“I hope not. The longer you play, the greater the chance of injury. As you know, I like to rip right through the matches without much wear and tear, but you never know. Best to be prepared, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. You want I should send them to that address you left with me?”
“That’s the place. And make it quick, okay? Who knows what I’ll be facing tomorrow.”
“I’ll pack it up right away and get it out tonight. I’ll use my special carrier. If all goes well you should have them by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Swell. Put it on my tab and we’ll settle up when I get back. I owe you one.”
“I’ll add this to the ‘owe’ list.”
“Do that. Oh, and by the way. Have I got a girl for you. She’s an older woman, but she could be a soul mate.”
“Now you’re a matchmaker?”
“Just trying to enrich your life, my friend.”
“Okay. I’ll humor you. First question: Is she on the thin side or the heavy side?”
“She makes Olive Oyl look like a sumo wrestler.”
“Sorry. Not interested. I need a woman with some meat on her, enough bulk so that we don’t look like Mr. and Mrs. Sprat when we go out together. Someone who won’t frown when I put extra cream cheese on my bagel. Someone, in fact, who’ll ask me if I want seconds, or even thirds. An anorexic woman is the last thing I need.”
“Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”
“Find a Sophie Tucker for me and then we’ll talk. But back to the tennis matches: Listen, be careful. Watch your footwork. Sounds like even a minor misstep could take you out of the game.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Talk to you later.”
“Stay in touch. Let me know the scores.”
“Will do.”
Jack smiled as he cut the connection, but it faded as he turned toward his father’s bedroom. He knocked softly on the door. When he received no answer, he pushed it open and peeked in. His father lay in bed, snoring softly, the remote in his hand, the Weather Channel playing on the TV.
Jack turned and headed for the front door. Time to visit Ms. Mundy. He had a few questions he wanted answered. Hell, he had lots of questions, and he knew she had answers to some of them.
15
Anya’s front yard was deserted. The furniture was as he’d left it but she and Oyv were gone. So were the glasses, the wine, and the beer Jack and his father had brought over.
Jack knocked on the door. Anya, wearing another garish kimono with bright red sampans sailing across her flat chest, answered almost immediately.
“You’re back. That must mean your father’s okay.”
“Shaken up but he’s all right, I think. We need to talk.”
“As you wish,” she said, moving away from the door. “Come in.”
Jack stepped into the greenhouse interior.
“I put your beer in the refrigerator so it wouldn’t get warm,” she said on her way to the kitchen. “Do you want one?”
“Thanks, no. I’m not here to drink.”
She stopped at the kitchen counter where the wine bottle waited. An empty glass stood next to one half filled. Not dainty little claret glasses but big glass balloons that held eight to ten ounces if they held a drop. She topped off both and held out the fresh one to Jack.
“Here. Try this. It’s Italian. Valpolicella.”
“No, really. I—”
She locked eyes with him. “I don’t like to talk to people who won’t share a glass with me.”
Jack shrugged and took the glass. He’d done worse things to get someone to talk. He took a sip.
“It’s good.” There. Was she happy? “Now, can I ask you a few questions?”
“If you wish.” She seated herself on the sofa overhung with plants and vines. She lit a cigarette and began shuffling a deck of cards. She pointed him toward the recliner. “Sit. You want to ask me about a Russian woman with a malamute, don’t you.”
Jack felt his jaw drop. “I—I—”
“And an Indian woman with a German shepherd. The one who told you to stay away from that house in Astoria. The one you foolishly ignored.”
“How did you know?” Jack said, finding his voice.
She blew smoke and shrugged as she began laying out the cards in a classic solitaire tableau. “Lucky guess.”
“Since June I’ve been running into women who know too much—women with dogs. You’re the third. Two isn’t a trend. But three…”
“Not to worry. You have nothing to fear from them. Or me.”
Jack took a deep breath and let it out. He’d expected denials or, at the very least, evasions. To have her come right out and confirm his suspicions…it knocked him off balance.
He took a gulp of his wine. Maybe this was why she’d insisted he take a glass.
“Who are you people?”
She finished laying out the cards and began to play, flipping them over with sharp little snaps. “No one in particular.”
“I don’t buy that. You know too much. Back in June, when I was sick, the Russian lady came to my room”—he saw her in his mind, salt-and-pepper hair, gray jogging suit, big white malamute—“and told me things about a war I’d been drafted into. ‘Is war and you are warrior,’ she said. I don’t know if she mentioned it directly or not, but I’m pretty sure she was going on about something called the Otherness and—”
Anya stopped her card play and looked up at him. “You’d already heard of the Otherness by then.”
“Yeah.”
Although he wished he hadn’t. The first mention had been earlier in the year, in the spring at a—surprise—conspiracy convention. Since then his life hadn’t seemed quite his own.
According to what he’d been told, two vast, unimaginably complex cosmic forces have been at war forever. The prize in the war is all existence—all the dimensions, all the realities, all the parallel dimensions up for grabs. Earth and humanity’s corner of reality is a minor piece on the game board, of no special importance. But if one is going to declare itself winner, one has to take all the pieces. Even the inconsequential ones.
One side—a force, a state of being, whatever—is inimical to humankind. It has no name but through the ages came to be called the Otherness by people aware of its existence. If the Otherness takes over, it will transform Earth’s reality into a place toxic to all known life. Fortunately, Earth and its attendant reality are currently in the portfolio of the other side, the force known only as the Ally. From what Jack had learned, “Ally” was a misnomer. This force was not a friend, merely an enemy of humanity’s enemy. The most Earth could expect from it was benign neglect.
“At the time I thought the Russian lady was some sort of fever dream, but then she showed up again and told me…”
“That there would be no more coincidences in your life.”
Jack nodded. The words still chilled him. The implications were devastating.
“Was she right?”
Anya went back to her game, flipping and arranging the cards in the tableau, moving some aces and deuces up to the foundation.
“I’m afraid so, hon.”
“Then it means that my life is being manipulated. Why?”
“Because you are involved.”
“Not by choice.”
“Choice means nothing in these matters.”
“Well, if someone or something thinks I’m its standard bearer, it had better think again.”
“You are not the standard bearer. Not yet.”
If true, that was a relief. A small one.
“Then who is?”
Anya was dealing to herself from the stock now, and Jack couldn’t help but notice that the cards were falling her way, more and more finding places in the tableau or the foundation.
“One who preceded you,” she said. “He preceded the twins as well. You remember the twins, don’t you.”