Dead Roots (The Analyst) (6 page)

“Yeah alright. Gimme one of these.”

The attendant disappeared into the stockroom. Tom fished his phone out of his pocket and thumbed a quick reply.

Business account it is,
he wrote back, pushing send. He hoped he had enough in his account to cover it.

********

“It looks very good on you,” Keda said with a smile. Tom rubbed his eyes. The electronics store was not the best place to be on four hours of decent sleep. His senses were assaulted by myriad sources of noise and bright light.

“Thanks. You find a decent phone?”

“They are checking the stockroom.”

“What is this?” Tom motioned at a fifty inch television screen to his left sitting on a small podium. On the podium were a couple of pairs of dark shaded glasses. The screen offered several looping clips of young, beautiful Asian girls singing and performing complicated dance routines.

“3D television,” Keda said simply.

“No, these dancers. What is this, J-pop?”

“Korean, actually. Boy and girl bands. Commercial garbage. For advertisements.”

“K-pop groups... why are there like, seven or eight of them in all of the groups?”

“Excuse me?”

“Pop groups in the states only have like, four or five members. All of these have something like nine of them.”

“I couldn't answer that for you, Tom.”

A chubby Japanese man in a dress shirt approached Keda, smiling. He held a small white box in one hand.

He said something in Japanese. Keda responded in kind, and added, “In English, please,” motioning at Tom.

“New smartphone,” the man said, bowing his head gently. “How you will pay? Cash, finance?”

“Debit card.”

“Come this way.”

The man led Tom and Keda to the counter. Tom leaned his weight against the white wood with some relief.

“Where do they do the cigarettes?” Tom asked.

The chubby man spoke up while ringing up Keda's purchase. “Mr. Saldana, definitely supply for you. Don't spend a lot.”

“I'm sorry?” Tom bristled.

“Goro is another Medium,” Keda said quickly. Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Is he--?”

“No, he is not hosting.”

“What is he--” Tom turned to Goro. “Sorry, what are
you
doing working here?”

“
Sumimasen.
My English is not very good,” Goro responded apologetically. He handed Keda his purchase and placed his hands on the counter, facing Tom.

“Sounds okay to me.”

“I know enough to sell phones and laptops,” Goro said with a small please-forgive-me smile. “Keda explain better.”

“Goro is what we sometimes call an Attendant, or a Stationary,” Keda said, tearing the plastic gently off of his new toy. “He is registered and operates for the Hamachi directory, but he remains in plain sight in a 'hot' area to deter any potential hauntings, and provide a quick line to more equipped Hamachi operatives should anything get out of hand.”

“Slow down-- Hamachi?”

“A Tokyo-based agency of Mediums,” Keda explained. “They work closely with the proper authorities, to provide them with information and willing, capable hosts. Think of it as a union.”

“Why would you need your own organization for that? Doesn't Japan have something like the DPSD?”

“I am not a member, Tom.”

“Why would
they,
then?”

“It's somewhat complicated...” Keda shrugged gently.

“Save it for later, then. Goro knows this Saldana guy?”

“Of course. Harold is one of Hamachi's top directors.”

“What can you tell me about him?” Tom said pointedly, turning to the stocky salesman. Goro shook his head hesitantly.

“Very expensive taste,” Goro said. “Very generous. But very devious.”

“Devious, huh?”

“Sometimes a great friend, but other times, snake in the grass,” Goro said, his eyebrows turning down. “Hell of a businessman. Good man, respectable man, but shark with money, and very good about, I think the word is, 'arrangements'. To owe Harold Saldana, to owe the Devil.”

“We all gotta pay the mortgage,” Tom said with a small grin. “What is it you do here, exactly? Keda called you a 'Stationary'?”

“Shinichiro...” Goro said, turning to Keda.

“You see all of these television screens? Monitors? Phones?” Keda said, making a wide motion at the store.

“I sure do.”

“Some demons and ghosts can come through these.”

“What, like that movie?”

“Yes. That was based on a true story.”

“So, what, do you have a medium stationed in every electronics store in Tokyo? There are TVs in peoples' homes and life goes on well enough.”

“This is a huge international travel hub, Tom. Can you imagine?”

“I think I get you,” Tom answered, frowning. “If something got out and started wrecking the place in here it could cause an enormous international incident.”

“Or, more simply, a spirit might slip out and possess a traveler, just to get out of Japan. It would make them very hard to find.”

“Is that how Aki got to Los Angeles?”

“No.”

“How did it?”

“He. And I'll explain another time. We're going to be late for our ride. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Goro.”

“Have a pleasant stay, Mr. Bell,” Goro said with a smile, reaching his hand out. Tom took it and shook it, grunting, but offering a grin.

“Things are looking up already.”

********

The driver was another slender man, not unlike Keda. He was hidden behind a pair of sleek mirrored sunglasses and dressed in a sharp black uniform. The arrival area was a river of black suits. These were all professionals returning from business trips, not tourists. Through the wide line of windows that made up the far wall of the terminal, Tom could see that the clouds overhead were growing closer.

“That's us,” Tom said to the driver. He smiled and lowered his sign. It was a solid black object with the letters embossed, or maybe removable.

“They really do things different here, huh?” Tom asked Keda after he exchanged a greeting in Japanese with the driver.

“This is Harold's doing.”

“I keep hearing that he's a guy who likes his money. Are we riding in a limo?”

“Yes.”

“Will there be cigarettes in it?”

“Most likely,” Keda said with a smirk.

“Let's go, then.”

The driver took them out to the loading area and Tom caught an eyeful of a long, glossy black limousine. Four and a half windows each side, chrome hubcaps, a fancy silver hood ornament. The driver preceded his passengers and opened the trunk. Keda started lifting his duffel bag into it, while Tom looked the vehicle over. The license plate simply read “HS 09”.

“Nine, huh? Does this guy do something other than manage Mediums?” Tom said shrewdly.

“Very observant. Official Medium work is mostly done through government subsidies and private investors. Naturally, Harold is the latter. I understand he does very well for himself in stocks.”

“Anything in particular?”

“I've never asked.”

“Anything illegal?”

“Never asked.”

“But have you heard?” Tom said, raising an eyebrow.

“I have, but I do not place much stock in rumor.”

“Well. There's a saying back in the States-- there isn't a man with money who didn't step on someone's head to get it.”

“It isn't my business.”

The driver slid open the passenger door and Keda climbed inside, followed by Tom.

Tom settled himself down into a leather seat opposite from Keda. There was a small high-def TV set, what looked like a small fridge, a wooden cabinet filled with glasses, and two unopened packs of cigarettes. Next to the cigarettes Tom spied a small wooden box which he imagined was filled with cigars.

“Take them both.”

“Don't mind if I do. How far is the hotel?” Tom asked, slipping one of the packs into his jacket. It was a brand he didn't recognize. He pulled one out. To his right he heard the driver climb in and shut the driver-side door, and the car groaned to life.

“It should be a half hour drive, if I remember right.”

Tom laid himself out across his seat. He propped himself up on some cushions and lit his cigarette. This brand was harsh, but he liked that. He grabbed an ashtray from the cabinet with the cigars and placing it on his lap. This was alright, he thought.

The window to the driver was open. Keda struck up a conversation with him in Japanese. Tom took the opportunity to draw his cellphone out of his jacket pocket and check his messages, while fiddling in his other pocket to reaffirm the presence of his wallet. There was one from Margaret.

Shitty day L.A. Awful weather.

Tom began thumbing a response, glancing out the window at the sky past the buffet line of parking garages and rent-a-car lots.

Looks like rain here too,
he began back. He sucked in a lungful of cigarette smoke and sunk further into his seat. He added more to his message before pushing send.
What do you know about this Harold Saldana character?

“The driver would like to know where you're from, Tom,” Keda cut in suddenly. Tom looked up, blowing out some smoke.

“Doesn't he speak any English?”

“No.”

Tom shifted uncomfortably. He didn't share with strangers, much, but he figured it was Keda asking too.

“Shitty little town in northern California called Riverbank.
City of Action
, they call it. Used to be a party town for miners or ranchers or something, back in the cowboy days.”

Keda translated for the driver.

“Small population?” Keda referred. He sat up straight in his chair and didn't look particularly relaxed. Tom watched him for any strange movements or tics.

“Yeah, you could say that. Decent suburbs, though, nice neighborhoods. Just kind of out of the way. About ten minutes' drive from Modesto, if that tells you anything. Two hours from San Francisco.”

Keda translated. There was some kind of hitch in the conversation. Tom's phone vibrated in his hand, and he looked at the screen discreetly.

Oh Jesus, you're meeting Harold?

Keda's head twitched to the side. He coughed.

Should I be worried?
Tom responded.

Keda's hand slid over his stomach. He lurched forward and his head twitched again. Tom's heart jumped into his throat.

“Are you okay?” he said, sitting up straight.

“I am fine. Aki is not pleased about being here.”

“Can you keep it together?”

Keda didn't answer. He dry heaved. Tom reached in his coat, and swore loudly when he remembered he didn't have a new gun yet.

“Driver, put the window up,” Tom barked. The driver didn't respond. “Put the damn window up,” Tom repeated loudly. Keda turned his head and yelled something at the driver in Japanese. The window slid up slowly and then shut with a sound of air locking in.

“He will
not
get out,” Keda said, gripping his stomach with both arms. Tom tried to stand up, but there wasn't room in the car. He sat alert on the edge of his seat, cursing as his cigarette burned down to his fingertips. The butt fell to the floor, and Tom's finger flew into his mouth.

“You better be on top of this.”

“Aki cannot become Visible. The Ativan is out of my system, but...”

Another heave. Keda's mouth hung open and he coughed loudly. Tom grabbed the hefty glass ashtray off the seat and clutched it, an attempt at a makeshift weapon. Keda's mouth stretched open wider.

Keda made a throaty heaving sound. Tom saw the sick-looking eye rise up from his throat and peer out of Keda's mouth. Tom tried not to panic. Keda's arms stretched out to the side.

“Keda,
keep it together.
”

“
I will not be contained,
” a voice rang out in Tom's head. The voice was not coming from Keda's mouth, but from some disembodied source. Tom turned to look at the driver. He had not reacted.

“You're already contained. You're
home.
Give up, Aki.”

“
Let me out, Bell. I will help you. God, let me out…
”

“Not a chance.”

Tom leapt forward from his seat just as the sky outside the car exploded into darkness. He threw his weight forward and wrapped his hands around Keda's neck.

Tom felt a sensation of floating. Though he couldn't see the road, the buildings were starting to distort, twisting up like they had they previous day. Tom glanced to the right again. The driver was no longer in the front seat, but the car carried on. Tom knew this meant that none of this was happening on the mortal plane, and Aki had dragged him and Keda into his realm.

He squeezed hard around Keda's windpipe, feeling Aki's form underneath the skin, writhing like a great worm. Keda's hands wrapped tightly around Tom's wrists. Tom expected to feel them pushing, and applied more pressure. But then he realized that Keda was
pulling.
Keda’s hands squeezed harder, twice in succession. His head whipped around erratically and he was attempting to close his mouth.

“Keda, are you in there?”

Keda's hands squeezed Tom's forearms.

“
Let me out, Bell. I'll help you. I'll help you end the nightmares.
”

“Shut
up,
Aki.”

“
The tree, Bell… I'll help you. God, let me out. I'll help you kill it... I'll help you kill. Let me out, Bell. The tree. I'll help you kill the tree.
I can stop the nightmares…
”

“You can't stop shit. You can't stop my nightmares, and you can't stop us from throwing you out of this world, and back to whatever shithole you crawled out of.”

“
I will end you, Bell… I'll tear this body apart... I'll consume your friend from the inside out.
”

The buildings outside were now enveloped in a black sheet. Tom felt a nauseous sensation of movement, like the car was spinning out of control at several hundred miles per hour. It felt like Aki was trying to force his way out of Keda's throat. Tom clapped a hand over the mouth. He felt the wetness of the eyeball against the palm of his hand and briefly wanted to vomit.