The War Gate (27 page)

Avy pushed the old photo away from her. “I would have never done anything like that. It’s too dangerous. I wouldn’t have risked it.”

Chubby pocketed the photo. “You went back, Avy. You traveled in time to meet your mother. I know it’s hard to believe. Sure, you haven’t done it yet. If you had, you would have a memory of it.”

“I can’t do something like that,” she said, rejecting the idea. “It’s beyond my skill. I almost got lost last time out. It’s not like taking a stroll in the park or trying to find your way back home when you get lost. There are no roadmaps for this. The whole realm is laced with webs, mazes, dead ends—dirt roads to nowhere. Janus is the master traveler. He’s the only one who knows how to navigate the system.”

“Maybe one day you’ll learn how to master them,” Chubby suggested.

She heard similar words echo in her head. “Until that day comes I’ll have to crawl before I can walk.” She meant that. Maybe she would do such a thing one day. Right now, she had no desire to anger the gods or test the fates.

###

Three hours later, Sebastian walked into the motel room, winded, his eyes glassy. He hefted several bags of groceries through the door, then slammed them on the table. “I dropped the animals off, then delivered my insurance papers. Sorry I’m late, but I had another errand to run.”

Avy said, “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Sebastian poured himself a cup of coffee. He drank it down fast, spilling half of it on the carpet. No one had to tell Avy that something was not right with her boyfriend. His demeanor made that evident a moment later when he pulled a knife from his boot and threw it at the wall where it stuck quivering.

Sebastian glared at the two with wild eyes. “Be advised that there are no inflated tires left in Cyberflow’s executive parking lot. I would have hung around longer to get the general motor pool but a lot camera picked me up. Security came after me. I lost them after a three-mile chase.”

Avy clenched a fist. “Gee, that’s nice, sweetie.” She didn’t know what else to say. Sebastian didn’t seem to be in the best of moods, having just gone off on a rampage. No one could fault Sebastian for his feelings after losing everything. But he was straddling a dangerous edge at the moment.

Chubby spoke up. “Serves them right for what they did. It still doesn’t make up for burning down a theater to ruin a person’s livelihood.”

“I’m not finished with them either,” Sebastian swore. “They will rue the day they torched me. I can guarantee it’s going to get a whole lot worse for them from here on out.”

Avy sat him down on the bed, taking his hand in a fierce grip. “I know this is hard to take. We all feel the same about it. But this tit for tat is going to get worse until somebody gets killed.”

“Yeah, it’ll be one of them that gets killed,” Sebastian snapped.

Avy shook her head. “That’s not what is supposed to happen. You know that, Sebastian. We’re playing their game right now. It’s a stupid, reckless game of violence. Drake’s got his security people thinking this is a company problem. He’s using them as muscle. They’re just ignorant thugs. We need to isolate him—concentrate on bringing him down for his crimes. That means we need a plan.”

“How do we avoid his thugs?” asked Sebastian. “He’s hiding behind them.”

“By doing what we’re doing now—staying out of their way. They have no idea where we’re at.”

“They know our vehicles. Especially mine, now that it’s scorched on one side.”

“They don’t know Chubby’s car,” she reminded him. “We can keep our cars parked in the back. That’s if Chubby doesn’t mind.” She looked at him.

“No skin off me. I don’t think they linked me to my car. They saw me, but I’m just another fat face in the crowd. Besides, that clash we had was a real Heckle and Jeckle moment, so I doubt if anyone could put the make on me.”

Sebastian didn’t look pleased. He tapped his foot, clenched his fists. Avy knew he had his mind set on revenge. Although she couldn’t talk him out of it altogether, she felt she could soothe his anger or at least appeal to his reason.

“I thought we were doing the right thing,” said Avy. “I’m not so sure anymore. We’re using his tactics by fighting back. The whole thing is escalating, playing right into his hands and out of control. All we have to do is out-think him—that’s not asking a lot from us.”

They sat in a brooding silence. It wasn’t clear that her plea got through to Sebastian until he spoke again.

“Well, I suppose that mustard-gassing Cyberflow is out of the question then.”

Avy looked at him. He gave her the slightest wink. The three erupted in laughter.

###

Drake stopped pacing when Auggie entered his office. He led his security chief to the window where he jabbed a finger down at the parking lot. Three wreckers were parked there, their drivers busy jacking up cars, changing out tires.

“Right under our noses,” said Drake, “the guy knifes dozens of tires on Cyberflow property. Not one alarm is sounded, nor does anybody see anything until it’s too late. Tell me, how does that happen on company property that is known for high-tech surveillance software? I’ll tell you how it happens—complacency. That’s how.”

Auggie swallowed. “You’re right, boss. It was a damn unfortunate oversight. There is no excuse for it. I’ve punished the guards responsible. Beggin’ your pardon, but I need to bring you up to speed about another important matter.” Auggie glanced at Linda Wu.

The secretary put her pocket mirror down. “Don’t tell me. Go to lunch, right?”

Drake loosened his tie with an angry tug. “No, I’m going to lunch. Just take calls. When the guys from the tow service are sent up here, sign the check, then file the receipt.” He stepped out of his office and started down the hallway. Auggie broke into a trot to catch up.

“What about this important matter?” Drake asked.

“Our package is about to arrive.”

“Lunch first. Then we’ll open up packages. Right now I need a bar with the strongest drinks available. Any ideas?”

“Boss, wait.” He lowered his voice. “This is a different type of package. It’s the one we’ve been waiting for. The one from New York.”

“Good, we’ll take him out to lunch with us. Think of a good restaurant.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but I don’t figure our friend has lunch on his mind. I don’t think he’s appropriate for any outside venues.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not the type that would fit into a social setting. Also, I think you better wait on lunch until after the meeting.”

Drake halted in mid-step. “I told you no obvious gangster types, roughnecks, or idiots who would draw attention. He was supposed to be of subtle character. Someone that would pass without suspicion.” He continued on, picking up his stride.

“Oh, I guarantee he’s the best where it counts. A real tag ’em and bag ’em kind of guy.”

“It’s not the day for riddles, Augustus.”

“You’ll just have to see him for yourself. He should be pulling in at loading dock number six. I’ve had the area cleared—the delivery trucks have been rerouted to the overflow parking area.”

They walked to the loading dock at the back of the plant. The area was devoid of employee traffic. Drake looked around, throwing up his hands in disgust. “I give up, Auggie. Do you want to tell me where you’ve hidden him?”

“He should be along any minute now.” Auggie reached into his pocket, removing a white surgical mask and a pair of latex gloves. “You better put these on, Mr. Labrador.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Auggie produced another set from his coat pocket. He pulled the mask on, then snapped the gloves tight. He spoke through the filter. “It’s no joke, boss. It’s to keep things sterile.”

Drake ignored the advice. He watched a large truck pull around the corner, then back up and park against the dock. A side panel of the truck read
ICE KING REFRIGERATED MEATS
. Two men wearing masks stepped from the cab. They stationed themselves near the rear door of the truck. One of the men spoke into a walkie-talkie. Auggie answered through his two-way, then turned to Drake. “Sir, he’s concerned that you’re not wearing your—”

“Just get on with it. There’s no reason for all this cloak and dagger shit.”

Auggie waved his arm, signaling to open it up. One of the men keyed a lock open, then swung the large loading door upward.

Drake saw a shadow move across the inner wall of the truck. It was followed by the figure of a human dressed in very dingy clothing. Drake walked closer to get a better look. The figure wore an olive green rain slicker, a filthy orange hat, and what looked like snow boots. The face resembled a smear, still indistinguishable from the distance.

Drake moved closer, stopping within fifteen feet. He could smell something like a wet dog—the odor wafting from the confines of the truck interior. Another odor assaulted him, the cheesy putridness of decay. Closer now, the face within the truck looked wet, so did his hands, the only parts of his flesh that were visible. The lips of the man were gray, cracked in a slight grin that showed teeth that looked like broken cashews. The eyes were either gray, or spoiled with cataracts, it was hard to tell. Drake put the appliances on, since he had no idea what kind of human stood in his presence. This had to be the Wax Man, whom Auggie had referred to earlier.

“This is Mr. Drake Labrador,” said Auggie aloud, serving as liaison between the two.

“Uh.” Drake extended a hand but made no move to close the distance. He watched the Wax Man take a few steps toward him, the rain slicker waltzing in sway.

Drake got a good look at the face. The cheeks were drawn, the eyes were white voids. Numerous inflamed ulcerations, some of them leaking puss, pockmarked the man’s face. A perceptible heat radiated outward from the body, and with it, Drake could detect more of the strong fetid smell through the mask. Indeed, the face looked like it was made of wax, changing form when the light shifted upon it.

Drake had never seen such a disgusting transient in all his life. He didn’t know whether to call an ambulance or animal control. There had to be a mistake in soliciting this individual for anything or for any reason.

The Wax Man drew an asthmatic breath. “A little warmer here than New York.” The words were a gargle. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll thank me later.” The man turned his hand over in the sunlight, giving the appearance he was bathing it in the heat—testing it. Something resembling yellow varnish hung thread-like from his fingertips. Several drops of the goop plopped to the asphalt to sizzle in the hot sun.

Drake withdrew his hand but continued to stare in morbid fascination. He spoke through the mask, trying to enunciate the words. “Ah, are you feeling all right? Do you need to get cleaned up or something?” What else could he say to this monstrosity?

The Wax Man cocked his head, his chin dribbling a line of spittle. “I always feel the same—no highs, no lows. Cleaned up for what? You mean ruin my image? I reside in this, my status quo. Don’t make any special demands of me and we’ll get along fine.”

Whatever he wished, thought Drake. He did not want this introductory meeting to stray into some other area. He would confine it to the present requirements of the job. Drake tried, “I’ve come to understand that you are for hire. Would that be correct?”

“I need to know the target, the stakes,” he rasped. “We can start from there. You can call me Harry. I don’t like the other moniker.” The Wax Man walked under the building overhang where the shade fell upon him. Something moved under his rain slicker in the chest area—a squirm. A moment later, it ceased.

“Harry it is then,” said Drake. “The target is my eighteen-year-old daughter, Avy Labrador. She has a magician boyfriend who is called Sebastian. They’re traveling with a fat, older fellow, who we haven’t identified yet. They're endangering my life and harassing my employees. They have also been responsible for the destruction of private property, hacking into the company computer files, burglary, and theft. God knows what else they’re capable of.”

The Wax Man cocked his head. “That’s a veritable typhoon of destruction coming from a teenager who has a small entourage. Why don’t you have the local authorities take care of it?”

“Let’s just say the issues are sensitive with far reaching implications,” said Drake. “Even if they were prosecuted, the chances are good that they would make bail, and then we’d be right back in the same situation.”

“You’re thinking more of a permanent solution to end this?”

The Wax Man was not the incompetent sluggard he looked. He read into the innuendo. Drake had to consider that there were three witnesses present who would absorb everything said between the two. Those discussions could be used against him if things went south. How did one translate vagueness into clarity?

“Deal with them in whatever means necessary to stop their activities,” said Drake. “That means discouraging them in a physical sense, if needed. The end justifies the means. Whatever you use to accomplish that goal will work for me. I have no idea how prepared you are for the task. The first question I would like to ask is how traceable are you? You don’t appear to be low key. Sorry.”

“I have no port of call if that’s what you mean. I’ve lived where the wind has taken me—Detroit, Los Angles, Portland, Denver, El Paso, Reno, Seattle, Bangor, any other small or major city you can think of. You can’t hit a moving target. I’ve never been hit—not even on the outside ring. This is my first visit to this sweet little segment of the southeast. In answer to your question, I don’t stay in one place long enough to bring any baggage, which means I don’t intend to remain here any longer than the job requires. I don’t believe I have a profile that would attract any serious investigation or attention. Society is a fickle bedfellow that suffers me not.” His laugh rattled like broken pistons in an engine.

Drake agreed that the man was not the type of person someone would approach for anything, other than to shoo him away or walk the long way around him. He wondered if the unkempt appearance had been deliberate, or was simply an unfortunate byproduct of the man’s lifestyle. The fruits of the Wax Man’s labor did not show on his exterior unless he was some kind of an eccentric millionaire incognito.