Dead Sure?: A Paranormal Mystery (34 page)

Mr. Wong got up and followed Angela towards some exit doors on the side of the ballroom. Just before leaving the room, some of Wong’s bodyguards hurried to his side. “That will not be necessary. Enjoy the party, I will be back shortly,” he instructed them, with a wave of his hand. They reluctantly disappeared back into the crowded party.

As the doors closed behind them, the noise of the party became somewhat drowned out. “What can I do for you, Miss Torrelli?” he said softly, with a tone that implied he knew something out of the ordinary was coming.

“Not here,” she replied, sensuously touching her pointer finger to her bright red lips. She strode down the hall with a fast yet slinky gait. Mr. Wong followed obligingly.

The beautiful ornate brass doors of the elevator gleamed invitingly as the couple waited for its arrival. Upon boarding the elevator, Angela pushed the button for the thirty-first floor. Mr. Wong looked puzzled for a moment but said nothing.  

Angela could feel her anxiety rising with every floor the elevator climbed. She had to handle Mr. Wong just right or she wasn’t going to get the information she needed.
The problem is, what is just right? If I’m too evasive about my request he’ll never figure out what I’m after. If I come right out with it, he may just flat out deny me. There has to be some button I can push.
Biting her lower lip softly, she urged herself on.
Think, Angela; think, you’ve never let me down in the past.
A few-long painful minutes later the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened. Angela exited the elevator followed closely by Wong.

They proceeded down a long sparsely lit hallway towards a doorway marked observation deck.

Mr. Wong, not one for many words, broke the silence; “You really don’t want this conversation overheard, do you? I asked about coming up here earlier and was told the observation deck would be closed tonight.”

“It is closed,” she smiled wryly, “but, I just happen to have the key right here. There isn’t a thing you can’t do with the proper lubricant.” With a slight motion of her hand a shiny brass key became clearly visible.

“What is the proper lubricant, as you say, Miss Torrelli?”

She paused, watching him for moment, “Mostly it’s money, but in your case I don’t think that’s gonna do it.” There, she had laid one of the cards on the table. She had in no uncertain terms told him she wanted something. She was going to hold the other cards tight to the vest for the time being.

“I deduced as much,” he replied. His tone was so subdued it could not be determined if he was receptive or not.

He’d make a hell of poker player.
Angela slowly resumed her walk to the door, trying to assess her opponent’s cooperativeness.
You did, did you? Well, I bet you’ll be shocked when you find out what it is I’m going to ask for.

Before Angela could continue the thought, a hammering blow was delivered to the back of her head. She fell hard to the floor, her face slamming into the locked door in front of her before reaching the final stopping point on the solid marble floor.

The unknown assailant had come out of a darkened side hall so fast Mr. Wong didn’t have a chance to react, and even now as his mind processed they were under attack it was to late. He felt a knife plunge quickly in and out of his stomach. Instinctively he grabbed for the wounded area.

The pain was excruciating and Wong sank quickly to his knees trying to regain his composure. It would not be wise to panic. His attacker could have killed him already if he wanted to.
Must stay focused and determine what’s going on.

The attacker was turned sideways to him now still brandishing the switchblade knife in Wong’s direction. The assailant’s other hand was roving over Miss Torrelli’s body, looking for something. Momentarily the man found what he was looking for, the key which had been dropped when Angela plunged to the floor.

“I’ll get straight to the point, unlike Angela or should I say Miss Torrelli to you. You seem smart, so if you keep quiet you might live through this. Any other type of reaction and it’ll be lights out, and then some.”

What type of weird American saying is that? Lights out means death, but what does then some mean? I’ll just play along for now.
“I will do as you wish,” Wong said in a compliant tone.  “Is Miss Torrelli okay? I think you may have killed her with that blow.”

“That’s neither here nor there, little Chinaman. You should be more worried about yourself at this moment.” Charles glanced downwards at the Chinaman’s stomach; the blood stain was continuing to grow slowly around the wound, the beautiful silk of his robes taking on a new color.

With a few soft kicks Charles managed to move Angela’s body out of the door’s swing. Inserting the key, he unlocked the door, casually pulling it open. “Come on, it’s a beautiful night outside,” motioning for the Chinaman to lead the way out onto the observation deck.

Beleaguered, Mr. Wong tried to stand. He began to feel light-headed, almost as if he had drunk too much baijiu. Very wobbly, with darkness threatening to overtake him, he staggered forward as requested.

“Go that way,” Charles said, pointing further down the deck, “and lean up against the wall.”

Mr. Wong did as instructed, almost as if in a haze. Charles dragged Angela’s body in behind them and shut the door. Casting it one final look, he turned his full attention on the Chinaman.

“I’m not going to be sneaky like my cohort here. You can wipe that stupid look off your face. I work for her; well, correction, did work for her.” He paused for a second giving the Chinaman time to let that sink in. “Now that we’re on the same page, I’m one of the people she paid to break into your house a week ago.”

The shocked look which had for a moment faded from Mr. Wong’s face quickly returned. He had often thought of Angela as manipulative, but not as a common criminal. She had seemed like a woman with grand schemes and big plans, someone that helped the community to grow. Why else would she place so much effort into the museum? Trying hard to focus, he asked, “Why should I believe anything you’re telling me?”

“That’s a great question, now isn’t it? Well, I’m going to enlighten you, so pay attention. The night I broke into your house I was after items of monetary value. Only I got way more than I bargained for. I bet you can guess what that was, but I don’t have all night so I won’t make you work that hard.”

Mr. Wong squinted at his assailant trying to maintain his focus. He had to find out if what he suspected was true. Perhaps if he could keep him talking long enough, his bodyguards would come looking for him. It was unlikely they would stumble upon him up here, but there was always a chance. “What are you talking about?” he asked in his strong Chinese accent.

“I’m talking about that god awful ugly dragon medallion or coin or whatever name you’d like to give it. It was in my pocket when my partner Bill shot me. I reached my hand in to touch the treasure I had stolen as I was falling to the floor, the life literally draining out of me. That’s when I wished in the back of my mind to go back and do it again. Strangely enough, it worked. I found myself back in time just a few minutes prior to being shot.”

Must keep him talking, losing too much blood, my head is starting to swim.
Slowly his back scraping against the wall, he began to slide down to the floor. He landed sitting up with a slight thump, his legs straight out in front of him. Wong’s head lolled forward and his eyes closed.

“Oh no you don’t, you bastard; you’re not going to die on me without sharing what I need to know.” Charles took his knife and jabbed it a quarter of an inch into the Chinaman’s bicep.

The pain of it produced the desired effect. Mr. Wong was jolted back from his dazed state by the searing feeling in his arm. Without missing a beat, he began to speak very slowly, his English sounding even more broken than before. “Wha happen next?” he managed to utter.

“Next I shot and killed my backstabbing partner before he could do it to me. Skipping ahead, I found out that the damn medallion only works once. I was done with it at that point, or so I thought. Until this guy from the future shows up, and wouldn’t you know it here was that crazy medallion again.”

Coughing before interrupting, Mr. Wong asked, “So wha do you need me for? You know the rules, it only work once. You done!”

“Yeah, that’s true, I’m done with the past, but I found this journal belonging to future guy. In it, he speculates about an object, perhaps another medallion. This supposed object will work once going into the future. He’s trying to locate it currently, without much to go on. So you see…”

With the speed of a predatory tiger on the hunt, Wong summoned his remaining strength and lunged at Charles, who was stooping over him. 

The surprise attack caught Charles completely off guard, cutting him off mid-sentence. He fell backward against the concrete floor, banging his head on the outer wall of the five-foot wide space that made up the observation deck hallway. Wong began a quick series of chopping blows aimed at Charles’s head.

Used to fighting and sudden reaction, Charles composure came back quickly, along with his temper. During the fall, he had never lost hold of his knife. With several quick slashing motions, he opened up more holes in Mr. Wong, inducing even greater blood loss.

Wong, quickly exhausted from his wounds, collapsed on Charles, who promptly slung him to the side, banging him into the opposite wall. He could see the life beginning to drain out of the Chinaman’s eyes.

“Now listen to me closely. If you don’t tell me what I need to know, I’m going to leave here and kill your family. I’ve seen your two daughters and son, and I have no qualms about offing them. That’s what I meant about death and then some.”

With his eyes glazing over, death biting at his heels, Wong began to speak very softly. “You must believe me. I know the object you’re talking about exi…,” he began to cough weakly, blood spewing out of his mouth. His body was beginning to go limp. “Exists,” he continued. “However, even I don’t know what it is.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, old man, if you want your legacy to live on!” He shook Mr. Wong vigorously. His head flopping back and forth like a doll’s.

His eyes popped open wide with an acute clarity of thought. “I know this, it is with the museum collection and my father said the clue to finding it is, ‘the future is in your hands’.” With that last statement said, Wong went slack, his last thoughts spent hoping he had saved his offspring from this evil man.

Charles stood up, his legs stiff from crouching down. “Well, I guess that’s going to have to do,” he said quietly to himself. He walked slowly over to the entrance door, surveying the two bodies. Closing the door behind him, he removed the key from his pocket and muttered, “Don’t worry guys, I’ll lock up behind me.”
Don’t worry, oh, I crack myself up sometimes.

*    *    *

Tim paced back and forth through the Wong exhibit studying the many different artifacts. He wasn’t getting a particularly strong vibe about any of them being the one. He ran his fingers through his blond hair as he tried to think.
How in the hell am I ever going to figure out which object I need?
Looking closer at the display cases now, he could see small wires tracing their perimeter.
Just great, everything looks wired on top of it. Didn’t Angela say that some of the stuff wasn’t even on display yet? Think, Tim, think,
he goaded himself, slapping a palm to his forehead.
There’s got to be a log book or inventory listing around. Possibly looking at that will shed some new light on matters.
Tim felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped. Fortunately, he didn’t make any noise. He reeled around to see Reggie standing behind him.

“Scared you, that’s the most fun I’ve had tonight. This job is damn boring, it’s like babysitten’. There’s no action, just hurry up and wait. So what progress have you made?”

Tim was loath to tell Reggie just how little progress he really had made. “I think I’m on to something, but you’ll need to help me find the offices.”

“Why can’t we just get whatever it is and go?” he rasped, sounding even more agitated.

“We have to be sure and get the right thing. I don’t suppose the boss would be too pleased with us if the job wasn’t done right.” He hated saying it, but Tim threw in the word “boss” in the hopes of getting some compliancy out of Reggie. To him she was always just Angela, not some mob boss or shady criminal mastermind. That thought troubled him as he waited for Reggie’s reply.

“Sometimes you bother me, and then you say something really smart. Let’s do this job right.”

“Do you have any idea where the offices are located? Looking for them might add some excitement to the job,” Tim added, trying to keep the positive momentum flowing.

“I passed by the hall that leads to them just outside of the medieval exhibit a little while ago. Man, I would love to have lived back then. Somebody pisses you off and a few sword strokes later, problem solved.” He wheezed out a faint laugh, especially upon seeing Tim’s reaction to the comment.

A few minutes later the pair had made their way across the museum and down several corridors to the curator’s office. Reggie had made quick work of the lock and had assured Tim that these offices were not wired. Whereupon he promptly left Tim to rummage through the paperwork, while he continued to prowl the museum watching for danger. Tim doubted that anyone or anything was around. Reggie just didn’t have the patience to stand around watching someone fumble about looking for something.