Of course it was burning. The skin always burned for the new recruits entering into hell. The hard part was that it never stopped burning.
“Change of plans,” Ray said. “We’re going to get Rachael to come out sooner. We need to come up with a story that she’ll believe.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Munns asked.
Ray hesitated. How did he explain what had just happened in the storage shed? The words had not been invented. Even if they had, he was not sure he would have uttered them.
“It’s a long story,” the tattoo artist said.
26
Peter cabbed it back downtown. He’d dodged a bullet, but had a feeling that this was not the end of things between him and Holly in the romance department. Holly was in love and she was also a witch. That was a recipe for disaster if there ever was one.
The last person on his list was Snoop, never the easiest person to track down. Once Peter found his assistant and gave him the five-pointed-star necklace, he’d go home to Liza and apologize for not calling. Perhaps a quiet dinner, or a foreign movie at an Upper East Side art house would do the trick.
He sent his assistant a text, and told him they needed to meet up. Snoop wrote back to say that he was setting up a pop-up club at Jobee, a Taiwanese restaurant on Howard Street. Did Peter want to join him? Peter wrote back that he did, and gave the cabdriver the address.
Pop-up clubs were the latest rage. All across the city, party promoters were setting up velvet ropes and plugging in turntables in dim sum parlors, Midtown office spaces, strip clubs, school playgrounds, even Laundromats. At midnight, these unassuming spaces were transformed into trendy nightclubs, complete with snarling bouncers and a line of partygoers stretched halfway around the block hoping to get in.
Snoop liked to work pop-up clubs because they were great places to meet women. The fact that the clubs weren’t legal added to the thrill. Jobee, his newest venue, was located just north of the fake handbag district on Canal Street. The cab pulled up to the door, and Peter hopped out.
Jobee’s front door had a paper menu taped to it, and the house specialty, Taiwanese Oyster Pancake, caught his eye. It was the only restaurant in the city that served the dish, and he decided to take some home to Liza as a surprise.
He went in. The restaurant’s interior looked like a cyclone had hit it. A waiter was shouting into a cell phone, asking the police to hurry. Tables and chairs were turned upside down, the kitschy paper lanterns swung wildly from the ceiling. He cursed under his breath, knowing he was too late.
He hurried to the back of the restaurant. There, he found Snoop slumped in a chair. His assistant’s head sagged on his chest, and his eyes were tightly shut. The only thing moving were his legs, both of which twitched uncontrollably. The restaurant’s owner and a cook knelt beside Snoop, trying to rouse him. Behind the chair stood the party promoter, a Russian named Boris from the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. Boris was telling the waiter not to call the police, and the waiter was ignoring him. It was not a pretty scene.
Peter took the last five-pointed star from his bag, and fitted it around his assistant’s neck. He had no idea if this would do any good, but he gave it a try. Snoop’s lips started to move. Peter leaned over and put his ear up next to his assistant’s mouth, listening hard.
“Peter, is that you?” Snoop asked.
“Yeah,” Peter said. “Did that thing take you away?”
“Oh, man, this is crazy. One minute I’m in the club, the next I’m at some crazy guy’s house on the side of the hill, and he’s trying to run me down with his car.”
“Are you still there?”
“I ran away from him. Trying to find my way to town, wherever the hell that is.”
“I need to get you out of there.”
“Can you do that?”
“I’m going to try.”
“Great. Here he comes in his car. He’s got a gun-he’s trying to shoot me!”
Snoop’s feet began to tap the floor as he attempted to run away from Dr. Death. Only Snoop wasn’t going to succeed, just as Liza hadn’t gotten away, nor Peter himself. Dr. Death had a home field advantage, and was going to shoot Snoop if Peter didn’t act quickly. Rising, he quickly hustled the owner, cook, waiter, and Russian promoter out the front door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the owner asked him.
“My friend needs help. Please stand here, and keep the police out.”
“What is wrong with your friend?” the owner asked. “Is he on drugs?”
“That’s none of your business.”
With that, Peter went back into the restaurant and locked the door behind him. He didn’t want an audience to witness Snoop coming around, and hearing what he had to say. As a psychic he was sworn to keep secrets and not talk about his dealings with the other side. It was a hard promise to keep, but he did his best. He grabbed Snoop by the shoulders and attempted to shake him awake. His eyelids fluttered.
“He’s shooting at me!” Snoop said desperately.
“Wake up! Wake up!” Peter implored him.
“Oww! Something hit my leg. Oh, my God, it’s bleeding. He winged me!”
“Snoop, you’ve got to open your eyes!”
“I can’t. This is so crazy. Get me out of here, will you!”
Peter stopped shaking his assistant. Something was keeping Snoop from returning. He let his eyes canvass the room. In the back of the restaurant was a darkened space with several booths. His eyes locked on the shadow person hovering over a table. The last times hadn’t worked, so the shadow person had decided to hang around, and make sure it did this time.
Peter did not remember moving across the restaurant toward the booths. Nor did he remember raising his arm. Just the sound of his fist striking the shadow person in the space that should have been its head. The evil spirit emitted a groan, and shrank into itself. Two more blows produced similar effects. He was hurting it, and making it smaller. The third blow did the trick, and the shadow person became the size of a beach ball before disappearing, the sound coming out of its mouth a pitiful cry.
He hurried back to Snoop. His assistant had woken up, and was examining his leg where he’d been shot by Dr. Death. He was in a daze, having a hard time grasping that his trip hadn’t been real. Peter helped him out of his chair.
“You’re my hero,” Snoop said.
“Let’s get out of here before the police come. This is one trip you can’t talk to anyone about.”
“What’s this thing around my neck, anyway? It’s not my color.”
“Leave it on. It will protect you from being kidnapped again.”
He pushed Snoop into the kitchen and looked for an exit. Snoop pilfered a vegetarian egg roll out of a pan sitting on the stove, and started to eat it. “Is that what happened to me? I was kidnapped by that weird black thing?”
“It’s called a shadow person, and it’s an evil spirit. It kidnapped your soul, and took you to the home of a serial killer. Don’t ask me why, because I haven’t figured out that part yet.”
“Could I have died?”
“It was a distinct possibility. I need to pick your brain. We have to catch this guy.”
Snoop chewed contemplatively. “I’m game.”
27
Opening Ceremony was the most daring clothing boutique in the city, and a few short blocks away. Snoop suggested they get a window seat at the Starbucks across the street from it. Girl watching was his passion.
They both got the house roast and a toasted sesame bagel. A window table opened up and they grabbed it. Peter sipped his drink, realizing how lucky it was Snoop was still alive. Either he was going to have to give every person he knew a five-pointed star, or he’d have to come up with another way to deal with this problem. Snoop leaned forward on his elbows and spoke in a whisper. “I heard you beating that thing in the restaurant. Did you kill it?”