The Parker Trilogy

by Tony Faggioli

  Parker smiled. “Man. Heaven’s got some tough language rules, huh? I mean, you really wanted to drop an f-bomb there, didn’t ya?”

  Napoleon smiled back with a look of mild dismay. “Toughest part of the job, man. I’m tellin’ ya.”

  They laughed together under the fluorescent lights for a bit before Parker spread the papers in the file out on the table before him.

  Then, together, they got to work.

  The Levi’s Man in the cell across from Hector leaned forward, and bit by bit pushed his entire face through the bars of his cell.

  The sound was incredible as skin and tendons buckled and held over bone. First his chin, which snapped sharply, then his cheekbones, which gave way with muted thuds, and finally his skull, which caved in over his eyebrows and nearly popped his black eyes, like ripe plums, right out of their sockets.

  In the middle of it all, his mouth struggled to hold in his teeth, which were exploding in his mouth like popcorn.

  Instinctively Hector stepped back, filled with fear yet unable to take his eyes off what he was seeing.

  When the spectacle was done, the man’s face coalesced back to its original shape on the other side of the bars. But the effort had left blood leaking from the corners of his eyes and both ears. Glaring at Hector, he smiled, opened his mouth and spat a mouthful of blood and teeth to the ground.

  Hector’s stomach roiled with disgust. He screamed for the guard, thankful that he was still only about ten feet down the hall.

  But Hector’s relief was short-lived; the guard was frozen, mid-stride, going in the opposite direction. In the cell adjacent to The Levi Man’s, a heavy-set guy with a massive beard and long hair was also stuck in time, leaning against a wall in his cell and caught in the act of scratching the back of his neck, his head tilted sideways in the effort, while his eyes were locked in a mannequin-like stare into nothingness.

  “What the . . . ?” was all Hector could manage.

  The Levi’s Man offered a smile made of nothing now but bloody gums. “It’s time to die, homeboy.”

  “I ain’t your homeboy.”

  “Not yet. But you will be. And after that, you’ll be my bitch. Until I give you to someone else to play with.”

  Hector sized him up, noticing that they were equal in height and weight. The Levi’s Man had a bit more muscle, but nowhere near enough to be so confident. Except, well, for the fact that he wasn’t fully human, was he?

  You are totally losing your shit.

  But Hector knew he wasn’t. He’d been playing in the sandbox of the impossible for quite some time now, hadn’t he? First with The Smiling Midget the past four months, then with the appearance of The Gray Man. This was only one more piece of proof that the world was not as it seemed.

  “Or maybe, just maybe, it’s just another piece of proof that you are losing your mind. Totally and completely. You ever think of that?”

  “Screw that,” Hector said defiantly, then against all logic, partly because he couldn’t help himself and partly because he had to at least try, he screamed out. “Hey! Help! I need help over here.”

  “Now that certainly ruined any machismo you were trying to build up, didn’t it?” The Levi’s Man said with a laugh.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Perfect description.”

  “What?”

  “Hell. Me. We kinda go together. Like peanut butter and jelly.”

  Feeling suddenly agitated, like he would always get just before a fight, when his emotions would begin to take over and the violence in him would beg to run free, Hector stepped forward and leaned against the bars of his cell. “Okay . . . time to die, puto? Is that what you said? Okay. What you got?”

  But it was, indeed, machismo. Because his entire body was pleading—begging—for him to run, even though the only place to run in a jail cell was in circles.

  The Levi’s Man lowered his head. The orbs of his black eyes flickered and changed; every other blink revealed red, reptilian pupils.

  His smile slowly faded and he began to click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, causing little spittles of blood to form on his upper lip and chin. It was a maddening, flat-click sound that went from rapid to inhumanely fast, and it was so unnatural that Hector’s entire body seemed disturbed by it.

  But, glancing down, it became apparent to Hector what the noise was really for.

  Incredibly, the teeth on the floor had started to rattle about. First in place, then in tight circles. One cracked open, and another, then all of them did so, in quick succession.

  Long spider legs creased out of the cracks until each tooth was dragging itself around awkwardly, on two legs at first, then a few more, until each tooth had formed eight legs and was swiftly making its way toward his cell.

  “Shit!” Hector screamed, retreating backwards and jumping up onto his cot.

  When the brick next to his head exploded in a hard spray of gravel against his cheek, Hector was stunned. The Levi’s Man had spread his arms, and across the inside of each forearm there were four distinct circles, each glowing red.

  His hands were splayed open, but then he closed them both again, into hard fists. As he did, eight barbed needles launched across the hall. Half of them struck the bars, two more struck the wall behind Hector, but the last two found their target. One dug into Hector’s left ribs, the other his left shoulder. His nerves clenched in agony. It was if someone had jabbed him with a cattle brand in each wound. Screaming, Hector stumbled off the cot and fell straight to the floor.

  The spider-teeth were upon him instantly. Their bites hurt, but it was their legs that were the real problem. Each one was like a syringe needle, sharp and piercing, and they began to jab into his skin. Looking down, he could see one doing its work very clearly on his wrist; using its legs, it was pulling bits of Hector’s skin off and trying to use it to form some sort of web. “No!” Hector screamed.

  One of them was at his neck and a third scurried over his temple and tried to dig its way down his ear hole.

  Hector flailed his arms in all directions, screaming, rolling, standing, stumbling and retreating his way to the back wall of his cell. He grabbed the spider at his ear first and squeezed it between his fingers, feeling its legs dig into the palm of his hand as it died. Before he knew it, two more had crawled up his right pant leg and four more were making their way up and across the right wall of his cell.

  Looking up in desperation, he could see The Levi’s Man raising his arms to launch another volley of barbs, and finally filled now with absolute terror, Hector felt something inside him shift.

  It started in his chest and then spread like a warm blanket, first to all his extremities and then up his neck and over his head. A bluish-white light began to form all around him, like a shell, except for the fact that parts of it were pooling in his hands. He felt the barbs in his ribs and chest shoot back out of him and the spiders on his body completely incinerate.

  The Levi’s Man wore an expression of shock.

  Filled with power, Hector marched across the floor of his cell, intent on walking right through the bars and giving his assailant a taste of his own medicine.

  The Levi’s Man, looking panicked, tried pulling away, but there was no time to pull the same magic trick with his head, and it was trapped now between the bars.

  But as he grew closer to his cell door, Hector felt the blue light in and around him forbid the action. His legs and arms were slowed on the approach and it was immediately obvious that he was not going to be able to use the power coursing through his body to break out.

  Instead of fighting it, Hector went with it, slow-walked his way to his cell door and glared at The Levi’s Man.

  “What was that you were saying about it being ‘time to die’?” Hector asked with a smile.

  The Levi’s Man froze, then, screaming in rage, his entire body began to vibrate violently. His eyes divided from two, to four, to eight as large barbs cut through his body to form legs.

&n
bsp; Hector couldn’t help himself; he thought of Kafka and his book about the guy who wakes up as a bug. But this? This was the real deal.

  It was obvious that The Levi’s Man was morphing, slowly, into a giant spider. But he never got the chance to finish.

  The power in Hector’s hands had formed into solid orbs so powerful that they hurt his fingers to grip them. So he launched them, outward and with nearly perfect aim, disintegrating The Levi’s Man in a cloud of flesh and dust.

  A second passed, then ten more, as all the evidence of his foe’s body began to glow red and disappear, a piece at a time. The world stayed frozen until the entire process was complete.

  As the blue drained from Hector’s body, he saw the guard go from frozen to slow motion to full speed and make his way back down the hall. The prisoner across from him with the bad itch began to work away at it as his eyes came alive with consciousness again.

  Hector, meanwhile, could do nothing but lean, face-first, against the cool bars of his cell and wonder what on heaven and earth had just happened.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Michiko sat opposite from Father Soltera, the flames of the campfire licking the air between them, small plumes of steam escaping the teapot and partially obscuring her face.

  As the smell of mint filled the cave, Ikuro sat with his back against one wall, his slight frame bent over his violin, which he was tuning in between taking sips of his tea.

  The void outside had gotten darker and was now so black that Father Soltera felt like he was looking out over a section of the universe itself, absent stars or planets. He knew that was silly. He could, for example, see the forest floor nearby, cast in the orange glow of the campfire. But the black beyond it almost seemed to be a living thing.

  Looking back to Ikuro, Father Soltera had to ask. “How?”

  Michiko, somehow knowing that the question was not directed at her, didn’t even look over.

  Ikuro turned his head. “How, what?”

  “How have you survived here, all this time, by yourself?”

  A slight grin flickered like the flames of the campfire across the old man’s face. “It’s not been easy,” he said after a moment, “but I have what I need—tea and a home of sorts. And most importantly, I have my violin. So, I have my music.”

  “Your music?”

  “Oh, yes.” And now Ikuro smiled brightly. “Music is the greatest company of all. I felt that way even before coming here.”

  Father Soltera smiled back as he glanced around the cave. “Yes. I’ve always loved music too.”

  “It is very powerful, no?” Ikuro asked excitedly.

  “Hmm. I . . .” Father Soltera began, then stopped to mull over his thoughts. “I wouldn’t call it that, exactly. I guess I would call it peaceful.”

  “Yes. Powerful in that it can bring you peace, if you let it. Like even here, in this place.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bernardino.”

  Father Soltera was going to correct him but let it be. Ikuro was now nodding with excitement as he motioned with his hands to accentuate his point. “I mean, right now, surely you are afraid, no?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is a strange land, with strange creatures. You’ve been stalked by creatures and attacked by thoughts.”

  “Attacked by thoughts?”

  “Yes. Of what the universe is and what it isn’t. Of what’s real and what’s not. Before you came here you thought it was here and there, reality and the afterlife. Right?”

  Father Soltera thought a bit before replying, “I think that’s a fair statement. I mean, my faith also has a place called purgatory.”

  “The logic of which you’re already trying to apply to this place?”

  Again, a nod. The old man had him there.

  “Yet, this place does not really feel like how purgatory is described, does it?”

  “No. Theologically speaking, it does not. But who’s to say what it—”

  “Who’s to say. Perfect question. And far too big for me to ever answer. So, instead? I play my music and I wait.”

  “For what?”

  Then, in one sentence, Ikuro brought a hammer down on Father Soltera’s heart. “For God to come get me and take me home.”

  Michiko looked over at Ikuro with a soft face but did not say anything.

  A silence fell over the cave, leaving only the sound of the dry, crackling wood of the campfire and the occasional pop of a pocket of sap as the flames reached it. Ikuro looked outside the cave. “Do you think he ever will, Mr. Bernardino?”

  “Yes,” Father Soltera replied, but his throat was so tight with emotion that he barely got the word out. Swallowing hard, he repeated himself. “Yes.”

  Ikuro nodded. “Would you like me to play a song?”

  “Sure.”

  “Tell me your favorite.”

  For whatever reason, whether he just wasn’t in the mood or the question seemed too personal, Father Soltera had a hard time answering. “Gosh. I dunno. I have a lot.”

  Startling him, Michiko finally spoke. “‘Ombra Mai Fu.’”

  Ikuro gasped with delight. “Ah!”

  But Father Soltera felt violated. “Hey!”

  Michiko looked at him. “You didn’t say I couldn’t tell him. And besides, I bet he can play it beautifully.”

  His cheeks hot, and not from the fire, Father Soltera looked back to Ikuro. “I’m sure he can, but—”

  “Well. Yes and no. As far as playing it . . . one really needs the piano for such a song and”—he paused with a chuckle—“as you can see, we don’t have one here.”

  Seeing his way out, Father Soltera tried to take it. “A different song, then. Maybe—”

  “But I can find one, if you will let me, Mr. Bernardino.”

  “Find what?”

  “A piano. In your mind. This place allows such things. I do not know how. But if you will allow me the discretion, I would like to borrow the piano.”

  Father Soltera was beyond perplexed. “How?”

  “From your memories, sir. You’ve listened to the song many times, yes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So somewhere in you, it’s there! May I?”

  Father Soltera again began to cycle through his human reasoning. He was in a dream or a coma or a nightmare or a drug-induced state of hallucination. He was not here. Not really. Nor was this beautiful samurai or tragic little old man with his violin. It just wasn’t possible.

  Yet, right this second, he could feel his fingertips rubbing together with angst. Just as he could feel himself fight off a cough from the smoke of the fire and feel an itch forming on his right eyelid. How was that a dream? And wasn’t that the oldest rule in the Dream Rule Book? That you couldn’t know you were having a dream when you were having one?

  So, if he was here, if this place was real? Then why not? He nodded at Ikuro and said, “Go ahead.”

  “Excellent!” Ikuro said excitedly. The cave froze for a second. The tips of the fire spat specks of burning dust that rose up into the air, then even the fire remained still, in a sort of suspended animation, for just a split second.

  From the darkness outside the cave came the eerie, solitary sound of a piano. And it was playing the opening chords of “Ombra Mai Fu.”

  Immediately, Ikuro was all business. He brought the violin to his neck and nestled his chin in at a few angles until he found one that was comfortable before taking a deep breath. His left hand gripped the neck of the violin, four fingers over the strings as his thumb held it steady. In his right hand he brought his bow up and rested it an inch over the strings.

  Father Soltera could actually see the old man come alive: his right cheek moved ever so slightly, and his eyes became globes of somberness as he looked off to someplace on the other side of the cave wall behind Father Soltera’s head.

  The piano having opened some sort of door for him, Ikuro walked through. The bow came to a one o’clock position before Ikuro reclined the bow across t
he strings. Right hand firm and moving the bow side to side, and left hand reverberating with each note, he began to play.

  The tears came to Father Soltera’s eyes almost immediately. Here. Even here. Now. Even now－was Gabriella. As if the song were a dress that she could wear at will, to visit him in the cemetery of his mind and raise all the ghosts inside his heart, things dead and gone, things begging to live once again.

  He always thought the term “the violin wept” was trite, but really, it was such a perfect phrase. Most of the time. But now? No. Now the violin was openly mourning. And so was he.

  Soon, Ikuro’s shoulders and head began to sway together with the song, but Father Soltera’s only shook beneath the weight of his sobs.

  For some reason, he looked toward Michiko; she was staring right at him, with tears in her eyes.

  You can read my mind, Father Soltera thought, so I guess you know even more about her now?

  Michiko nodded.

  Even in death, love is strong.

  She tilted her head. Oh, tomodachi. In death, that is when it is strongest.

  The song played on as the campfire came to life again, casting Michiko’s shadow against the cave wall behind her in oblique layers. Father Soltera’s eyes were blurry, but he could’ve sworn her outline showed wings, folded tightly against her back. He was trying to get a clearer look just as the song was winding down, when suddenly he noticed fireflies had appeared in the darkness outside the cave. First two here, then four there, then a dozen more. He sighed. When he was a boy in South Dakota, he and his friends used to catch them in their cupped hands and place them in jars, where they—

  And that’s when he realized that they weren’t fireflies at all.

  Michiko’s gasp confirmed it.

  They were eyes, reflecting the light of the campfire.

  The dire wolves had heard the song too.

  The Lomita Women’s Shelter was quiet now that the night had arrived. Maggie sighed. Down the hall, in a small, private room, Luisa had finally gone to bed.

  Earlier in the cafeteria, as she ate, Luisa had talked herself into and out of about a thousand different circles of thought, taking Maggie along for the ride. It was easy to be confused in such a situation, but the naïveté of her age shone through repeatedly with one idea after another. Even though she’d grown up in a tough neighborhood, it was obvious that Luisa’s mother had raised her in a very protected environment. But no matter how hard she had tried, Luisa’s mom still had to go to work, still had to trust her daughter to make it home safely from school every day, still had to hope for the best.