“Hey, nobody’s perfect.”
Nemo’s face was now an afterimage, his voice barely a faint whisper. In a few seconds he would be gone, leaving Peter to wonder when they’d again hook up.
“Be careful, Peter. Whatever this guy is, it isn’t human,” his friend said.
Peter started to thank him for the warning. But by then, Nemo had disappeared in the clouds, leaving nothing but a pair of gulls circling overhead.
23
Clyde Jucko had the disposition of a junkyard dog and a face to match. He was waiting outside EZ Storage as Munns pulled into the parking lot, and climbed out of his car. A big man, he cast a long, menacing shadow that stretched halfway across the lot.
Munns approached Jucko cautiously. Jucko was holding what looked like bolt cutters in his hand. Munns’s eyes fell on the broken padlock lying on the ground.
“You went into my unit without my permission,” Munns said.
“It’s my unit. You just rent it from me,” Jucko corrected him.
“You had no right to do that, or to touch my things.”
“I didn’t touch your goddamn things. I just wanted to see what you’ve been up to. You bring the money?”
“I got it.”
“Give it to me right now.”
Munns pulled an envelope stuffed with hundreds from his pocket and tossed it to the older man. As Jucko counted the money, Munns glanced in both directions. The other units were empty and they were alone. Except for the steady hiss of cars on the nearby highway, the air was still. Munns knew that the best course of action was to shoot Jucko in the head at point-blank range, and throw his body in the trunk of his car. A single gunshot would carry through the woods and trail off like a lonely clap of thunder. It would go unnoticed, and Jucko would join the list of people who’d come in contact with Munns and disappeared.
Only there was a problem with that scenario. Jucko was pointing the bolt cutters like he was planning to cut Munns’s balls off. He looked ready for a fight, and drawing a gun on him at this moment seemed out of the question.
“All here,” Jucko said, pocketing the cash. “Okay, now I want you to tell me what’s been going on. Who’s been living in that unit?”
“No one,” Munns said.
“That’s a bunch of bull. I had a look. Someone’s been living in there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? Have a look, see for yourself.”
Jucko had not lowered the bolt cutters, and Munns stepped around him while keeping his distance. He brought his face to the open door of his unit, and gazed into the darkened interior. Inside were six stainless-steel footlockers stored on the rack of a metal shelving unit. Inside each footlocker was the body of one of his victims. One of the footlockers had fallen from its spot, and lay broken on the concrete floor. Light streamed down from the gaping hole in the ceiling. Jucko had been correct in his assumption that the hole had been created from within. But by who? Or what? Munns couldn’t be sure. He started to slide the door shut and felt a hand on his arm.
“What the hell are you keeping in those footlockers?” Jucko demanded.
“That’s none of your business,” Munns said.
“Everything’s my business.”
Jucko pushed him to the side before Munns could reply. Sliding back the door, he entered the unit, and flipped over the broken footlocker lying on the floor. A corpse wrapped in plastic tumbled out, and Jucko used the bolt cutters to cut away the plastic shroud. A skeletal face stared up at him. It was Edie, Munns’s last victim. She had cursed Munns as he strangled her to death, and the invective was slow to leave her face.
“It’s a dead woman,” Jucko said in horror. “What kind of monster are you?”
Munns’s gun was tucked in his belt behind his back. As he reached for it, Jucko swung the bolt cutters up from the floor and their blades brushed his face. Warm blood ran down Munns’s cheek and his vision blurred. His hands covered the bleeding wound.
Jucko reached behind Munns’s back, and relieved him of his gun. Dropping it in his pocket, he triumphantly rested the bolt cutters on his shoulder. “I should kill you. Save the state the trouble of locking you up. Now get on your knees, or I’ll bust your head open.”
“I thought we had a deal,” Munns blurted out.
“I ain’t making no deals with the Devil. On your knees.”
Munns’s neck began to burn. The sensation started at the shimmering tattoo, and spread straight up his neck and into his brain like so much bad poison sent from below.
“No,” Munns said.
“What did you say?” Jucko declared.
“I’m not kneeling to you, or anyone else.”
For reasons Munns could not explain, he no longer felt afraid of Jucko. In his mind, he saw himself taking Jucko outside the shed and dismembering him in the parking lot, the old man’s blood staining the pavement and spoiling an otherwise perfect day.
Munns’s hands were burning as well. He brought them up to his face to have a look. The skin was turning a sickening black, and his fingernails had grown into talons. A sound escaped his lips that was not human.
“Jesus H. Christ. What in God’s name are you?” Jucko whispered.
The bolt cutters hit the floor. Jucko looked like he might cry. The presence of the Devil did that to some people. Munns backed Jucko into the corner, put his hands around Jucko’s throat, and lifted him clean off the floor. Then he carried him outside into the parking lot.
Jucko begged for mercy, and Munns squeezed the words as they came out of his throat. Munns had been tortured as a child, and every person in town knew it, including Clyde Jucko. Mercy was the last thing on his mind.
Munns drew the Swiss Army knife from his pocket, and flicked open the blade. Before his eyes, it grew into a gleaming sword. He released his grasp on Jucko, and let him stand on his own. In one swift motion, he cut off the old man’s head. One quick slice was all it took, and the disembodied corpse hit the pavement with a sickening thud.
Jucko’s head rolled for several yards before coming to a stop. The old man’s eyes were blinking wildly, like he didn’t know he was dead yet. A screech of brakes shattered the stillness. Ray’s black van pulled into the parking lot, and the tattoo artist jumped out. Ray started to approach, saw Munns, and started backing up, as if he didn’t know who Munns was.
“Doc, is that you?” he asked.
“Who do you think it is?” Munns barked.
Ray opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked terrified. In all their time together, Ray had never shown fear. It was not a quality he seemed to possess, until now.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” Munns demanded.
“You don’t know?” Ray asked.
“No. Tell me what’s going on.”
Ray went to the van and bent the side mirror so Munns could see his own reflection. The image staring back did not look real. Munns’s clothes were shreds, and he’d been transformed into a hulking demon with horns coming out of his skull, rapierlike fangs, and a ridge of spikes running the length of his spine. The most recent tattoo Ray had inked on his skin had come to life, and now stood ready to do battle with whichever enemies stood in his way.
A coarse laugh escaped Munns’s lips. Surtr had risen.
24
Peter got out of the cab in front of Holly’s apartment wondering what a gargoyle on steroids looked like. Not the kind of date to spend Friday night with, that was for sure. At least he’d have Garrison backing him up when he confronted the thing.
He entered the lobby, and searched for Holly’s name on the intercom. He had always envied Holly for making it into Columbia. It was New York’s best school, and one of the finest in the country. His own college experience had consisted of a single semester at CCNY, where he’d majored in not falling asleep in class before being thrown out.
He sometimes wondered what his life would have been like if he’d stayed in school, and gotten a degree. Perhaps he would have become a doctor or a lawyer. He would have made a hell of an attorney, especially during a cross-examination. No one was going to keep any secrets from him! But that was just an idle daydream. He’d wanted to be a magician for as long he could remember. It was his calling, as strange as that sounded.