The Girl In The Glass Part 19

"No," I said.

"It was my first con," he said. "My father, the great Magus Jack, would bet on anything. He'd bet me on things and never lose-coin flips, horse races, how many times a woman at the mailbox on the corner would open and close the little door after putting her letter in. When I'd lose, he'd laugh at me. It got to the point where all I wanted to do was beat him-if only just once.

"One morning, before the sun was even up, one of the few days he ever spent with me, we were walking through the park-he was going to show me some scam-and I spotted a b.u.t.terfly, closed, on a flower. I bet him I could wiggle the flower and the b.u.t.terfly wouldn't fly away. He laughed his condescending laugh at me and took the bet. I got down, grabbed the flower by the stalk, and moved it back and forth, a good six or seven times. The b.u.t.terfly hung on, wouldn't budge. He didn't laugh then but paid me in silver with a grim look on his face."

"Why didn't it fly away?" I asked.

"It was something Morty had read to me one of the nights I'd stayed with him. Out in the wild, a b.u.t.terfly can't fly until it's warmed by the sun. It needs the heat to move its blood up into the wings. I never forgot that con. b.u.t.terflies became my good luck charm."

"You never told me that before," I said.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "It feels like a lot of things are about to change." He looked up then and followed the flight of some white specimen whose name I didn't know. As if snapping out of a daydream, he again focused on me. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I just came in to say good night."

"Okay," he said and leaned back, closing his eyes. His left hand descended to rest on Morgan's shoulder.

SNOW.

When I woke in the middle of the night this time, it wasn't to the sound of a phone ringing but something a hundred times louder and far more ominous. I sat bolt upright in bed just as the din died, and then I recalled where I'd heard it before-at cabin number six. A machine gun.

As Isabel came to, sitting up next to me, I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto the floor. She struggled to get free, saying, "What are you doing?" but I whispered in her ear to stay down and keep quiet. Remaining on all fours, I scrabbled across the bedroom and out into the hallway. There was another burst of gunfire, shorter this time, and then the sound of someone kicking in the front door. We'd left the light on in the living room, and its glow seeped back into the hall where I was and into part of the kitchen. On the other side of the living room entrance, hunkering down with his back to the kitchen wall, was Antony in his boxer shorts and an unders.h.i.+rt. He held the Mauser, his finger on the trigger, the barrel pointing toward the ceiling. Looking over, he saw me and motioned with his left arm for me to get back. I started to inch away, and the next thing I knew he was spinning on his heels, bringing the gun around in his right hand. He peered quickly out into the other room and squeezed the trigger. I don't know anything about guns, but the Mauser was obviously not a mere single-shot weapon. A barrage of gunfire spat out its end.

There was silence in the living room, and I was tempted to look. I felt Isabel's hand on my back and knew she had crawled out of the bedroom behind me. I cautiously moved to the corner of the wall, all the time Antony motioning me to go back. When I finally did take a quick glance, I saw a body lying just inside the door. I pointed for Antony to look and he did. As soon as he saw no one else in the doorway, he signaled for us to run across and join him.

We literally leaped across the open entrance into the kitchen. Antony stood up and grabbed me by the back of the neck, pulling me close to him. "I'm going to lay down some fire. Take Isabel, leave by the back door. If it looks clear, run your a.s.ses off for the woods. Stay there till I come for you." I just then realized I was shaking. He let go of my head and patted me on the cheek. "You with me?" he said.

I nodded, not even considering that all I wore was a pair of pajama pants and Isabel one of my dress s.h.i.+rts. That's when the back door burst in with a jarring crash, shattered gla.s.s and splinters of wood flying everywhere, the chain lock whipping the air. The phantom landed on Antony's back, knocked the gun out of his hand, and drove him forward, face-first, into the wall as Isabel and I were shoved to the side. There was a great cracking noise, and the lathing showed an imprint of the big man's head. I put my arm in front of Isabel and pushed her out of the way.

We watched helplessly as Antony staggered away from the wall and clamped his hands on the arms of the phantom, which were now around his neck. He turned and, in one fluid motion, bent and heaved the creature over his back onto the kitchen table, the legs of which broke under the impact.

"Get out," Antony said to us. The back exit was wide open, inviting us to flee, but I couldn't leave him. The phantom sprang up immediately, and before Antony could even turn again to face his attacker the thing had viciously punched him in the side of the head. Antony went sideways across the kitchen. We heard more men entering through the front door in the living room. The big man was dazed, nearly buckling from the force of the blow. The phantom advanced upon him and threw another punch. Antony ducked, and the white fist smashed into the wall.

"Diego, run," said Sch.e.l.l, who just then appeared in the kitchen, his robe billowing behind him. He raised his arm and threw something. Only when it struck the creature's right shoulder blade and sunk in halfway to the hilt did I see it was the switchblade. There was an ear-splitting howl, and the thing arched its back. Sch.e.l.l never stopped moving but went to his knees, scooped up the Mauser off the floor, and tossed it to me. I grabbed it, turned, and aimed for the phantom's misshapen head. It saw me at the last second, and when the gun went off with, for me, an unexpected kick and explosion, it ducked and I watched as the shots. .h.i.t a man in a black suit who was just then entering the kitchen. More intruders were behind him, who caught his body as he fell backward.

I grabbed Isabel by the arm and we ran over the broken gla.s.s. A wild leap from the back steps and we were off across the yard toward the woods. At the tree line, I turned to look back and see if anyone was following us. Someone had flipped on the kitchen lights, and I saw Antony punch the phantom's muscled white form in the chest as two more men grabbed him from behind. Sch.e.l.l was completely out of sight. I let go of Isabel and started running back toward the house, but I'd not taken five steps before Antony dove headfirst through the doorway. He sailed over the steps and hit the ground, rolling head over heels. In a second he was on his feet and running at me. Two men ran out after him, but I brought the gun up and fired wildly. They ducked down long enough for Antony to reach me. He grabbed my arm, nearly lifting me off my feet, and pulled me toward the trees. As we pa.s.sed Isabel, he took her arm too. Once in the woods, hiding in a thicket, we looked back and saw that no one was following us. Antony was out of breath, bent over with his hands on his knees, heaving. I was stunned, also gasping for breath, and Isabel asked the question I would have spoken had I been able to.

"What about Mr. Sch.e.l.l?" she whispered.

"We've got to go back," I finally was able to get out.

Antony straightened up, still breathing heavily. "Give me the gun," he said. I handed it to him, and he shook his head. "Sch.e.l.l thought they might be coming," he said. "That's why he had me take care of the gun. I just don't think he expected it to come so soon-or so strong."

"He's in trouble, though. We've got to do something," I said.

"He told me if anything happened I was to get you two clear and wait till things died down. So that's what I'm doing," he said.

"They'll kill him," I shouted.

Antony backhanded me across the side of the face. "Shut up," he said. "I don't get paid to second-guess him."

There was the sound of commotion in the house, coming from just about every room. "Get down," he said. "If we don't see them coming, we'll stay right here."

Antony crouched, and Isabel and I followed his lead. It was freezing out and I put my arm around her, the two of us s.h.i.+vering as much from fear as from the cold. It was torture waiting for the sound of another gunshot.

"What are they doing?" I asked.

"They're looking for Morgan," he said.

"Donde esta ella?" asked Isabel.

"Let's hope for Sch.e.l.l's sake they don't find her," he said.

Ten minutes pa.s.sed, maybe fifteen, and then we heard the cars start up down by the road. Gravel crunched as the cars pulled away, and everything went perfectly quiet. Antony stood up.

"Okay, I'm going in to have a look around. Wait here until I give you the high sign." As he made his way through the trees and across the yard, dressed in his nightclothes, the gun held high, it started to snow; giant, wet flakes.

"Tengo mucho frio," said Isabel.

"A few minutes more," I said. In the time we'd waited for them to clear out of the house, I'd thought of nothing, but now my mind was on fire with images of what we might find in the house. I saw brief mind flashes of Sch.e.l.l and Morgan slaughtered on the kitchen floor. Finally I stood up and told Isabel, "I can't wait any longer."

As we headed out of the woods, Antony came to the back door, dressed in a s.h.i.+rt and trousers and signaled to us that the coast was clear. Before turning back inside, he called, "I don't see Sch.e.l.l or Morgan anywhere. They must have taken them."

The place was a complete wreck, Sch.e.l.l's once-orderly domain now a chaotic mess. The furniture was overturned, lamps and paintings were smashed, and dozens of b.u.t.terflies had escaped the Bugatorium and floated above the debris, already peris.h.i.+ng in the cold air rus.h.i.+ng in through the open doorways. The first thing I did was find a blanket for Isabel and wrap it around her, but Antony warned, "No time for that. Get dressed. We're getting out of here in case they come back." After dressing, we helped Antony perform one more search of the house, but the others were nowhere to be found. Suddenly, the big man said, "s.h.i.+t, I just remembered something." We followed him to Sch.e.l.l's bedroom, where he went directly to the already open closet, reached in, grabbed an armload of suits, and threw them on the bed. Leaning into the closet again, he put his hand up to the ceiling. "There's a b.u.t.ton in here somewhere," he said, groping around. This was something I'd never known about. A moment later, a panel in the rear wall of the closet slid back to reveal a compartment filled with the form of Morgan Shaw dressed in a long white silk nightgown. Antony held his hand out to her and helped her into the bedroom.

The first thing she said was, "Where is he?"

"They took him," said Antony.

Morgan began to cry, covering her face with her hands.

"No time for tears, sister," said Antony. "Get dressed. I'll go start the car." Luckily they'd left the Cord in one piece. As we piled in, Antony said he figured that if they were coming back they'd at least have slashed the tires so we couldn't get away. Still, he insisted on leaving the house. When we were on the road, he told me that Sch.e.l.l kept a little place in Babylon on the South Sh.o.r.e, next to the bay. "It's sort of a glorified fis.h.i.+ng shack, but it's got a fireplace and a stove," he said. This was yet another revelation to me.

"He never told me about it," I said and tears came to my eyes.

"s.h.i.+t, kid, he's got secrets he doesn't even tell himself. Don't take it so personally," said Antony as he pulled out onto the road. The light from the headlamps glinted off a fine dusting of snow that had already stopped falling.

"It's not that," I said, now outright crying.

"There's one piece of good news," said Antony. "I got a clear look at that so-called phantom tonight. He's no monster. I'm sure of that from the way he yodeled when Sch.e.l.l threw that s.h.i.+v into him. He's just a f.u.c.ked-up guy with a pasty complexion, a big lumpy head, and in serious need of a dentist. He's in perfect shape, though, and strong as an ox. Must be a b.i.t.c.h wearing nothing but that pair of shorts he's got on in this weather. Nothing a couple of bullets wouldn't bring down, though."

"Are they going to kill him?" said Morgan, leaning forward over the front seat.

"Who, Sch.e.l.l?" asked Antony. "I don't know."

She sat back and started crying again. I turned to see how Isabel was doing, and she was staring quietly ahead in shock. Only Antony was operating as if it was business as usual. The drive from the North Sh.o.r.e to the South Sh.o.r.e was fairly long. Both Isabel and Morgan eventually dozed off, their nerves frayed. I was also succ.u.mbing to a deep weariness, my eyes blinking like mad, my mind numb. I tried to stay awake to keep Antony company, but I was fatigued beyond measure. Although he hadn't spoken for miles, the big man turned to me somewhere in the middle of the trip and said, "You awake?"

I shook my head to bring myself around and sat up. "Yeah," I said.

"Listen, Sch.e.l.l and I agreed yesterday that I'm good at following orders but I'm no mastermind. He said if anything happened to him, you should take over. So, kid, as of right now, you're the boss."

"What?" I said, unsure as to what I'd just heard.

"You're the man now, junior," he said.

"Okay," was all I could get out. I was too tired to comprehend the implications of my new position. My first act as the head of our operation was to slump over and fall fast asleep.

HOLY s.h.i.+NOLA.

By noon the next day, after having slept and eaten something, Antony and I were back at the house. We'd left Morgan and Isabel in the fis.h.i.+ng cottage in Babylon as it seemed secluded enough to be safe. I'd also told Antony to instruct Isabel on how to fire the gun, which we'd left with her. The weight of my responsibility had begun to dawn on me during the return trip to the North Sh.o.r.e, and although the prospect of calling the shots was frightening, I had to laugh, remembering how only a few nights before, I'd felt so mature, thanks to having my arm around a woman and a drink in my hand. It struck me now that growing up had more to do with others being able to count on you, and whether or not you could pull through in a jam.

Antony rigged the back door to keep it closed and nailed up an old rug over the front entrance to keep out most of the autumn breeze. I built a fire in the living room using the shattered remains of the furniture. Once the blaze was really rolling and the house had started to warm up, I made my first decision. Going to my bedroom, I fetched the turban, my pasha pants, and the high-collared blouses that had been the props, and a good part of the lie, of Ondoo, and chucked them all into the fire. Black smoke, like some evil genie, roiled upward from those garments, and the stink of them burning seemed somehow right to me.

I went to Sch.e.l.l's room, chose one of his silk suits (a cream-colored one with a vest), a pair of s.h.i.+ny black shoes, and an indigo tie. I knew intuitively somehow that these things would fit me, and they did. It was a stroke of luck that when Sch.e.l.l was abducted, he was in his pajamas, because that meant he'd left behind his wallet (we'd need the money) and the skeleton key, which I knew would come in handy. Slicking back my hair in the mirror, I studied my reflection, and it struck me that, like one of Sch.e.l.l's b.u.t.terflies, I'd finally emerged from my coc.o.o.n.

I walked out into the kitchen, where Antony was making coffee. He looked up, and I know he noticed my new attire but said nothing as he turned his attention back to filling the pot.

"Did they cut the phone wire?" I asked.

"No," he said, turning off the tap.

"When you get a chance," I said, "call Hal Izzle. Tell him what happened to Sch.e.l.l and tell him we need him to get out here as soon as possible. We'll pick him up at the station."

"Okay, boss," said Antony. He put the pot on the stove and then went into the office to make the call. I took my seat at the kitchen table, focused on the intricate wing pattern of a mosaic, Colobura dirce Colobura dirce, that lay dead next to the sugar bowl, and took stock of what I knew and what I needed to know. My only goal now was to save Sch.e.l.l. I didn't care any longer if we got Agarias or avenged Charlotte Barnes.

When we picked Hal up at the station in Port Was.h.i.+ngton a few hours later, he was wearing an overcoat with extra-long sleeves, a pair of gloves, and a hat with an exceedingly wide brim he kept turned down, obscuring his face from the curious and the cruel.

"Anything from Tommy?" he asked as he settled into the back-seat of the Cord and removed the huge hat.

"Nothing," said Antony.

"Kid, what's with you?" Hal said, pulling off his gloves. "One time I see you, you're a swami, and now you're a gigolo. You've got more disguises than Lon Chaney."

"The kid's in charge now," said Antony.

"Holy s.h.i.+nola," said Hal. "Congrats on the promotion." He reached his hand into the front seat and I shook it.

"It's not something I wanted," I said. "But you can call me Diego from now on." I felt Hal's hand on my shoulder. "You're going to do fine, Diego," he said.

"Thanks," I said, feeling as though I'd jumped some hurdle by naming myself.

"Wait till you see what he's got cooked up for you," said Antony, smiling into the rearview mirror. I then held up the leash and collar I'd kept out of sight on my lap.

"The old leash and collar," said Hal, his eyes widening. "You must have been talking to some of my lady friends."

"I don't know how to say this without being offensive," I said. "But you've got to play the dog."

"How could I be offended?" he said. "That's my bread and b.u.t.ter. You want me to bite somebody, pee on a lamppost, hump some dame's leg? Just let me know."

"You've got to get naked," said Antony.

Hal howled. "This is going to be better than I thought," he said and proceeded to take off his coat and start unb.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt.

"I should have put a tarp down on the backseat," the big man said.

"f.u.c.k you, Henry," said Hal. "Diego, do I have any lines, or do you just want me to act doglike?"

"All dog," I said.

"My specialty," he said.

We drove for a while, and as Hal put the collar on I explained my plan. After we crossed the Cold Spring Harbor town line, Antony asked, "What's this street we're looking for?" I looked down at the directions Stintson had given me. "Bungtown Road," I told him. "It should be the third left up here."

It was late afternoon by the time we drove slowly past the ERO. It was a good-size building set back from the road, at the end of a straight path that led right to the front door. I couldn't help but think that it was trying to hide itself among the surrounding trees while its "researchers" did their nefarious work. I directed Antony to drive to the end of the block and park. There was a field and some woods behind the building, and it was my plan to approach the place from the back.

"This could take some time," I told Antony. "Once Hal gets back to the car, drive around for a while and then pull up on Bungtown a little ways down the street but facing the building so you can see me when I come out. We may have to move quickly."

"No sweat," he said.

"Okay, let's go," I said to Hal.

"See you later, Henry," he said and slipped into his overcoat.

"Spread some fleas around in that joint," said Antony.

Hal laughed, but the second he stepped out of the car, his entire demeanor changed. He was now a sullen mishap of nature, escaped from who knew where, as evidenced by the leash dangling from the collar around his neck. His expression had gone completely dull, and a glimmering string of drool hung from the corner of his mouth. When I started walking, he shuffled along beside me like a mindless animal. The transformation astonished me. Hal Izzle was a pro.

We crossed the field and made our way carefully through the woods at the back of the building, making sure no one was watching us from inside. After stas.h.i.+ng his coat in the woods, we dashed out from under the cover of the trees over to the left side of the building, scurrying close to the ground, below window level. When we reached the front, I took a little paper bag from inside my pocket and handed it to Hal. He opened it, put his head back, and brought it to his mouth, letting some of the white powder sift in between his lips. He chewed on the baking soda and worked up some spit, and before long he was frothing at the mouth.

"Okay," I whispered, "you're good."

I stayed put with my back to the side wall of the building, trying to imagine the plan unfolding. Hal, for his part, was to enter the foyer and stumble around, as if disoriented. Then he was to drop to all fours, growl, whimper, and eventually just lie down and curl up on the floor until the guard got out of his chair. The idea was to get the guy to follow him outside and distract him long enough for me to slip in behind them.

The wait was torture, and I started to worry that the guard might have a gun and, being spooked by the sight of Hal, draw it. Somehow twilight had arrived without my noticing its approach, and the impending darkness turned my thoughts gloomy. When I was about ready to come out of hiding and go to Hal's rescue, I heard the door open. I peered around the corner and saw the dog man on all fours, swaying back and forth. The door had closed behind him, though, and the guard had obviously stayed inside. Hal growled and barked, clawing the gla.s.s of the door, but to no avail. I realized then that if I was the guard, I might not be too anxious to get too close to this creature either, and I feared I'd miscalculated the situation.

Another minute pa.s.sed and I was sure the jig was up, but then, in what could only be described as a stroke of genius, the dog man suddenly turned sideways to the door, lifted his leg, and started peeing on it. Before he even finished, he started crawling on all fours toward the other corner of the front of the building. The door swung open, and from my hiding place, I saw the guard emerge, dressed in his blue hat and uniform, holding a billy club.

"Get out of here, you filthy mutt," he yelled. Hal got to his feet and shuffled off around the other side of the building. "Jesus Christ," said the guard. He took two steps, as if to follow, but then stopped. I started to make my move as quietly as possible, walking on tiptoe. The guard was only about eight feet from the entrance, though. I'd have definitely been caught, but just as I was about to open the door, Hal stuck his big dog head around the corner again and let loose a string of vicious barking. The man jumped a little, then lifted his club and gave chase. After that I didn't see what happened. I was inside, moving through the foyer and down a hall to the left, as Stintson had instructed.