The Lucy Ghosts

'Sshh!' he warned her. 'Where's Tucker?'

'I don't know. He was watching…'

Adam cut her off by turning away to Trimmler's door, the gun poised in his hand. He turned the handle; the door opened easily, it wasn't locked.

He quietly let himself into the room. Billie stayed where she was at first, not knowing what to do. Then she followed him.

The lights were on. There was no-one in the sitting area.

He saw Trudi first, on the floor, by the dressing table in the bedroom. There was no blood. Her neck had simply been broken, wrung like a chicken and twisted almost at right angles to her naked body.

Trimmler was on the bed. There was a lot of blood there, soaked into the sheets; the blankets had been peeled back and lay across the floor.

Adam checked the rest of the room before he approached the bed. The placed was empty.

He'd seen death in many forms, in may different places, but he wasn't prepared for what they had done to Trimmler.

The scientist was naked, his body appeared whiter than it was against the redness of the blood that framed it on both sides. It wasn't an attractive body in the best of circumstances, but in death the fatness had spread, even his large paunch had slipped to his hips; his stomach was almost flat.

It was a grotesque sight, made more gruesome by the fact that both arms had been sliced off just above the elbow.

They had been placed over each other, the limbs forced and bent in such a manner that they formed a fleshy swastika.

* * *

Adam stayed in his room for nearly an hour before the Chief of Detectives knocked on his door. During that time he saw Tucker twice; 'Why the hell did you call the cops?' and ' The Agency's going bananas.'; Billie once when she came and spent ten minutes with him and said little; and the house doctor who bandaged up his toe and told him to rest it up for a few days and take some time off work.

There was little he was prepared to tell the policeman, apart from what he had already gathered.

'You didn't see anybody? Nothing suspicious, anywhere in the hotel.'

'Nothing,' he replied.

The policeman shook his head. He was in a quandary, he knew there was more to this whole affair, but the CIA had banged heads somewhere above him in the department and he had to limit himself to simple questions. If he'd had his own way he'd rush them all back to the station and make sure he damn well got answers to all his questions.

When the policeman left, Adam lay down on the bed. He knew what was happening inside, that the forces of good and evil were at war.

‘Walk away from it. It's over. Go home to Emma and Steed and Lily's home cooking’.

‘No. Iu know who the bastards are. I’ll get them. I never walked away from a job before, never left it unfinished. And they laughed at me, tied a bloody piece of barbed wire round my big toe and laughed their silly little heads off at me.’

‘Go home, Adam. This is not your place. Mind your own business and go home.’

‘I can't, Marcus.’

‘Leave it.’

‘How? It's not our way.’

The dark side, as always, won.

He put his coat on, the Browning safely tucked away in the shoulder harness, grabbed some extra ammunition clips which he slipped into his pocket, and went out into the hallway.

The area had been cordoned off and there were police at both ends of the corridor. He looked into Trimmler's suite and saw the hive of activity that was taking place. Doctors, police photographers, every Tom, Dick and Hank from the police department. It must have been a quiet time in the old town tonight.

'Where're you going?' asked Tucker as he saw him.

'To get some fresh air.'

'You shouldn't leave the building.'

'Why not? No-one to protect anymore.'

'You should stay in.'

'I don't work for your people any more.'

'I still don't think…'

'So have me arrested.'

'You fucking smart arse.' Tucker knew he'd lost control. 'They'll want to see you.' He desperately tried one last time. 'Come on, they'll want to know what happened.'

'Ask Billie. She walked in there with me.'

'She says you already had a gun in your hand when she saw you. That you expected something. Did you?'

'Don't be stupid. Do you think I sliced his arms off with my gun?'

'Why the gun?'

'What did you expect me to do? Get a hot water bottle and tuck myself up in bed. You weren't here, Tucker. I was on my own.'

Billie caught him up outside as he waited for Frankie. The brown bag was slung over his shoulder.

'Tucker said you were going out. Why?' she asked.

'It's over now.'

'Can I come with you.'

'No. You're CIA. They'll expect a report from you.'

'I'm getting to know you, tough guy. You've got that look in your eye.'

'Don't look for what isn't there.'

'They said you had a death wish.'

'Wrong. I don't like being set up.'

'Who?'

'I just need to get away. You feeling better now?'

She ignored his concern. Her sickness had been unnecessary. As he reminded her again, she felt the bile rise in her throat, fought to keep the retching back. 'Can I come with you? I don't want to stay here alone.'

Adam slipped his arm round her shoulder. 'You have to. Don't ask me why. Just…stay here until I get back.'

He climbed into the cab and shut the door. Billie stood at the pavement and watched him; he waved at her, tried to reassure her. When she could hold the retching no longer, she spun and rushed back into the hotel.

'Where to?' asked Frankie.

'Drive slowly up towards the Quarter. Come on, let's go.'

The Cadillac pulled out from the kerb and turned up to Canal Street. Behind him, through the rear window, Adam saw Billie turn and run into the hotel. He regretted leaving her at such a time, but he needed to be on his own.

'You heard what happened back there?' he asked Frankie.

'Couldn't miss it. Marked cars, sirens flashing, half the New Orleans police falling over themselves to get into the hotel. Where we going?'

'I want to see some more voodoo.'

'You gotta be joking.' Frankie looked at Adam's face in the rear view mirror and answered his own question. 'No. You ain't joking.'

'I need to find Fruit Juice.' Adam pulled the bottle he had found in the sun room from his pocket and held it over the seat so that Frankie could see it clearly. 'I think this is his.'

'Where'd you get it?'

'Doesn't matter. But I need to see the man.'

'We can try. Don't you think you should tell the Agency?'

'It's personal. To me.'

Frankie shrugged and drove up Canal and turned onto Basin Street. Life in the Quarter continued at its full frenetic pace, but here, northside, the streets were deserted, the overhead lighting poor and the ambience menacing. Frankie pulled up at the kerb.

'Why here?' asked Adam.

'He's going to be round here someplace. At this time of night this is his territory.'

'How do I find him?'

'He'll find you. If he wants to.'

Adam opened the door and got out.

'You're crazy,' said Frankie. 'They already know you here. Soon as they saw this car.'

'They?'

'The voodoo men. Why the hell do you want to see Fruit Juice?'

'Because he killed Trimmler. And he left his calling card to tell me he did it.'

'You gotta tell Tucker.'

'He wouldn't know where to start. Even if he brought in the whole fucking CIA, they couldn't do a thing.'

'Don't go where you got no chance.'

'Not my nature, Frankie. It's how I am.'