by James Burke
Once the shooting was over, it was Tina who retrieved a first aid box from behind the counter and took it to Quintus to help treat Bill’s wound. She opened it and passed Quintus a bandage.
‘How’s he doing?’ Tina asked.
‘He’s lost some blood, in a bit of shock but he’ll pull through.’
‘Hang in there Bill,’ she said.
Distant but approaching sirens were heard above the sobs made by several people in the diner just as Pena, the head of the FBI team, entered with his weapon raised.
‘FBI. Everybody stay down, don’t move until we say otherwise,’ he said. ‘Keep your hands where we can see them, just till we get everything sorted folks.’
Everyone complied except for Herera who remained frozen in his crouched stance.
As the sound of ambulances came nearer, Quintus tightened the bandage a bit more and gave Bill a smile.
‘You’re gonna be fine Bill, paramedics will be here soon, they’ll give you something for the pain.’
Bill nodded, and Quintus looked to Tina by his side.
‘You okay?’
She nodded yes and managed to smile just as two ambulances pulled up outside. The glare of their flashing lights bounced off the diner’s windows.
Then someone screamed.
‘Oh, no, oh my gosh!’
It was a diner customer, a middle-aged woman. She was pointing and screaming at the walled television that still worked despite being hit by a bullet.
‘It’s happening!’
Quintus looked up at the TV and what he saw made his blood run cold. It was dawn in Rome. Video was being shot from the safety of a helicopter. The earthquake had begun. The first thing he saw was the collapse of the Colosseum, then the Roman Forum. Nearby ant-like figures of people on the streets tried in vain to outrun falling debris. Not far away, the quake reduced the Vatican to rubble.
The video from the helicopter panned, offering a broader panorama of the city. Seismic waves spread. Wide scale devastation followed.
‘It’s the end! It’s the end of everything!’ the woman screamed.
CHAPTER IX
Sketches
The 9.7 magnitude quake that destroyed Rome was the largest in recorded history. Now that it had transpired, Marx was strangely disappointed. He thought it would have given him much more satisfaction than it did. After five minutes of watching the televised disaster, he was bored. Nothing could fill his void. He turned off the television, got properly dressed and then exited his office.
On his way to the lift, Marx made a detour to the boardroom where War was alone drawing. The bearded man looked up at his visitor who stopped at the doorway. Neither smiled at the other.
‘Rome is no more,’ Marx said coldly. ‘Death certainly makes the rest of you three appear second rate.’
War ignored the comments and he returned to his drawing.
Marx entered the room and began looking over War’s ink work piled up on the table. He studied one which was a drawing of cult leader Chuck Goyette talking into a microphone. He picked up another that was of himself seated in a chair with the picture of Mao looming behind him.
‘Cute,’ Marx commented sourly.
He dropped the sketch to the table and eyed War who continued drawing.
‘Our schedule has moved forward. Day after tomorrow we leave for China and North Korea. There your input is required,’ Marx said.
War didn’t react, nor did he look up.
Marx turned and exited the room and made his way to the elevator.
On his way down, Marx thought about the lack of emotion he saw in War, just as he’d earlier witnessed in Famine and Death. Chuck Goyette, though, was another thing. He came in advance of the others, spending two years fronting Temple Science Ministries. From day one, he was as emotional as any typical American, if not more so.
Marx considered such things as he left his building, crossed the road and entered his multi-roomed nightclub, The Devil’s Pleasure Palace. He waved away two bouncers who usually hung around him to ensure he wouldn’t be bothered by club patrons. Usually the club was bursting with clientele on mind-bending substances, some doing deviated things. Tonight, there was hardly a soul about. The destruction of one of the world’s most iconic cities on TV kept them away.
After getting a drink, he sauntered into the club’s dimly-lit dance area. The large space was near empty save for dancers in two gibbet-like chrome cages that hung from the ceilings. Arty versions of the device that imprisoned Quintus centuries earlier. The space around them blared techno music. A youthful but overweight DJ in a booth was responsible for that. It was just how Marx liked it and somewhat reminded him of a softer version of the sounds he heard in the first ring of the fourth circle of Hell.
Marx felt his cellphone buzz in a trouser pocket. He took the call. It was Vacher calling from Reno. He sought out a quiet room in his club to talk.
The Playground
On his cellphone, Vacher was hiding behind playground equipment centered in a dimly lit park. Beside him, Irfan tried listening while keeping his eyes open for police. The Pakistani heard some yelling at the other end of the call after Vacher briefly explained what occurred at the diner. When Marx calmed down, Vacher switched on the speaker so Irfan could fully listen.
‘And where is Peach?’ Marx asked.
‘We lost Peach, he might be in custody,’ Vacher said while Irfan shook his head.
‘No, he’s dead. Bullet to the head,’ Irfan said.
‘Oh yeah that’s right. Sorry Mr. Marx, I’ve got slight concussion,’ Vacher said.
Back in New York, Marx swore further. After half a minute of that, the fund manager steadied himself and began to explore options.
‘The Reno private investigator you mentioned, is he dependable?’ he asked.
‘Jack Day, yeah. Ex-cop, bit long in the tooth, not cheap but he’s discreet and well connected,’ Vacher said.
‘Sound him out, and if he wants the work get him to phone me ASAP. Tell him we will triple his usual rate and pay it wherever he wants. At this stage, money is no issue. I just need you two out of there and back in New York,’ Marx said. ‘Get to it and call him.’
The Cartel Boss
Marx hung up on Vacher only to have another incoming call. He noted the caller ID and knew he had to answer it.
‘Hello, Senor Lazcano,’ Marx said as he began to pace around the dark empty room he had relocated to.
Some 2,000 miles away, Amado cartel chief Alfonso Lazcano was at the other end of the line. He was lying on a massage table, being kneaded by a masseur in the comfort of his mansion. He watched TV coverage of the Rome earthquake while he spoke on the phone.
‘Mr. Marx I’ve been told about an incident at a diner in Reno. The details are vague, so I’m calling to ask if you know anything,’ Lazcano said.
‘Yes, I have only learned of it, so I’m trying to get to the bottom of it as we speak,’ Marx replied.
Lazcano grunted and cleared his throat.
‘I will send some men to Reno, they will also make enquiries. Mercenary types. Tough hombres,’ he added, just for the drama of it.
‘I’d appreciate if we could work together on this matter,’ Marx said.
‘Of course, my friend,’ Lazcano said. ‘Call me when you find out more and we will see how we can sort out this mess.’
‘I won’t rest until I do.’
‘Yes Mr. Marx, no rest for the wicked. That’s what I admire about you. Are you watching the news about Rome?’
‘I was.’
‘How will it affect the markets?’
‘It will be much worse than 2008, they may even close the markets for a period.’
For a further ten minutes Marx told Lazcano what could happen in global markets over the short, mid and long terms.
‘Very interesting,’ said Lazcano. ‘But the million-dollar question is do you believe the end of the world is coming?’
‘Maybe for Italy but for the rest of us
, I think it’s just business as usual,’ Marx lied.
‘Yes, well let’s see what happens to you New Yorkers in a few days. To be on the safe side, you should go on holidays, even come visit me in Matamoros,’ Lazano said.
Marx sensed it wasn’t a genuine offer, not that that mattered.
‘Speak with you soon,’ Lazcano said as he hung up.
The Email
Marx left the nightclub and five minutes later he was in the large entertainment room of his penthouse apartment, one floor above his office. There, he sat himself on a black leather sofa and surfed the net on his laptop monitoring market reaction to the earthquake out of interest.
It wasn’t until just after midnight that he received a call from Vacher telling him that private investigator Jack Day was onboard. Day had already picked up Vacher and Irfan and had them safely hidden.
Vacher put Day on the call and an agreement was struck to get both men to the local airport in the morning. There they’d be put on Black Crest’s corporate jet which would take them back to New York. As the call wrapped up, Marx asked Day to find out what the cops knew about the diner fiasco. He could use such information to appease his cartel client.
Following the call, Marx slumped into the sofa’s corner and took several sleeping pills. He promptly fell into a deep dreamless sleep, one that wasn’t disturbed until a fair bit of time later when his cellphone beeped, letting him know a text message had arrived.
He sat up and noted the sun coming through the curtains. Before reaching for his phone, he checked his wristwatch and cursed after seeing how late it was. It was just before eight in the morning.
He picked up his phone and read the text message that said: ‘Check email’ and he turned on his laptop. He opened an email with the subject line: ‘From Jack Day.’ Inside it was a link for a video from the diner’s CCTV.
Marx clicked on the link and watched the video of the incident which began with Herera taunting Bill, followed by Quintus intervening. More than once an excited Marx replayed what he saw.
Jack Day’s Dreams
For Jack Day, the deal with Marx was like all his Christmases had come at once. As the 56-year-old sat in his stationary van opposite the FBI’s Reno office, he could only chuckle over the easiest money ever made. He had been promised a half-million to shelter the two guys from Black Crest and then deliver them to the airport later that morning. Then the deal got even sweeter when Marx promised more money if he could find the ‘karate guy’ with the short haircut featured in the CCTV video of the diner incident. Another half-million there.
Day had FBI and local police sources, so he had no problem getting the right information — the karate guy’s identity, his vehicle details and why he was in Reno — which he forwarded onto Marx as soon as he got them.
All so easy, Day smugly thought. Now he couldn’t help but daydream about what he’d do with all that money. Either early retirement in Panama or Colombia.
The guy, Day was additionally hired to find, was a Canadian national identified as Quintus Bremmer. He was ordered to follow him undetected until told otherwise. When he spoke with Marx, Day also made it clear that he would not approach or confront ‘Bremmer’. He had watched the diner video. There was no way he was getting physical with him. At his stage of life, Day knew his limitations.
As he dreamed of things he hoped to come, his cellphone rang. It was from New York. It was Marx again. Day of course took the call and, with money on his mind, he did so with a smile.
‘Mr. Marx, how may I help you sir?’
‘Any developments?’ Marx asked sharply at the other end.
‘I’m pretty sure he is still with the feds. I’ll call you when there is any movement,’ Day said. ‘But there’s one more thing about payment. If you want to give it to me in cash today I’m fine with that but if you would prefer to transfer it to my Panama bank account within the next hour that’s fine too,’ he said, hoping he wasn’t sounding too greedy. ‘Just need to be clear on these things sir. Nature of the game I’m afraid to say and I hope you understand,’ he added.
Marx didn’t hesitate to reply.
‘I’m flying to Reno, I’ll give you your money myself,’ he said. ‘Where are Vacher and Irfan?
‘Back at my place keeping low until they fly out,’ he said.
‘Fine. There is one more thing related to Quintus Bremmer. I have some associates currently traveling to Reno by road,’ Marx said referring to the Amado cartel team sent by Alfonso Lazcano. ‘They will link up with you and they will take care of Bremmer. Is that clear?’
‘Clear as crystal sir.’
‘They have your number, they will be in touch soon enough,’ Marx said.
FBI Offer
It was a call from the hospital confirming the paralysis that immobilized Herera and some of his thugs had worn off that meant Quintus could leave the FBI building. The authorities were holding him in case the paralysis was permanent because if it was the feds assumed a vengeful cartel would spare no effort in tracking him down. Now given that Herera and his thugs weren’t paralyzed the feds judged it was marginally safer.
But, it has to be said, like most of the world with access to a TV, the feds were preoccupied with the idea that doomsday was just around the corner. This was in the back of Pena’s mind when he and two other tired senior agents made Quintus one last half-hearted offer in the interview room they were in.
‘Mr. Bremmer, as we told you the Amado cartel are brutal, so we’d like you to reconsider and take the agency’s offer of protection, even if on a temporary basis,’ Pena said.
‘Like I said I’m fine,’ Quintus said.
‘And then of course there are the guys who work for the New York financier. The guys you beat up but who got away. They may be wanting to get some payback as well,’ Pena said.
‘I’m a big boy, I can look after myself.’
‘We know that, and you know how to contact us if needed. Call me likewise if you have anything else you think may help our investigation. I’ll get one of our guys to drive you to your hotel.’
Quintus nodded in thanks and left the room. As he walked, he battled trying to keep Rome’s obliteration from his mind. He had to focus on getting out of Reno and flying to China. Humanity, he presumed, still needed saving.
From the FBI building, an agent drove and dropped Quintus off at his hotel where he washed and changed. He made a phone call canceling his job interview, meditated for half an hour and then checked out.
After that, he drove his pickup truck to one of Reno’s hospitals, unaware that along the way he had a tail following him. Day’s white van.
Hospital Visit
Quintus was thinking over his China travel options as he made his way through the hospital’s reception after visiting Bill in his sickbed. Near the exit he was intercepted by Tina the waitress from the diner.
‘Hi there, were you just seeing Bill?’ she asked.
It was a moment before Quintus recognized her given she was dressed in sporty clothes and carrying a bike helmet.
‘Hello again, yes I was. Doctors say he’ll be out of hospital in a few days which is good news. You on your way to visit him?’
‘I already have, just a bit before,’ she said smiling.
Half-hour earlier, Tina was leaving the hospital after visiting Bill until she saw Quintus. She first saw his glowing aura enter the reception area followed by his physical self. He was unaware of her presence as he passed through on his way to see Bill. Not wanting to miss the chance of speaking to him again, she sat and waited for his return which, as you know, just occurred.
‘I was about to go but then I saw you and thought I’d say hello, see how you’re doing,’ Tina said.
‘I’m doing fine, and your boss appeared in good spirits despite everything,’ Quintus said. ‘He said he and his wife are already planning to take their two kids to stay with her brother in Montana who’s into prepping and survival,’ he said.
‘The Rome earthquake
has everyone spooked,’ Tina said.
‘Yeah, it’s strange times,’ he said. ‘You staying in Reno?’
Tina shook her head.
‘I need to get to Sacramento to be with family, hopefully via bus or a train whenever one was next available,’ she said.
‘Well I’m heading to San Francisco today and I have to go through Sacramento, so I can give you a lift if you want,’ he said. ‘It’s only a few hours’ drive from here isn’t it?’
‘Yes, two and bit but my mom and dad would kill me for travelling with a virtual stranger.’
‘Understandable,’ he said.
But Tina knew what Quintus was made of and understood she was safe in his company. What’s more she wanted to spend more time with him.
‘But dang it! It’s the end of everything so some rules now no longer apply. So, gosh, yes, I will take you up on your kind offer,’ she said. ‘I can go this morning if that is what you had planned or whenever, but I just need to get some things from my place on the other side of town, if that’s okay.’
‘Sure, not a problem. I’m certainly glad to have the company,’ he said.
They left the hospital building and made their way to his pickup in the parking lot. Unknown to them, Day took their photos from his parked van. After putting Tina’s bike into the rear of the pickup, they drove out of the hospital grounds and an hour later, after going via her student house, they were on Dwight D. Eisenhower Highway heading towards California. Meanwhile, Day was following.
The Crow
It was midday and Marx was half-way across America flying west in his corporate jet. It was painted black, his corporate color. Unsurprisingly, it was nicknamed the ‘Crow.’ The lavish $53 million aircraft was divided into five sections including a walk-in cargo area. Typically, the Crow could take 13 passengers but, on this occasion, Marx was one of three. Behind him, at the very back just out of ear shot, were two of his Black Crow soldiers for hire.
