The Blood Gardener (The Dark River Book 2)

by Michael Richan

  “I know,” Derick replied.

  Franklin put down his fork. “No, seriously. Look at me.”

  He looked up at Franklin, staring into the man’s eyes.

  “I had no idea,” Franklin said earnestly. “I only relayed Henderson’s request because I thought you might be able to help. And you’ve been very clear about how I’m never to do that again. Trust me, I won’t.”

  “I believe you,” Derick replied, and took a sip of coffee. He was feeling a little better about Franklin now, but he wasn’t 100 percent.

  “On another note, Hauer got the polyp removed, the one in his ear,” Franklin said. “I finally got through to him.”

  “Good, then I can visit him now,” Derick replied.

  “Something was stopping you?” Franklin asked, confused.

  “I believe the spiders were tuned to me,” Derick said.

  “You mean they hatched because you were there?” Franklin asked. “Kessig died because you went to her house?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you went to Hauer’s place after the attack, and they didn’t come out,” Franklin said. “I don’t understand.”

  “The whole point of the attacks in the first place were to plant the spider egg sac into the victim’s ears,” Derick said. “The attacker did it with his breath. After they were planted, the spiders had to develop within the egg sac before they could hatch. Kessig’s were mature and ready to go. The two times I met with Hauer were right after his attack; they weren’t developed yet. Had I gone back to Hauer’s after they’d matured, he’d be dead too.”

  “Apparently suffocated, with you there each time,” Franklin said, completing the plot. “So, the others who were attacked, they’ve all got mature egg sacks in their ears right now, waiting to hatch?”

  “As long as they’re not around me, they shouldn’t. The only one I stand a remote chance of running into again is Hauer. If it’s been removed from him, he’s safe.”

  “What a weird, twisted setup,” Franklin mused. “Something incriminating at your house would have sealed the deal.”

  Derick didn’t reply, and he could tell Franklin was reading his face. “You found something they didn’t,” Franklin said.

  “Let’s just say I’m absolutely sure it was a setup.”

  “What about the toe chopping?” Franklin asked. “How does that come into it?”

  “A pastime of the creature who implanted the spider eggs,” Derick replied. “Extra work on the side, but it had the benefit of getting the police involved. The real point was to set me up and implant the spiders, but no one would have called the cops if the mutilations hadn’t occurred.”

  Derick saw Franklin shiver.

  “You haven’t told anyone on the force about my trailer, have you?” Derick asked.

  “Per your very explicit instructions,” Franklin replied, “I haven’t mentioned it to anyone.”

  “Good,” Derick said. “Whoever planned this thing doesn’t know where I sleep, which might be the only reason I’m sitting here, talking to you.”

  Franklin turned pale. “I’m surprised they didn’t target me,” he said. “I’m the one who could have lost his balls.”

  “And had spiders hatch from your ear,” Derick added. “Don’t forget that.”

  “Knowing you is dangerous,” Franklin replied.

  “I’m afraid it is.” He wondered if this might be the last straw for Franklin, if this news might cause him to finally withdraw and abandon him. It wouldn’t surprise him, and he wouldn’t blame the guy.

  He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and he slipped it out to see a text from Braithwaite. He hadn’t heard from the guy in a while — after selling them a vial of blood, the Achernar people had retreated. That was fine with him; he didn’t trust any of them.

  The text read: “Can we meet at 7pm? Big payday, you won’t regret it.”

  They probably want another vial of blood, he thought. Fuck them.

  Then he remembered the Belize plan. The last payment had moved him a good deal of the way toward his goal, but there were still some debts. If the pay was decent enough, it might finish things and leave him free and clear.

  I don’t want to meet with this fucker, he thought. But hearing him out doesn’t hurt. As long as it’s on my terms.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Derick asked Franklin as he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

  “Watching the game,” Franklin replied. “What?”

  “Got a job for you if you want it,” Derick said. “I’m going to meet someone. Could use an extra set of eyes on me.”

  “Sounds easy,” Franklin replied. “If there are no spiders involved, sure, I’ll do it.”

  - - -

  Derick saw Braithwaite sitting on the bright red bench. It was positioned under an awning for a chocolate store, and dozens of people were walking by in front of him, to and from the shops along Dewer Street. Holiday decorations had gone up, bracketing storefront windows with green garland and twinkling lights.

  He sat next to the man. He knew Braithwaite would prefer to meet in his office, but there was zero chance of that after the kidnapping they’d performed on him a while back. If they wanted to propose something, sure, he’d listen, but only in a place where he felt safe. Franklin was standing across the street, watching.

  “Mr. Hall,” Braithwaite said as Derick sat next to him.

  “Braithwaite,” Derick replied.

  “This is really unnecessary,” Braithwaite complained.

  “What, meeting here, like this?” Derick replied.

  “Yes,” Braithwaite answered. “All these people milling about. So noisy and pedestrian. I don’t even want to know how dirty this bench might be.”

  “You’re lucky I’m here at all,” Derick replied. “Say what you have to say.”

  “We have a job for you.”

  “An extraction?”

  Braithwaite paused. “You know, I hadn’t thought of it that way, but in a sense it is, yes.”

  “Who? Why a big payday?”

  “It’s not a who,” Braithwaite answered. “It’s a what.”

  Derick sighed, feeling impatient. “Explain.”

  “We have recently made a breakthrough on one of our biggest and most long-running projects. We’d like to involve you. There’d be money in it, of course.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Do you recall ever hearing the name James Unser?”

  Derick paused, thinking. Monkey’s last name was Unser, but he saw no reason to share that with Braithwaite. “No, I can’t say that I have,” he replied.

  “James Unser is one of the great unsolved mysteries in the River the past century. He’s got a massive estate in the Pacific Northwest, completely haunted. We’ve long suspected there was something undiscovered there, something massive and connected with the Dark River, and we’ve been studying it for a long time, unable to figure it out. An operative of ours has recently stumbled upon a discovery in the case, and we think this project might be ready for a breakthrough.”

  “So?”

  “So, there are external parties involved as well. It’s complicated. We want you to go there, and act as our agent in the matter.”

  “Me? Why me? Let your operative do it.”

  “The operative’s name is Abe Mora. He’s old, and not exactly stable. We’ve had troubling interactions with him, and we’re not confident in leaving this to him. We want someone younger and stronger. No one navigates the Dark River like you do. You’re perfect for this assignment, provided you’ll remain loyal to our objectives.”

  “Which are?”

  “Travel to Washington State. Meet with Mora. See his discovery, and how it relates to the Dark River. Document everything. Find out what James Unser was really up to.”

  “What, fly out there?”

  “We’ll cover all expenses.”

  “And the big payday you mentioned?”

  “A hundred thousand,” Braithwaite repli
ed.

  Derick snorted, scoffing at the lowball. “A million,” Derick replied. “Paid in advance.”

  Braithwaite closed his eyes. “Half a million,” he countered, “half up front, half when you deliver the information.”

  “Forget it,” Derick said, standing up. He felt Braithwaite’s hand on the back of his coat, pulling him down.

  “Take your hands off me,” Derick said.

  “Sit,” Braithwaite said.

  Derick slowly lowered himself back to the bench. “I don’t get you. You know I don’t trust you. Why even approach me if this is so important? And why lowball me when I know you can afford it? You’re just pissing me off. Not a way to engender loyalty.”

  “As I said, we consider you someone with a stellar working knowledge of the Dark River. As for the trust, we don’t really trust anyone either, which is why you’ll have to wear an eyecam. Fundamentally, the people in New York think you’re an honest person who doesn’t renege on a deal.”

  “Can’t say the same for you.”

  “Business is business,” Braithwaite said. “Everyone acts in their own best interest, makes the decisions they need to make. You take transactions personally, which is one of the things that irritates me about you, but is also the reason they’re willing to entrust you with this job.”

  “A million,” Derick replied. “Half up front, half in escrow. I pick the escrow.”

  “Done,” Braithwaite replied.

  “Any more conditions?” Derick asked. “You mentioned an eyecam. I want to know if there are any other restrictions before I agree.”

  “Things may develop as the project progresses,” Braithwaite. “For a million dollars, I’d expect some flexibility. We’ll monitor the eyecam stream, but if there are specific tasks we need done, we’ll expect you to do them.”

  “If I go all the way to the other side of the country, the half million is mine, regardless of what happens,” Derick replied. “And I’m not going to perform some risky stunt at your request just to keep the other half. I’m agreeing to collect information, that’s all — not jump into the abyss.”

  Braithwaite paused; he seemed to be considering the proposal. “Alright,” he said.

  Derick was a little surprised that Braithwaite agreed. “When does this start?” he asked.

  “Right after the holidays,” Braithwaite replied. “Mora knows you’re coming. He isn’t happy about it, but he’s waiting for you. I’ll send you details.”

  “And the payment?”

  “We have the transfer information from last time,” Braithwaite replied. “It’ll be in your account before you go.”

  “I’m not saying yes. Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

  Braithwaite rolled his eyes. “Try to be a little more cooperative, Hall. This is a lot of money for very little work.”

  “Nothing is ever as it seems with you people,” Derick replied, standing and turning from Braithwaite, walking past the storefronts of Dewer Street on the way to his car.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Derick walked under the bone archway and into the mist that preceded the gravestones. This time the fog quickly dissipated, much quicker than the first time he’d entered, and there were no faces to greet him, no arms reaching for his limbs.

  He looked over the dark cemetery spread out before him. It was as he remembered it; a seemingly endless sea of plots, with varying markers on each, like an old, abandoned graveyard in a forgotten field.

  The stone sticking out of the grave in front of him glistened red; it had been freshly anointed with dark blood which had dripped down the front of the marker and into the ground below.

  Derick looked around to see if he could find Mazlo. The mist was thick in some places, and he wondered if The Blood Gardener was inside it, hidden from view. He’s probably watching me, he thought. Not probably; he definitely is.

  He walked among the graves, the fog swirling at his feet. Each step was awkward, not knowing if he would make contact with solid ground, or a dip. He moved hesitantly, making sure each foot reached the ground safely. He remembered the group of small buildings to the left, where Mazlo had shown him his experiment. If the buildings were there, they were completely engulfed in the mist. He kept walking on faith, hoping they’d appear as he got closer.

  When he left Monkey’s house earlier, he hadn’t checked in with A at all. He just left, not offering to take him along. He was going to have to tell the kid about his trip to Washington State, but wasn’t sure how exactly to do it. He’d spent as much time with the child as he could the past few weeks, expecting A to die soon. Now that that wasn’t going to happen, he’d have to find a new routine with the Dark River. If he took the job with Achernar, it wasn’t going to help establish that new routine very well; he didn’t even know how long he’d be away. He was dreading the conversation for the lack of specifics he could impart, specifics he knew A would ask about.

  If I take the job, he repeated in his brain. Who am I kidding? I’m going to take it.

  Now he could see Mazlo’s shack. The Blood Gardener was standing just outside the small structure. Next to him was a teenager; the two were talking. The teenager was holding a large, heavy box by a handle — Derick recognized it as the box he’d seen inside the shack, when Mazlo had been showing him how his graveyard worked. He shuddered to think there was a monochild inside, butchered, repurposed.

  Mazlo saw him approaching, and turned. “Well, Mr. Hall!” he said, smiling. “Welcome back. What can I do for you?”

  “I have something of yours that I wish to return,” Derick said.

  “Of course,” Mazlo replied. “We’re just finishing up here. Please, let me introduce you.” He turned to the teenager. “Meet Mr. Hall, a recent acquaintance,” Mazlo said to the teen.

  Derick stuck out his free hand, and the teen took it. “Call me Derick,” he said, shaking.

  “Derick,” the teen replied. “Nice to meet you.”

  Mazlo turned to Derick. “This young man is named Lyman. One of my all-time greatest apprentices.”

  “That’s very gracious of you,” Lyman said to Mazlo.

  “Lyman,” Derick acknowledged, dropping the kid’s hand. “Looks like you’re buying something.”

  “A repair, I’m afraid,” Mazlo said. “You recall I told you it was producing erratic results? I think we’ve fine-tuned a few things. I hope the upgrade will work better for you, Lyman. My apologies for any trouble it might have caused.”

  Just then an ear-splitting screech echoed through the cemetery. Derick cringed, and Mazlo’s eyes went wide.

  “Will you both excuse me for just a moment?” he said, and took off walking in the direction of one of the graves, his body slowly fading until just his face was bobbing in the air.

  “I’m surprised,” Lyman said, looking at Derick. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen someone else in here. Other than Mazlo.”

  “Really?”

  “He usually meets customers outside, near the houses,” Lyman said. “You must not be a customer.”

  “Not really,” Derick replied. “I just wanted to meet him.”

  Lyman snorted a half-laugh. “Usually people who just want to meet him are lost in the fog for a very long time,” Lyman said. “Or he dismembers them. There’s hundreds of bodies in these graves of people who just wanted to meet.”

  Derick gulped. “Well, I guess I’m lucky.”

  “Not lucky,” Lyman replied. “Mazlo doesn’t operate on luck.”

  Derick wondered if what Lyman was saying was true, and if it was, why Mazlo had let him in the first time without killing him. Was it because of A? Or was it his markings? Maybe it was because he was a wanted man? And why did Mazlo let him in now, when he must have known that he’d stolen the finger somehow?

  “And he’s allowed you in because you’re a former student?” Derick asked.

  “I apprenticed for him years ago,” Lyman said. “We got along very well. Now I’m a customer.”

  �
��What do you use that for?” Derick asked, pointing at the case Lyman was holding.

  “It creates unique items,” Lyman said. “Things I use in my work.”

  “Oh? Where do you work?”

  “I’d rather not say,” Lyman replied. “If Mazlo thinks you’re kosher enough to admit, I suppose I could tell you and have no fear of it coming back to haunt me. But just the same, I’d rather not.”

  “No problem,” Derick said.

  Mazlo’s face was returning, his body slowly forming as he got closer. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Forgot to remove the larynx.”

  “I should be going,” Lyman said. “Thanks again.”

  “Anytime,” Mazlo replied. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

  “And vice-versa,” Lyman said, turning to leave.

  “Oh, I know you’ve developed quite a lair,” Mazlo replied, “but the air is too dry for me. And if I were to leave, who would tend to the graves?”

  “I don’t expect you to visit,” Lyman called back over his shoulder. “I was just being polite. See you later.”

  “Goodbye,” Mazlo called, and watched as Lyman worked his way through the graves toward the bone archway.

  “He was an apprentice?” Derick asked.

  “One of the best,” Mazlo replied. “Now he’s one of the most powerful people operating outside of the Belly. I guess I must have trained him well, eh?” Mazlo turned back to Derick. “Now, you said you had something for me?”

  Derick fished in his pocket until he removed a piece of cloth. As he unwrapped it, he said, “I suppose you already know what this is.”

  “Well, I had my suspicions,” Mazlo said, turning to walk to his cottage. “Come, let’s sit.”

  Derick followed him, finishing the unwrapping. When they arrived at the two chairs in front of the small house, they sat, and Derick placed the finger on the table at his side.

  Mazlo picked up the finger and held it to his nose. “Ah,” he said. “You ran it through a localspectrometer.”