“I’m going to hold you to that.”
Jucko hung up on him. Munns went into the bedroom and sat down on the very edge of the bed. His head was pounding, his heart beating out of control. If he didn’t deal with this right now, Jucko would start talking, and he’d be doomed.
He pulled up Ray’s number on his cell phone. Ray would know what to do in a situation like this. Ray was street smart and he knew all the angles. Several rings later, the tattoo artist answered, his voice thick with sleep.
“I need your help. Clyde Jucko’s onto me,” Munns said breathlessly.
“Leave a message, and I’ll call you back,” an automated voice replied.
Munns let out a string of profanities. A beeping sound filled his ear.
“Meet me at EZ Storage,” he said into the phone.
Then he threw on his clothes, grabbed his keys, and ran out of the house.
22
Peter’s next stop was Lester Rowe’s shabby fortune-telling parlor on the Lower East Side. The small reception area was filled with clients, and he didn’t stay long.
Then he headed uptown to pay Milly a visit at the Dakota. The old witch met him at the door of her apartment wearing a flowing black robe and a mystical gold pendant hanging around her neck. Milly also told fortunes, but to a much wealthier clientele, and he guessed by her wardrobe that she was working. He passed the five-pointed star through the door.
“Please put this on right away,” he said.
“Am I in danger?” Milly asked.
“Yes. The shadow people are going after my friends.”
Milly thanked him with her eyes and shut the door.
His last stop was Holly. Max’s warning was still ringing in his ears, and he wondered what to do. Should he tell Holly that he couldn’t see her anymore? That would mean one of them would have to leave the Friday night psychics, and he didn’t see that happening. No, he was going to act like an adult, and sit down with her and have a talk. He couldn’t think of anything more unpleasant, except perhaps going to see Dr. Sierra again.
As his cab neared Holly’s place, his cell phone started to crawl out of his pocket as if alive. Only one person he knew could do that, and he flipped the phone open.
“Hey, Nemo, how you been?” he asked.
“Great for a guy doing life in prison,” the Puerto Rican psychic said.”We need to talk. Give me your coordinates.”
The CIA kept Nemo on a farm in Virginia where they used him to travel across time and space to see what fiendish plots the nation’s enemies were hatching. It was a lousy existence, and the reason Peter didn’t trust people in law enforcement. He glanced out the window at the approaching intersection. “I’m in a cab at the corner of Ninetieth and Central Park West, right next to Central Park.”
“Look in the eastern sky. Do you see any clouds?”
“I see a few.”
“Excellent. Get out of the cab, and stare at them. I’ll be right there.”
“You’re going to visit me in person?”
“Yeah, aren’t you excited?”
The line went dead. Nemo hadn’t told him what was going on. But it wasn’t like Nemo to bother him with trivial things, and Peter told the driver to pull over. The cab’s tires kissed the curb, and he passed a twenty through the partition and hopped out. Walking over to the stone wall that surrounded the park, he located a formation of puffy clouds in the otherwise flawless sky, and stared. The outline of Nemo’s face gradually appeared.
“Aren’t we special,” Peter said.
“Yes we are,” his friend replied.
Nemo was a street kid from Spanish Harlem whom Peter had knocked around with as a teenager. Each psychic had a special gift. Nemo’s was astral projection. He could project himself anywhere in the world if he set his mind to it. That was why the CIA found him so valuable. He was like a drone that didn’t need gas, and couldn’t be shot down.
Out-of-body experiences were nothing new in the psychic world. Psychics had been projecting themselves across the globe since the beginning of time. When people saw human faces in the clouds, or appearing on oil slicks on the road, or in rock formations on the sides of mountains, it was often a psychic projecting himself. The psychic never stayed for very long, but sometimes the image lingered behind, causing people to get excited, and even build shrines.
“How’s life on the funny farm?” Peter asked.
“They’re treating me like a king,” Nemo replied. “Great food, beautiful accommodations, premium cable. The only problem is, they won’t let me out.”
“We’re going to have to work on that. How did you call me? Don’t tell me they gave you a cell phone.”
“I wish. I stole my one of handlers’ cell phones.”
“That’s going to come back and bite you.”
“I stole his credit card, too. Amex silver, no less.”
“Aren’t you afraid of what they’ll do when they find out?”
“What are they going to do? Arrest me? Then they’d have to acknowledge that they’re holding me, and that’s not going to happen. You should see all the stuff I bought on his card. Trips, hotel rooms, airline tickets, the works.”
“For who?”
“My cousin and her little kid. She lost her job, and has been living on welfare. They needed a vacation, so I sent them down to Disney World. First class, all the way.”
“How much did you charge on his card?”
“Enough to piss him off.”
“You’re my hero.”
Nemo laughed in the clouds. His face was starting to fade, as was his voice. Out-of-body experiences never lasted more than a few minutes, and Peter strained to hear him.
“I had a strange thing happen to me that I wanted to warn you about,” Nemo said. “My handlers routinely give me files of dangerous people they’re trying to catch, and ask me to find them. This morning, I was given a composite of a serial killer in Westchester County called Dr. Death. My handlers asked me to project myself to Friday night, and see if I could find Dr. Death, so I did.”
“What happened?”
“I found him. I also found someone else.”
“Who?”
“You.”
“Me? What was I doing in Westchester?”
“That’s the million-dollar question. I projected myself to Friday night in Westchester County, and floated around for a few minutes. After a while, I felt your aura. It was really strong, and I spotted you standing in the parking lot of a train station on the outskirts of town.”
“Was I by myself?”
“No. You were with a hulking black guy who acted like a cop.”
“Special Agent Garrison, FBI.”
“You’re hanging out with the FBI? That’s dangerous stuff, Peter.”
“Tell me about it. Now, what did you see?”
“Garrison drove you to a house on a hill that reminded me of the house on the hill in Psycho. It had faded shingles and a gravel driveway surrounded by a thick hedge. You and Garrison went inside the house, where a really terrified woman was being held in the living room. She was tied to a chair, and was totally freaking out. Dr. Death was also in the living room. He’s an overweight guy, dressed like a nerd, didn’t look scary at all. At first I thought, what’s going on here? Then things got freaky.”
“How so?”
“Dr. Death’s body started to change until he looked like a gargoyle on steroids. The guy grew horns and his hands turned into claws. It was like watching a bad horror flick. You guys started fighting to the death.”
People who entered into pacts with the Devil often lost their human qualities, and became like their master. Monsters in every sense of the word, they deserved no place on this earth.
Peter had never fought one of these people, and had no idea how his powers would stack up. He supposed there was a first time for everything.
“You’ve got me on the edge of my seat. What happened then?” Peter asked.
“I woke up,” Nemo said.
“You suck, you know that?”