Pandora's Closet Part 6

She raised the lamp higher. Walter stepped forward, outraged but quailing at the idea of a fight. When Desiree saw him, her eyes lit up.

Carmichael turned.

Walter blurted, "Hey, what-what's going on here?" He wished he could hide or, at the very least, run back out of the apartment and return to do a second take of the scene. He needed to be a tough guy, like Dirty Harry in Sudden Impact-"Go ahead, make my day"-and the best he could come up with was a Don Knotts-worthy "Hey, what's going on here?" He groaned.

Carmichael recognized him, and his eyes grew stormy. Ignoring Desiree for the moment, the larger man lurched toward Walter, grabbed him by the s.h.i.+rt, yanked his tie, and drew Walter closer to him. "You're that little freak that sucker-punched me in my office, aren't you? Where's the spotted underwear?"

"I-I-I don't need it."

"You'll need an ambulance is what you'll need."

Indiana Jones would have done something different. He would have punched the villain, starting an all-out brawl, but as Carmichael lifted him and twisted his tie, he could only make a small "meep" sound.

"You put him down," Desiree cried, and Walter's heart lurched. She was actually defending him!

Carmichael laughed again. "You can't even save yourself. How do you expect to help this mouse?" He pushed Walter up against the wall, clenched his fist, and drew back his arm, as if c.o.c.king a shotgun.

Walter was sure his head would go straight through the drywall. "Wait. Wait, please." He swallowed and drew a deep breath. "If you're going to do this, let me face it like a man. I... I'd like to use the rest-room, please."

Carmichael blinked, then gave him a knowing smile. "Oh, afraid you're going to wet yourself, eh?" He let Walter slump to the floor. "Sure. Why not? Desiree and I were just enjoying an intimate conversation. We can wait."

He glared at her, and she sat down on the sofa, not sure what to do. Walter scurried into the bathroom and closed the door, his mind spinning. Maybe Desiree kept a gun in the bathroom, perhaps taped behind the toilet tank, like in G.o.dfather. But he found nothing there, and a quick search of the drawers and the medicine cabinet revealed no other weapons he could use to save the day.

He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and his fingers brushed a patch of sleek fur. The loincloth. It was his only chance.

Walter burst out of the bathroom wearing nothing but the sc.r.a.p of leopard-skin. Barefoot and barechested. His mind filled with the thoughts of a hunter. Testosterone and adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he let out a wild yell, pounding on his chest. His hair was a mess, his eyes on fire. Seeing his enemy, the producer, he lunged toward him like a hungry lion attacking a springbok. Walter felt total confidence and did not hesitate.

Chris Carmichael, who used his position of perceived power to intimidate people, faltered. When he saw Walter leap toward him, he suddenly reconsidered what he'd been about to do.

Walter let out another roar. His lungs seemed to have twice their normal capacity. "My woman!"

Carmichael had probably never been challenged before. A producer, even a bad producer of second-rate movies, could boss people around in Hollywood. But Walter the ape-man, wearing nothing but his loincloth in Desiree's apartment, had no doubt that he himself was king of the jungle. Carmichael turned, took several steps in retreat, then paused. Through his hunter-focused gaze, Walter watched his prey, preparing to throw himself on the man if he made a move in the wrong direction.

Desiree decided for both men, though. As Carmichael started to turn back, she lifted her lamp, and smashed it on his head. He crumpled to the carpet like King Kong falling off the Empire State Building. The rush in Walter's mind drained away, and he found himself standing naked in Desiree's apartment, except for the ape-man's loincloth. He s.h.i.+vered, and goose b.u.mps appeared on his arms. "What did I do this time?" he said, looking down at the producer with dismay.

But Desiree was close to him. Very close and very beautiful. "You protected me, Walter. You saved me." She slid her arms around his waist and gave him a hug. "You're my hero."

It was not the magic of the loincloth that made his heart start pounding again. "You-you don't mind?" he asked in surprise.

"I'll show you how much I mind in just a minute." She stepped away and looked down at the unconscious Carmichael. "But first, help me take out the garbage. We'll put him in the hall and call the police." Walter and Desiree rolled the man like a skid row drunk into the apartment hallway.

Desiree closed the door, locked it, and turned to face him. Suddenly he felt as if he were the prey and she the hungry lioness.

He gulped. "I'm really a nice guy most of the time. But I can be bad, if I need to be."

"Walter, I like that you're a nice guy. It's the first thing I noticed about you, even from a distance. You may not have known I was watching, but I've seen you hold doors for other people, help them carry things when their arms were full, lend them lunch money, listen to what they say. Most of the time, that's exactly what women want. It's what I want. But women are... complex creatures. So once in a while we also like a bit of a wild man. You seem like the best of both worlds to me."

"You may never be safe," he pointed out. "What if Mr. Carmichael comes back? I don't think he'll leave you alone."

With a lovely smile, she led him to the couch and sat him down. "In that case, maybe you'll just have to stay here to protect me."

There was a stirring in the loincloth, and he felt very self-conscious. "Maybe I should get dressed in real clothes."

"No, Walter. You stay just the way you are." Desiree leaned over to kiss him.

SEAMLESS.

by Michael Stackpole.

"Oh, Connor! This is nothing like the way I left 'it."

The genuine surprise on Daniella Granger's face matched the tone of her voice. Slender, but not short enough to be considered pet.i.te, Dani wore her dark hair to her shoulders and had light gray eyes that probably should have been called dove gray-soft and a bit timid.

"When you moved out from your boyfriend's place, you weren't so neat."

She slowly shook her head. "No. The break-up came just after my grandfather's death. I was a mess, and that's what I left the locker in."

I took another quick glance into the storage unit, looking for anything truly weird. Nothing except, maybe the way things were organized. All the stuff, from boxes crammed with papers to an old TV and some ragged suitcases, had been very neatly stacked against three walls, leaving a bare concrete slab directly below the single, unshaded light bulb.

Right there, in the spotlight, sat a small wooden box, roughly a foot and a half long, a foot in the other two dimensions. It looked old, had a rusty latch on it, and most of the black and gold paint had been worn away. The gold once had been decoration, but I couldn't make out what the designs were meant to be.

I entered the locker and dropped to a knee beside the box. "You ever see this before?"

"No." Dani rested her hands on my shoulders and peeked around me. "No, wait, yes. I think so."

"Which is it?"

"I saw it once in my grandfather's attic. He told me never to touch it and never to tell anyone I'd seen it. He moved it somewhere, so I'd not seen it since."

"You're sure this is the same box?"

She squeezed my shoulders. "I think so, but how could it get here? I mean, his estate was tiny, and my aunt said there was nothing for me. I never got anything, and I'd not have put it in storage if I did. I loved my grandfather."

I stood and took her hands in mine, squeezing them gently. "It's okay. It's no big deal. It's weird, like the rest of the stuff, but not a crisis."

She glanced down, but squeezed my hands back. "I know I'm acting silly, but ever since he died I've been rudderless. I thought I was holding it to together, but..."

"Not a problem. We'll figure this out." I picked up the box. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all of this."

"And if there isn't?"

I smiled. "Then my boss will find something else that will work."

Daniella didn't say much as we headed back to Casa Chaos, where my employer lives and, nominally speaking, works. Merlin Bloodstone bills himself as an occultist, but the IRS doesn't have a code for that, so I'm not sure it's a real occupation. Practically speaking, he provides spiritual advice for a bunch of very rich clients who could save themselves a lot of money if they'd just buy a gross of fortune cookies and read one every day.

That's unfair, but I didn't feel like being fair. I'd tried to brief him on Dani's situation, but he wanted none of it. Nor did he come down to meet her when she'd come to the house earlier. He remained hidden in his sanctum and sent me a note instructing me to do whatever I thought best.

That was inhospitable and rude-par for the course when he was in a mood. In his defense he'd note that we were under no obligation to help her. I disagreed, but then I'd heard her voice on the phone and had checked her out on Mys.p.a.ce. On a scale of one to Salma Hayek, Dani hit 7.5, and got a bonus point for being a damsel in distress.

We got back to Paradise Valley easily, parked and went straight to the office. Dani trailed in my wake, and the office won a big gasp from her. I rate guests on their reaction, and she scored solidly.

The office is impressive and extends up through the second floor. The west wall is made up of tall windows that provide a stunning view of Camelback Mountain 's north face. Opposite it and all along the north wall are built-in bookshelves, with a catwalk about ten feet up to allow access to the top half of the shelves. A spiral, wrought-iron staircase in the southeast corner is the quick way to get up there, and there's a door for access from the second floor as well. The south wall is where Bloodstone hangs all the photographs of himself taken with lots of different clients, as well as plaques and awards, some of which are inscribed in languages I don't think even exist anymore. The doorway through which we entered splits that wall in half.

I carried the box in and plunked it down on Bloodstone's desk. The desk is this ma.s.sive thing-only slightly smaller than the new US Emba.s.sy in Iraq. Save for a lamp, a blotter, a phone, a penholder and sometimes a book, he keeps it completely empty. I centered the box neatly and considered turning the lock away from where he would stand, but that would just be petty.

The middle of the room has a tan leather couch facing the desk but canted at some angle that has to do with the dictates of feng shui. Three rust-colored leather chairs-those big wing-back things that ought to be in a Victorian Gentlemans' club-face the couch. They have side tables between them, and a coffee table fronts the couch. I waved Dani to the couch, then retreated to my desk back by the wet bar.

I was going to ask her what kind of tea she wanted, but my boss decided to make his entrance, cutting me off. Bloodstone-more properly Doctor Merlin Bloodstone-is small enough to be considered pet.i.te-save for his head, his ego and this intensity he radiates. He wears his black hair slicked back, emphasizing his widow's peak. Compared to his body, his head is huge, and his violet eyes are large as well. Some folks built that way appear innocent, but Bloodstone looks on the verge of changing into some kind of monster.

He paused in the doorway and nodded to me. "Ti Kwan Yin for the both of us, Connor. You may have what you want."

Without giving me another glance, he turned and crossed to where Daniella was rising from the couch. Bloodstone had chosen to wear a gray suit with a blue s.h.i.+rt and a blue-green tie, the like of which I'd never seen him wear before. This worried me. His moods determine how he chooses to dress. We were off into the land of the lost, and I didn't like that.

"I'm so sorry I could not join you this morning, but I see you and Connor had some success. Please, sit." He waited for her to sit, then took the centermost chair. "Connor briefed me earlier, but I should like to hear it in your own words."

I shot Bloodstone a glare he ignored. The rat. He'd not wanted to listen to one word of anything I wanted to report, and now he made it sound as if he'd been engrossed in every little detail.

Dani didn't notice any duplicity. "It is about as simple as it is strange. I work as a server at Chelsea 's Kitchen, over on Fortieth Street, north of Camelback."

Bloodstone nodded. "I know it. A very pleasant place."

"Thanks." Dani smiled up at me as I brought her the tea. "Two days ago I had a couple of four-tops, an eight, and a single. The single was a saint, just sitting quietly, not hurried at all. He knew what he wanted, liked what he got, lingered over coffee for a bit, but never hit on me or anything, the way some guys do."

I brought Bloodstone his tea, then joined Dani on the couch. She sipped for a moment, her smile widened, then she continued her tale. "The guy paid promptly in cash and left me twenty on a fifty-dollar tab. He also left me this."

She dug into her jeans and produced a small padlock key. "I thought he'd just forgotten it. I tried to find him in the parking lot, but he was long since gone. I pocketed it, a.s.suming he'd call. Then, the next day, I get a package at work. It's got a cell phone in it. One number is programmed in. Yours."

Bloodstone glanced at me. "Possible?"

"Easy." I could have explained, but it would have been a waste of breath. Bloodstone makes the average Luddite look like Stephen Hawking.

"Please, Miss Granger, continue."

"The phone has a scheduler. An alert came up about my storage locker. Today, the lock I'd used was gone, and this key fit the new one. Everything had been moved, and that box-my grandfather's box-was in there."

Bloodstone set his tea down and walked around to the far side of his desk. "You said it was your grandfather's. When did you last see it?"

"Nineteen years ago. He raised me after my parents were killed in a car accident. He died four months ago, but no one ever sent this to me."

"Interesting trick, leaving it there after burgling your storage locker." Bloodstone bent down and peered at the lock. "Tell me about your grandfather."

She shrugged. "His name was Jack Granger. He was loving but low key. He used to say he'd gotten enough excitement in World War II, so he was content with a quiet life."

Bloodstone glanced at the return address. "What did he do in the war?"

"He was with the OSS. He was in Italy before our troops were."

My boss slid open a drawer and brought out a cigar-box that rattled as he set it down. He opened it, displaying a tangle of old-fas.h.i.+oned keys. "Do you have any objection to my opening the box?"

"I guess not." She hesitated for a moment. "I guess it's okay."

I glanced at him. "Her grandfather made her promise never to touch it."

"I see." Bloodstone nodded. "Miss Granger, you would agree that this prohibition may have expired. The box's presence in your locker and the delivery of the phone are indicative of someone's desire for you to bring this here."

"Yes, true, but I don't want to disappoint him."

"I suspect, if you ever had, the box never would have been entrusted to you." Bloodstone brushed his long fingers over the wooden lid. "This would have been beautiful when new."

Dani crossed her arms. "How old do you think it is?"

"At least a thousand years."

He said it so matter-of-factly that it took me a couple seconds to figure out what he was really saying. "You mean 'Before Columbus discovered America ' old?"

"Without question." He rapped a knuckle against it, and it thumped solidly. "Cedar, probably from Lebanon. I believe it comes from Outremer."

Bloodstone p.r.o.nounced it the right way, as French for "Beyond the Ocean."

I raised an eyebrow. "As in the Crusader Kingdoms?"

"The same." He fished through the keys. He inserted one into the lock. He twisted and the latch clicked up.

"Boxes like this are not unusual. In its day it would have been painted with images and symbols appropriate to the contents. Many such boxes arrived in Europe from Outremer. Sometimes the contents were genuine, sometimes fakery, but they were always treasured by those who possessed them."

Dani shook her head. "I kind of figured he got it during the war and brought it home. Looting, I guess, though I can't imagine him doing that."

"He would not have been unique in bringing back a treasure." Bloodstone's eyes narrowed. "I doubt this was a war relic, however."

Relic? Something clicked in my head. "Is that a reliquary? Are we going to find bones in there?"

"Unlikely. It didn't rattle." Bloodstone opened the box slowly, even reverently. He clearly had a clue as to what he would find, but the contents of the box blew past his preconceptions. Bloodstone's eyes widened almost as Dani's had, and there was no hiding his surprise.

We both came forward, and I was bracing myself for some skull-thing crawling with bugs or snakes or something. The look on Dani's face suggested she was dreading the same. We both took our first gander at it, then exchanged glances.

She put it into words. "I don't get it. It's a rag."

Bloodstone's voice shrank to a whisper. "Not a rag. It is a fine piece of weaving, definitely homespun. It is probably twice as old as the box."

I frowned at him. "You're telling me this came from the time of Jesus?"

He nodded solemnly. "I have little doubt it came from that time."