Lost Souls - Страница 30

As Frost booted up the laptop and checked on Jarmillo, Dagget spoke with Moomaw by satellite phone, using the word sir a lot. When he terminated the call and came to the table, he said, “Moomaw says word is the Moneyman is coming here tomorrow.”

Frost was surprised.

“Well, not to this monk’s cell of yours,” Dagget said, “but he’s coming somewhere in the Rainbow Falls area, they don’t know where. He’s coming in by chopper from Billings.”

“Why?”

“They don’t know why. Probably to see what his money’s buying.”

“This is big. Moomaw thinks it’s big, doesn’t he?”

“Moomaw now thinks it’s huge.”

“This is dirty business of some kind. Why would the Moneyman risk being tied to it?”

“Dirty business is his favorite kind. Maybe you’ll get a chance to ask him why.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Frost said.

“Except it’s pretty much certain, if you ask the question, you’ll get a bullet for an answer.”

chapter 42

Standing at a window in Room 218, Bryce watched a hospital janitor hosing off the area of parking-lot pavement where Travis had seen a man beaten and perhaps murdered. The boy said the man below was the same one who had swung the club.

In the armchair, crossed legs drawn up onto the seat, he said, “It happened. I didn’t imagine it.”

“I know you didn’t,” Bryce assured him.

Each half of the bronze casement window featured a handle with which it could be cranked open for ventilation. The center post was strong enough to support the weight of a climber. The distance from the windowsill to the blacktop appeared to be about fifteen feet.

Entirely plausible.

Bryce stepped away from the window, went down on one knee beside the armchair, and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “There’s hardly any staff on this floor because they’re downstairs, and I think it’s because they’re helping to guard every entrance to the basement and every exterior door on the ground floor.”

“Why did they kill that man?”

“He must’ve seen something they didn’t want him to see.”

“What? What did he see?”

“Listen, Travis, we’ve got to hang tough. Don’t give them any reason to think you’re suspicious.”

“But it’s just like I told you, isn’t it? They aren’t who they used to be. They’re not real anymore.”

“They’re real, son, they’re plenty real. But they’re different now.”

“What’re they doing to people down in the basement?”

“Whatever it is, we don’t want them doing it to us.”

Bryce’s own voice sounded alien to him, not because the pitch and timbre of it had changed, which they had not, but because of the things he heard himself saying. He remained a writer of Westerns, but his life had changed genres.

“There’s something we can do,” Bryce said, “but it’s going to take nerve, and we’ve got to be cautious.”

He outlined his plan, and the boy listened without interruption.

When Bryce finished, Travis said only, “Will it work?”

“It has to, doesn’t it?” Bryce said.

chapter 43

In the main basement hallway of the hospital, Chief Jarmillo and Dr. Henry Lightner stood on opposite sides of the gurney on which rested the body of Brian Murdock.

“The whole face is stoved in,” Jarmillo said.

“Cody had to stop him.”

“Of course.”

“You or I would have done the same.”

“Perhaps not so aggressively.”

“Or perhaps more so,” Lightner said.

Jarmillo looked up from the body and met the physician’s eyes. “Obsessing of any kind must be reported.”

“He wasn’t obsessing.”

“How many blows with the nightstick?”

“We don’t have time for an autopsy. With everything we have to accomplish by tonight, that wouldn’t be an efficient use of time.”

“But how many blows do you think? Just a guess.”

“Not many.”

“Really?”

“Not many,” Lightner repeated. “Not many. He did what he had to do.”

“And efficiently. The problem is where he did it. In the open.”

“No one saw,” Lightner said.

“We can’t be sure of that.”

“If someone saw, they would have told a nurse, an orderly, they would have wanted us to call the police.”

“Not if they’re suspicious of… all of us.”

“Why suspicious? Even dogs can’t smell a difference between us and them.”

“We might not mimic as well as we think we do. Maybe the more perceptive of their kind can sense something wrong.”

“If one of them saw, he’ll soon be dead anyway.”

Jarmillo nodded. “You need Cody here.”

“I need everybody to get this done.”

“And no one at the scene thinks he was obsessing?”

“No one.”

Jarmillo considered the situation for a moment. None of the hospital patients had phone service. Cell phones and text-messaging devices had been collected using one excuse or another. No one in the building could leave without either being returned to his room or being dealt with as Cody had dealt with Murdock. They had hoped to begin delivering the patients to the Builders after visiting hours. But if someone had seen the killing, and if he had a visitor, they risked exposure if that visitor left the hospital.

“Midday visiting hours are over?” Jarmillo asked.

“Yes.”

“Evening hours are…?”

“From five till eight.”

“It’s going to complicate things for us, but we’ll have to prevent the evening visitors from leaving. They’ll all have to be rendered to the Builders, as well.”

“We’ll need some help.”

“I’ll give you three more deputies.”

“Then we’ll be fine.”

Jarmillo turned his attention once more to Murdock’s face. “I think the Creator might call Cody obsessive.”

“And I think,” Lightner said, “you seem to be obsessing about obsession.”

The chief met Lightner’s eyes again. After a mutual silence, he said, “For the Community.”

“For the Community,” Dr. Lightner replied.

chapter 44

Jocko’s big moment. The first people he’d met in two years. He wanted to make a good impression. To be liked. To be accepted as a fellow American. To make Erika proud. To not be a screwup.

Scaring them was a bad start. Stop grinning. Just a small smile.

Maybe wiggle his ears. No! No, no, no! That old woman that time, that alleyway, Jocko wiggled his ears, she beat him with a trash can. And threw the cat at him. The cat was horrible. No ear wiggles.

Extending his right hand in greeting, he went to Deucalion. “I am Jocko. Jocko juggles. Jocko pirouettes. Jocko is a monster like you but not as pretty. Jocko is immensely pleased to make your great acquaintance.”

Deucalion’s hand was so large that he only used his thumb and forefinger to shake Jocko’s hand. But it still counted as a shake.

So far so good.

He went next to Carson O’Connor. “I am Jocko. Jocko cartwheels. Jocko writes poetry. Jocko used to eat soap. But he doesn’t anymore. Bowel problems. But Jocko still likes the taste.”

Carson O’Connor grimaced when she shook Jocko’s hand. But she didn’t recoil. Didn’t spit at him. He didn’t think she’d throw a cat even if she had one. Very nice. A nice lady.

“Ms. Carson O’Connor, if you please. Jocko apologizes for his nasty hand. It is cold. Clammy. Sticky. But Jocko assures you, it is clean.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said. “Please just call me Carson.”

Never had Jocko thought it would go this well. Jocko was making an impression. Jocko was almost debonair.

To Carson, he said, “Jocko is supremely delighted to see you again.”

She looked confused. “Again?”

“Jocko met you briefly. New Orleans. A warehouse roof. In a thunderstorm. You had a shotgun. Another lifetime.”

Michael Maddison accepted Jocko’s outstretched hand.

“I am Jocko. Jocko does backflips. Jocko can eat a big cinnamon roll in one bite. Jocko collects funny hats with bells.”

He shook his head. All the little bells rang on his hat.

“Jocko is enchanted to see you again.”

“Forgive me,” Michael said, “but I don’t recall… ”

“Back then, things were going wrong with Victor’s people. So wrong. Strange things. Jocko was a strange thing that went wrong. Jocko grew inside Jonathan Harker.”

Harker had been one of Victor’s New Race. The replicant of a police detective. In the homicide department with Michael and Carson.

“Jocko was sort of a kind of a tumor. But with a brain. And hope. Hope for a better life. Freedom. Maybe go to Disney World one day. That’ll never happen. Still, one can dream. Anyway, Jocko burst from Harker’s chest.”

They remembered. Eyes wide. Jocko was happy they remembered.

“Jocko has Harker’s memories. But is not Harker. Jocko lived for a while in sewers. Ate bugs to survive. So tragic. But kinda tasty. Then Jocko met Erika. No more bugs. Life is good.”

Suddenly, Jocko feared they might misunderstand. Might get the wrong idea. Jocko felt himself blush.

Jocko clutched Michael’s hand in both of his. “Please to understand-Jocko and Erika are not lovers. No, no, no!”