Procession of the Dead (5 page)

He rubbed his forehead with his bony fingers. I could see the frustration behind his eyes. He was trying to impress upon me his secrets. He wanted to convert me.
Why
, I couldn’t tell.

“The world has laws of its own,” he resumed. “We don’t have to understand them. We just need to obey them. Like with the three-note. There was nothing to say the two men were linked by the coincidence. But I took it as a sign that they were. At some unknown level they were connected by various strings of the universe. Sensing that connection, I acted. By acting, I profited.”

He stopped again and took a drink. “That’s how I do business,” he said softly. “People see the killings I make on the markets and real estate. They look at the powerful friends I cultivate, then abandon shortly before their unexpected falls. They wonder how I know so much, how I’m so often one step ahead, anticipating success and failure prior to everybody else. They assume I’m a cunning speculator, with a team of wise advisers. They’re wrong. All I do is follow my instinct and play along with my hunches.

“Would you care for a drink?” he smiled.

While The Cardinal fetched a beer from the fridge in the office outside I went over his words and tried to make sense of them. He might be playing with me, selling me a wild tale designed to test my gullibility. But he seemed genuine.

When he returned I said, “It wouldn’t work. It couldn’t. By the law of averages you’d have to lose more than you made. You’d have no control. It just wouldn’t work.”

“But it does.” He gestured at the office. “You must remember, these are not the ravings of a gambler with his latest surefire can’t-lose scheme. I’m living off the fat of decades of proven success. This isn’t a possibility—it’s fact.

“It’s not as simple as the three-note example suggests. I used that because it was colorful and illustrative. In most cases the links are much more slender, far more subtle. Recognizing and interpreting them is a near-impossible task. It’s easy to make a mistake, choose wrongly, miss an opportunity.

“You have to ignore the risks, put your brain on hold and follow your instincts, even when your head insists you do otherwise. Sometimes you get burned. I’ve been singed many times. Roasted once or twice. You have to live with the fire. Because if you start thinking too much or playing safe, you’re lost to its wondrous charms forever. You become part of the real world again, the mundane, the ordinary, from where there’s no escape.

“You’re here tonight because I had a dream of a strange man, then found a man with a strange name. Will you serve me faithfully? Be an addition to the firm? Help make me another few million?” He shrugged. “Time will tell. Time tells all in the end. I feel you’re right, that you’re the man from my dreams, but—”

“That’s plural.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said
dreams
. I thought you’d only had one.”

The Cardinal stared at me like I was some hideous viral strain. “Slips of the tongue are the nuggets men like myself kill for,” he said coldly. “They should be sought zealously, always cherished, never idly revealed. I made a mistake and said something I didn’t mean to. You noticed—congratulations. But you revealed your knowledge and that was foolish.

“Keep your secrets under wraps,” he told me, pulling mindlessly at his loose trousers. “No slip of the tongue is ever truly irrelevant. That might save your life one day or at least prevent you from throwing it away, as you very nearly just did.”

“You’d kill a man for commenting on one of your slips?” I asked skeptically.

The Cardinal smiled like a shark and said, “I’ve killed men for far less than that, Mr. Raimi. You take your life in your hands when you come to work for me. But that’s a risk you’re more than willing to run, isn’t it?”

I said nothing and in my silence he found all the confirmation he required.

Later The Cardinal summoned a third member to our small meeting. He introduced the woman as Sonja Arne. We shook hands before she took her place in the chair she’d drawn up when entering the room. She was good-looking, in her forties, lightly made up, hair graying. Her face was sharp and attentive but kind around the lips and eyes. She was dressed in a smart skirt and neutral blouse. A somber, serious businesswoman.

“Miss Arne,” The Cardinal said, “this is Capac Raimi. He’s going to be working for you. I want you to teach him the business. Introduce him to the right people. Make sure he learns the moves and secrets of the trade. I want him to be your star pupil. If he picks up the tricks of the trade quickly, fine. If he doesn’t, beat them into him.”

“No problem,” she said, looking me over. “He’s presentable and that’s a start. A less aggressive suit, a touch of color, a haircut… Let me hear you speak.”

“Sure. You want me to ramble on a bit or would you like some recitals? I know some good Dr. Seuss.”

She nodded approvingly. “A good voice. I don’t think we’ll have any problems. A few weeks under my watchful eye and he’ll be one of the best salesmen this city has to offer.”

“Salesman?”
I frowned and looked at The Cardinal.

“Miss Arne heads my insurance division,” he explained. “She’s going to teach you how to sell insurance.”

“
Insurance?
What the… Oh.” I grinned. “You mean protection.” His face darkened and I knew immediately I’d made a
faux pas
. I backtracked rapidly. “Not that… I mean to say… if you want to call it insurance, that’s fine. I won’t—”

“
Mr.
Raimi,” he growled, “if I meant to say
protection
, I would have. I’ve never been afraid to call a spade a spade. Protection accounts for a sizable percentage of my income, yes. But I don’t want you to engage in such affairs at this time. Later, perhaps, but for the moment you’ll concentrate on insurance. Miss Arne will teach you how to sell. She’ll introduce you to our different and varied policies, show you how to push them, then set you loose—in an entirely legal capacity—on the good citizens of this city. Do you follow?”

I stared at him, confused at first, then angry. “That’s why you brought me here?” I snapped, forgetting my place. “To become a fucking insurance agent?” I heard Sonja gasp but I didn’t care. Let the bastard kill me. I wasn’t about to become a salesman, not for The Cardinal, God or the Devil. “Listen,” I began, but The Cardinal raised a commanding hand and stopped me.

“Mr. Raimi,” he tutted, “there’s no need to get so excited. I understand your concerns. I realize this isn’t what you were expecting. But you must learn to trust me. I am older than you and vastly more experienced. I know what I’m doing.

“Miss Arne, will you tell Mr. Raimi how you started in this company?”

“I was a prostitute,” she said. That shut me up. I gawked at her. This neat, precise, cultured businesswoman—a whore?

“It’s true,” she replied in response to my unvoiced query. “I came here looking for secretarial work. The Cardinal took me aside and offered me a position in prostitution instead. He outlined the terms of my contract, how much money I could expect to make, working hours, promotion prospects and the like. Although I’d never considered it before, I took him up on the offer.”

“You had many customers?” he asked.

“Plenty. I was good. I was popular.”

“And how did you end up here, in your current position?”

“I saved,” she said. “When I had enough money to retire, I told you I was through and asked for another job. I’d taken a few courses in my spare time, picked up a lot from my clients, and felt I had something to offer other than my body.”

“And she had,” The Cardinal said, addressing me again. “Miss Arne has an incredible head for figures and the ability to see through bullshit in seconds. I placed her in one of my insurance firms. Five years later she was running it. The moral? It’s not where you start out—it’s where you end up.”

He picked one of the puppets up off the desk and toyed with it. He manipulated the strings expertly, fluidly moving its hands, feet and head. He made it do a dance, grinning fondly. When he was through, he tossed it to the floor and carried on as if there’d been no interruption.

“Insurance is a fascinating field, Mr. Raimi. It can teach you all you’ll ever need to know about people. Successful insurance agents study their customers and find out what makes them tick, what frightens them, what entices them. They learn
why
people act the way they do. It gives them insight, ideas, understanding. Men in the protection business simply go around with guns and collect money. There is no finesse, no style, no learning. They scare people and take their cash. You could spend a lifetime in protection, make a fortune and build your own empire, and you still wouldn’t be as useful to me as a man with a year of insurance under his belt.

“I want you to
learn
, Mr. Raimi. I want you to experience the world of legality and honest men. Then, when you’re ready, I’ll let you dive beneath that surface to the world beneath, of desires, dreams and death. It’s a dark, dangerous world and you’ll drown if you jump in too quickly. Insurance first. Protection and other fields later. That’s how I want it to be. That’s how it
will
be. Agreed?”

I wasn’t happy. But, given the time, the place and the man before me, who was I to argue?

“Agreed,” I said shortly.

“Good.” He rubbed his hands together and raised an eyebrow at Sonja. She took the hint, stood and awaited permission to withdraw. He turned to me for the final time that night, a king dismissing one of his servants.

“You may go now,” he said. “You begin work tomorrow, whenever Miss Arne summons you. A morning meeting at Shankar’s, I imagine.” He looked to her for confirmation and she nodded. “Mr. Tasso will escort you to your new lodgings. He will also contact you in the near future, depending on how you fare in your day job, and teach you a few things other than insurance. That is all, Mr. Raimi. Learn quickly. Work hard. Believe.”

And that was it. He’d lost interest in me. I rose, heart beating fast, knees shaking, and followed Sonja out to where Ford Tasso was waiting for us.

“Still alive, kid?” he smirked.

“Christ,” Sonja said, dabbing at her forehead with a crisp handkerchief. “You never get used to that. It’s been four years since I was in there last. I didn’t know until he started talking if he’d called me in to promote or kill me.” She smiled weakly and squinted at me. She almost looked jealous. “There was no question of him killing you though. He’s got the hots for you. Even called you Mr. Raimi.”

Ford’s head came up. “
Mr.
Raimi?” he echoed.

“What’s so unusual about that?” I asked.

“The Cardinal calls those he likes by their first name. He uses surnames for people he’s doing business with. Only those closest to him get called Mr., Mrs. or Miss. I was with him eight years before he started calling me Mr. Tasso. It’s a mark of approval, a sign you’ve arrived and are here to stay. I’ve never heard him use it with some kid he’s had dragged in off the street.”

He pinched my chin, tilted my head left and right, then grunted. “Looks like you’re going places, kid. I figure it’s just as well I didn’t let Vincent waste you. Come on.” He punched me on the arm. “Let’s get you settled in for the night. How does the notion of a room at the Skylight grab you?”

“Sounds good,” I mumbled, then let him lead the way down to the ground floor, where we collected our shoes and hailed another limo.

Party Central, Shankar’s, the Skylight. They were the three architectural pillars on which The Cardinal’s empire rested. I couldn’t have dreamed of entering any of them just six hours earlier.

The Skylight Hotel was a huge box of metal and glass, encircled by a sea of gleaming cars. The city was full of hotels but the Skylight was where the cream came. Large wide-screen TVs in every room for starters, with a digital video library you could access whenever you liked. Four bars. Three swimming pools. Two gyms. A world-class restaurant. A wireless system and telephone lines which were the safest in the city, regularly scanned for bugs by the best experts money could buy. Free drugs compliments of the management (police never raided the Skylight). A spa frequented by movie stars. Computerized locks on every door. No theft or unauthorized soliciting—the Skylight was guarded by the Troops.

Ford said nothing while we checked in. The girl behind the desk smiled, took my signature and fingerprints, then asked if I had a passport-sized photograph. I didn’t, so she took my photo with a digital camera. A bulb flashed, capturing my startled expression, then she printed it on her PC.

We were there eight minutes max. During that time I saw two TV stars, a big-name actress who’d have been mobbed anywhere else, several gangsters (all at least five times as powerful as Theo had been), more millionaires than I’d seen in my previous six months in the city.

When the receptionist handed me my pass card, a bemused Capac Raimi gazed up at me, his name, prints and room number lying neatly down the left.

“This is your credit bar,” she told me, tapping a thin metallic line. “Present this at any of the leisure facilities and you’ll be taken care of.”

“How much credit do I have?” I asked.

“Unlimited,” she replied.

“Can I afford this?” I asked Tasso.

“The Cardinal’s picking up the tab.”

“Are all his subjects treated this well?”

“Just his pets. Come on. I’ve a bed to get back to.”

The elevator was ordinary compared with the one in Party Central. Large, modern, clean, but unattended and without dramatic operational procedures.

We got out on the eighth floor. It was a short walk to my room. I ran the card through the scanner at the side. There was a sharp buzz, the door slid open and we entered. It was small, nothing special, a letdown after the glamour of the lobby. A few prints, ordinary carpets, plastic flowers in a vase.

“What do you think?” Ford asked, dimming the lights.

“It’ll do,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.

“You can order up stuff if you want,” he said. “More pictures. Statues. A four-poster bed. You can even change the carpets. They’ve got a catalogue of extras—you’ll find it in one of the drawers—designed to please.”