telling the truth or trying to divert them.

  “Shit. I don’t know. Hang on.”

  Stony again tapped her hand against her thigh in a rapid patter.

  “HZ90VZ.”

  Stony repeated the number. Hammer's nod confirmed the validity.

  “Do you have anyone you can stay with until this is over?” Stony asked.

  “Yeah, I have a girlfriend who’ll let me stay with her. ”

  “I want you out of your house, just in case Robert Lee comes back. We’ll arrange to have it staked out.”

  “I told you, he ain’t coming back.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Robert Lee means to do something so bad that I figure he expects to die doing it. And he’s going to take my baby with him.”

  20

  Denton, TX

  “This visit will be good for you, boy,” Asshole said. “Your Uncle Willard is a true American and it’s time you get to know your people.”

  The trip to Denton from Pecos had taken seven hours because Robert Lee kept his speed under the limit—he hadn’t gotten his license since he got out of jail and didn’t want to risk getting pulled over.

  “How come my mom never talked about him if he’s so great?” GT asked.

  “Your mama likes to think she’s better than she is. She looks down her nose at all her kin.”

  They were on a narrow two-lane road north of the town and had just passed a sign for the University of North Texas Discovery Park. The park was as empty and flat and brown as the land was everywhere else in this part of Texas.

  Robert Lee slowed and turned down a skinny gravel road that ran past a windowless, one-story cement-block building before continuing on and disappearing over a small rise. A black and white sign fastened to the front of the structure declared that trespassers would be shot on sight.

  “Here we go. I call it Fort Willard.”

  GT looked around. “Where’s the house?”

  “You’re looking at it. It’s a beaut. Wait ‘till you see inside.”

  Robert Lee drove around the back and parked the car to the side of the road next to a dusty all-terrain vehicle.

  They got out of the car. The flat-roofed building, which looked like it had just been given a fresh coat of white paint, was about the size of a double-wide trailer. GT stood by the passenger door, hesitant, while Robert Lee moved toward a steel door in the center of the back wall. The door was thrown open and a wiry man with a pot-belly that made him look pregnant stormed outside. Two rat-like yellow teeth protruded through his lips; a couple dozen gray hairs were tied back into what GT thought was the silliest ponytail he’d ever seen.

  Uncle Willard? He’s my people?

  Willard stomped over and threw his arms around Robert Lee in a bear hug, lifting him a couple inches off the ground. “You sonofabitch. You’re a sight for sore eyes.
”

  GT smiled.

  He’s strong for a pregnant rat-man.

  Willard dropped Robert Lee back to the ground and peered over the car. “So you’re Claire Jane’s kid. Tommy, right?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Call him GT, Willard. No more of the little kid bullshit.”

  “What the hell happened to your eyes, GT? I’ve never seen anything like them.”

  Asshole answered before GT could say anything. “Just some sort of unusual Transition. Looks creepy as hell, but doesn’t mean anything.”

  Willard’s stare never left GT’s face. “Uh huh. Sorry your lazy mamma never saw fit to bring you up for a visit, but better late than never. Come over here and give your Uncle Willard a hug.”

  GT took a step back. “I don’t think so.”

  Willard glanced at Robert Lee. “You let him sass like that?” His voice carried the same hint of danger that Asshole’s did just before he smacked GT.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Robert Lee said. “The boy is a lost cause. Besides, I’m working on more important shit than a little bit of back talk. You got lunch in there?” He nodded at Fort Willard. “I’m starved.”

  They ate BLT’s on a Formica table tucked into one corner of the block house. Willard had offered GT a Lone Star beer, but swapped it for a bottle of water when Robert Lee shook his head.

  The inside of Willard’s house wasn’t the dump that GT had expected. The main part of the place was a big open room, clean and neat, with cubbies for storage and bookcases filled with thrillers. Stuffed chairs and a small sofa lined the walls next to the door.

  The air was cool and dry. In GT’s experience only rich people could afford air conditioning and Willard didn’t look like any rich person he’d ever seen.

  Two sets of bunk beds were pushed against the wall on the end opposite the kitchen. The bunks sat on each site of an open archway that led from the main area into a smaller TV room that held a monster flat screen. The screen sat in the middle of a large cabinet, with speakers above and below. It was showing six different video feeds, each one from a different perspective around the building.

  GT stared at the screen. “I didn’t see any cameras.”

  “That’s the idea.” Willard had walked up behind him; GT did his best not to flinch.

  “This is really cool.”

  “Want to see something even cooler?” Willard asked.

  When GT nodded, Willard walked to the TV and reached behind it, pulling at something until there was a loud snap. The cabinet swung away from the wall, revealing a half-height door. Willard punched the wood panel and it popped open on invisible hinges. “Follow me.” He disappeared through the hole.

  GT looked at Robert Lee, who smiled and nodded. “Go on. You’re not going to fucking believe it.”

  GT bent slightly and stepped through into a room filled with enough weapons to supply an army platoon. Handguns, rifles, shotguns, grenades, and some sort of rocket launcher thingies. All were mounted in racks on the walls, with boxes of ammo lined up on the floor below them.

  He stood in the center of the room, his mouth hanging open. “It’s a fake wall. There’s enough shit in here to start a war.”

  Willard giggled like a girl. “Nah, but enough to defend my little piece of the world.”

  “Who from?”

  “What’s the matter boy, don’t you read? From the bastards in the government who want to steal our freedom. Jews, every one of them.”

  Willard’s comment reminded GT why he was standing in this bunker, hundreds of miles from home. His excitement at seeing the unusual house and all the guns disappeared, leaving behind fear and anger. He turned his back on Willard and returned to the room in front of the hidden chamber.

  After the tour of the hidden armory, the three settled at the kitchen table. Willard took a left-over apple pie from the fridge, cut three slices, and passed them around.

  It was delicious. “Did you make this?” GT asked.

  Willard nodded. “Don’t tell anyone, but I like to bake a bit now and then.” He glared at Robert Lee. “No wisecracks or I’ll kick your sorry ass.”

  Robert Lee grinned and held his hands up in surrender.

  Willard cleared the plates and put them in the sink. “Anyone for some poker?”

  GT smiled to himself.

  Asshole is such an idiot, I bet I can take him for a ton of money.

  “I don’t know how,” he said. “And I don’t have any money.”

  Robert Lee’s face turned bright red. “Shit, boy, didn’t your mama teach you anything?”

  Willard interrupted before GT could respond. “I’ll give you ten dollars in chips to get you started. You can pay me back from the money you take from your old man.” He grinned across the table at Robert Lee. “Your daddy is the worst poker player I’ve ever known.”

  Willard is dangerous, but I don’t think he’s crazy like Asshole. Would he help me?

  Robert Lee scowled, reached in his pocket, pulled out a twenty, and tossed it on the table. “We’ll see who the bad player is.”

  Willard pulled his money and GT’s loan from his wallet, counted out the chips, and put a deck of cards in front of GT. “Dealer’s choice.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Asshole rolled his eyes. “This is going to take fucking all night.”

  “It means you get to pick which poker game we play,” Willard said. “Start with something easy, like—“

  GT shook his head. “I like five card stud, nothing wild. Nickel-dime with a dollar ante.” He picked up the deck and shuffled like a magician.

  Which I am.

  That thought pushed his fear onto the table along with the chips.

  Willard stared at him, hooted, and banged the table. “Where—”

  “I play poker with my buddies after school,” GT said. “It’s how they earned money to pay a Coyotaje to sneak them across the border into America.” He dealt the cards.

  Willard smirked and looked at Robert Lee. "Tickles me no end that your boy learned to play cards from wetbacks."

  "Fuck you and your mama."

  Willard didn't seem bothered by Robert Lee's temper.

  As they played, Willard and Robert Lee talked about people GT had never heard of, some in Washington, some in local groups that Asshole called The Party.

  After an hour or so of talking about everything and nothing, Willard stared across the table at Robert Lee and asked, “You going to bullshit all night or are you going to tell me why you drove up here?”

  “I just wanted to see my old buddy, that’s—”

  “He’s going to make me use magic to kill the president,” GT blurted. He flinched and jerked back from the table, waiting for the inevitable blow.

  He was stunned when Robert Lee remained calm, his face impassive. “The boy is sick in the head, Willard. He’s a liar and a thief. Hell, I think he’s queer. I figured getting him away from the worthless wetbacks he hangs with might help him. Let him know what was possible in life.”

  Willard scowled and looked from Robert Lee to GT. “How exactly do you plan on using magic?”

  Robert Lee laughed. “No fucking way he can use—”

  Willard held up a hand. “I’m talking to GT.” His voice was a sinister growl.

  “Transition magic,” GT said. “I can do it. I’ve already changed salt into pepper.”

  Will he help me?

  Willard leaned back in his chair and smiled at Robert Lee. “It’s good that you’re trying to help the kid. But you need to take him to a doctor, not on some sort of crazy-ass joy ride.”

  GT’s hope vanished. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes.

  “You’re right,” Robert Lee said. “I had to get away for a few days. The boy’s mama is just as crazy. I’ll get him to a doctor as soon as we get back home.”

  “I’m not crazy!”

  “Play your cards, GT. There’s no reason this has to turn ugly.” The warning in Willard’s voice was cl
ear.

  By eleven, GT had paid Willard back and drained Robert Lee of all but a half-dozen chips. His bones ached and he felt so sleepy that it was hard to keep his eyes open.

  “I’m done in,” Willard said, tossing his cards on the table. “It’s been a long day.” No one argued. “You guys take those bunks.” He pointed across the room to the stacked beds at the right of the door to the television room. “Mine’s the top left.” When everyone was settled, Willard reached down and flipped a wall switch, plunging the room into darkness.

  It’s like the deepest cave ever.

  GT felt a flutter in his chest; his heart was pounding as if he’d just run a mile. He thought about his mother, lying bruised and bloodied on the floor of their home. About Asshole’s threats. About using magic to change salt into pepper.

  A shrill ring startled him so much that he almost jumped out of his bunk. Willard’s cell phone cast a dull blue glow over the room.

  “Yeah?”

  GT couldn’t hear what the caller was saying.

  “When?”

  Willard shut off the phone. A moment later the room lights popped on, blinding GT in the glare.

  “What the fuck?” Robert Lee demanded.

  “I’ve got friends who work for the Denton police,” Willard said. “The Secret Service called and asked them to come check out my place to see if you’re here. Said you were to be considered armed and dangerous.”

  Robert Lee swung his legs over the side of the top bunk. “Fuck. They don’t have a clue how dangerous I am.”

  “Well, Mr. Dangerous, where the hell are you going from here? You sure as hell can’t go back to Pecos.”

  “Better you don’t know. Let’s just say that I’m going up north to visit the sister of a buddy that's still in Telford. That will give GT and me a ringside seat for something the world’s never seen before.”

  Willard glanced at GT then glared at Robert Lee for several seconds. “Then you’d better move your ass. The cops are on their way.”

  21

  Birir Valley, Pakistan

  Tareef thought the constant nightmares that plagued him would drive him mad. Children in transition, the black corruption of their eyes a harbinger of their death, had visited him each night for the past month. The thundering voice that accompanied the visions had demanded that he “prepare,” but the spirit never told him what he was to prepare for, or how.