"So, how did he get from the street outside Karl's to my hotel room – part of him, anyway?"
"A van with our people in it was parked a block away. Once the shooter reported success, the van sped to where Sharkey was lying and removed the body. Decapitation took place inside the van, and the result we left as a little gift – and a distraction – for you."
"So, you're shooting your next video tonight… not–"
"Tomorrow night – as Jeffrey told you?"
"Who the fuck's Jeffrey?"
"Oh, didn't he give you his name?" Wilson said with a smirk. "He's the young man you captured last night, at that slut witch's house."
"You knew about that," I said.
"Knew about it? We were expecting it."
"How could you possibly know that Caro– that the witch would get a spell into action in time?"
Wilson said, "We couldn't be certain, of course. But considering what happened to Charles – the brave young man who took his life while in your custody – we thought it likely. And if perchance the bitch was too slow with her detestable magic, then Jeffrey would have another witch to bring to justice, and we could try again another night. But it worked the first time, I'm glad to say."
I was trying to get my mind around what he was telling me but was having trouble – maybe because I didn't want to believe it.
"Jeffrey was a plant?" I said.
"Indeed, yes. He had done some acting off-Broadway a few years ago, before he saw the light and decided to give his life to the Church. I trust his performance was moving. Whatever did you do with him, anyway? We lost track, after you left the witch's house."
I just looked at him.
Wilson gave me an elaborate shrug. "Well, no matter. He has served his purpose – which was to provide what the Russians used to call 'disinformation'. The filming will take place tonight, not tomorrow, and we are nowhere near Stansfield Avenue, by the way."
"So… tomorrow night…"
"There will be no filming at the other warehouse – which is not to say there will be no bloodshed."
I closed my eyes. Don't try to figure it all out – it'll drive you crazy. Just wait – he'll tell you what he means. He needs to.
"When your fellow officers raid Stansfield Avenue tomorrow night," Wilson said, "they will find a rather nasty surprise waiting for them. Our resident wizard Malachi, the same fellow who does the summonings, has prepared a spell and put it in place."
"So magic is only 'despicable' when somebody else is using it," I said.
Wilson spread his hands again, like a priest giving benediction. "We all use what we must, in the service of the greater good. Tomorrow night, all Malachi need do is utter a single word, and the spell will cause the deaths of everyone inside the building. Their internal organs will swell and burst. Not a pleasant way to die – although not nearly as unpleasant as yours, of course."
He doesn't know about the prayer team. SWAT deploys with a group of clergy from multiple faiths, and their prayers will disrupt any black magic in the vicinity.
Maybe.
They've never faced a spell that somebody's had a whole day to prepare. But they can stop it.
Probably.
"That conception was my own," Wilson said with a tiny smile, "and it's really quite clever, if I say so myself."
Yeah, you would. Cocksucker.
"Not only do I largely eliminate the police who have been interfering with our campaign, but the deed contributes to the campaign itself. Imagine the headlines, especially in the People's Voice: POLICE MURDERED BY MAGIC, or perhaps BRAVE OFFICERS STRUCK DOWN BY EVIL SPELL."
Then he giggled. He actually giggled – like a fucking schoolgirl.
"It should be gloooorious," Wilson said.
"Yeah. Glorious."
I didn't waste any energy on that You'll never get away with this, you fiend nonsense you see on TV. It would just make me look like more of an idiot than I already was.
Besides, it looked like there was a good chance he would get away with it.
Wilson left me alone soon after that. That's the time when, if I was 007, I'd find a way to stand on my head and open the cuffs with the lockpick I'd concealed in my left nostril. Then I'd use the plastic explosives hidden in my belt to blow the door, karate-chop the nearest guard, and grab his gun. Then I could… aw, fuck it. Thinking about James Bond just reminded me of Karl. Poor Karl – I hoped he had at least died quick. If he had, that would make one of us.
I had plenty of time to think about the horrible death I was going to experience – there was no doubt in my mind who was going to be on the receiving end in tonight's performance – unless I found some way out. After a while, I did come up with an idea of sorts. I guessed I'd find out pretty soon just how good an idea it was.
Nothing much was riding on my little inspiration – just my life, the lives of a lot of other cops, and maybe even the success of stage one of Helter Skelter.
No pressure.
The slivers of daylight coming in through the Venetian blind eventually faded to night. Assuming the ritual was due to start around midnight, that meant I still had several hours to go. My bladder was uncomfortably full, but I was damned if I was going to abandon what little dignity I had left by pissing in my pants. So I held it, and eventually got used to the ache. My throat was also parched, but I figured I'd still be able to scream come midnight, if my idea failed.
Tension and fear are exhausting, and I hadn't been to bed for more than twenty-four hours. Despite being scared out of my mind, I eventually fell asleep, sort of. You can imagine what my dreams were like.
I woke up with a start when the door opened. I realized it was time for the fun to start, and my heartbeat went the equivalent of zero to sixty in about 3.4 seconds.