The Dark at the End Read online

  Weezy nodded. "That's the grabber. "

  "Damn right it is. Appeals to the elitism in all of us. And it's not a marketing tool. You really do have to qualify. They put you through a rigorous vetting that lots of people don't pass. "

  "'Many are called but few are chosen. '"

  "You're quoting Jesus now?"

  She shrugged. "Whatever fits. "

  "Well, whatever their criteria, I was chosen. I look back and can't believe I let them brand me. That's how seductive it is. I spent six years in blissful ignorance until. . . "

  "Until I upset the apple cart. "

  "Turned on the light is more like it. " He shook his head again. "The Order was going to kill me. "

  Right . . . bad enough Eddie had learned something he wasn't supposed to know, he'd mentioned it to the wrong person.

  He added, "They would have if Jack hadn't interfered. "

  Weezy had to smile. "He's very good at interfering. "

  Had it been only two weeks?

  "You should have seen him, Weez. He beat the crap out of some guy named Szeto, then killed the guy who was driving me on my one-way trip. I mean, killed him like you or I would swat a fly. "

  "Well, the driver was trying to shoot you. "

  "I know that. " He barked a brittle laugh. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not being the least bit critical. You'd told me he'd killed to protect you, but the image wouldn't stick. Then I saw him in action and he was . . . the best way I can put it is coldly efficient. It was like someone else had taken over. "

  Weezy nodded. "He's able to do that. It's like he has a switch that can turn off every emotion and allow him to do what has to be done without hesitation. "

  "Well, I don't have that, but I do want to get involved. "

  "In what?"

  "In getting in the Order's way. They've made a mess of my life, so I'd like to return the favor. "

  A part of Weezy immediately disliked this. The last time he'd been proactive hadn't turned out so well.

  "I don't know, Eddie. . . "

  He leaned forward. "Why not? You don't think I can be useful?"

  "You're maybe a little too emotionally involved. "

  "I'm an actuary, Weez. " He tapped a temple. "A numbers guy. I can be dispassionate, especially about probabilities. "

  "But you have no idea of the scope of what we're up against. The Order is just the tip of the tip of an unimaginable iceberg. Meanwhile, humanity, existence as we know it, is sunning itself on the decks of the Titanic. "

  He frowned. "'Humanity' . . . 'existence as we know it'?"

  She sensed a reflexive doubt.

  "Listen to me, Eddie: It's black. "

  He hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. Black. I accept that it's black because I trust you. But you never take things simply on faith, so don't expect me to. You need to educate me. "

  She wished he could have been at the Lady's just a little while ago. Seeing that flap of skin melt into her back . . . that would have been a combination education and big-time doubt eraser.

  She tapped her backpack. "I've got the Compendium. I'm going to give you a crash course in the Conflict. "

  "The Conflict?"

  "With an uppercase C. " She looked around. "But not here. Eat up and we'll go to your apartment. We'll start with the First Age. "

  He frowned. "That little black pyramid you found as a kid . . . you said it was from some First Age. "

  "It was, Eddie. It's all connected. Everything is connected. "

  Wait till she told him about the Otherness and the Ally and the Lady - he'd grown up knowing her as Mrs. Clevenger - and all the rest. The big question: Would he be able to handle the fact that he and the rest of humanity were property?

  THURSDAY Chapter 7

  Hank Thompson popped into Drexler's office to see if he'd calmed down from yesterday. And to see if maybe he'd explain his "you might be the most surprised of all" remark. It had bothered him yesterday, but after last night's dream . . .

  The Kicker Man in trouble again, worse this time. Just like the past few nights, he'd been under attack by a flock of birds or things that looked like birds - like in that movie where the birds turned on people. Just like before, they swarmed him, but this time they knocked him down and wouldn't let him get up. And at the end he'd just lain there as they pecked at him.

  Gave Hank the creeps.

  Annoying Drexler would take the edge off.

  But instead of Drexler he found his enforcer, Szeto, in the office. Not just in the office, but seated behind Drexler's desk. The Kickers had their fair share - some said more than their fair share - of scary guys, but Hank had always found Szeto even scarier. Everything about the guy was black, from his eyes to his hair - Hank had always wanted to ask if he dyed it - to his clothes. He looked better than he had a couple of weeks ago when someone worked him over real good. Anyone who could put that kind of hurt on Szeto had to be one tough mother.

  "Where's the boss?"

  "Mister Drexler not in today," he said in English warped by an Eastern European accent. Russian? Romanian? Hungarian? They all sounded the same to Hank.

  Then he raised his black-booted feet and plopped them on the desk.

  "Don't know if the boss would like that. "

  "Do I look worried?"

  Hank noted the smug tone. What was going down here? A little palace revolt in the works?

  Szeto smiled. "Is something I can help you with?"

  Hank was about to say no, then remembered a little research Szeto had been assigned last month.

  "Remember those guys you were supposed to look into? The one who'd been a kid when Drexler met him - the friend of the brother and sister you were hunting - and John Tyleski, the one who stole something from me?"

  Stole the Compendium of Srem . . . Hank couldn't believe he'd allowed that to happen. He still lay awake some nights dreaming of strangling that son of a bitch.

  Szeto shook his head. "Both are dead ends. The boy disappears during college. No record, not of taxes or even Social Security number. Your man, Tyleski, he lives only on paper. Has credit card and Social Security but address is mailbox. "

  Hank wandered around the office. The news was hardly a surprise. About a year ago - in fact, next month would make it exactly a year - this asshole Tyleski had presented himself as a reporter from the Trenton Times who wanted to interview him about his book and the growing Kicker movement. Back then, Hank would ramble on to anyone who'd listen. The guy had asked all the wrong questions - hell, they almost got into a fight. Hank ran a check and found out the Trenton Times had never heard of John Tyleski. And then he went and robbed Hank of what was unquestionably the most valuable book on Earth - mugged him and snatched it in broad daylight.

  Hank couldn't report the theft, of course, because the book had been stolen from the Museum of Natural History by one of his Kickers.

  But wait . . .

  Certain tidbits began to circulate in his head, bouncing off each other, looking for ways to fit together.

  "Check this out: We've got a real person - personally known to our good buddy Drexler - who grows up and disappears. Later on there's a person who uses the name of a man who exists only on paper. " He turned to Szeto. "Could the first guy have become the second?"

  Szeto looked mildly interested. "Possible. But not probable. "

  "Tyleski knew more about me and other things than anybody should know. " That had become apparent to Hank during the interview. "And then last summer up pops this guy who Tasers your boss and me while we're trailing the Fhinntmanchca. Only Drexler got a look at him. "

  Szeto smirked. "No. You must have seen him as well. I understand he was posing as Kicker and was in and out of here many times. "

  Hank had been down with a zillion Taser volts in him and not noticing a whole lot of what was going on in his immediate vicinity. The guy had been wearing a beard so it was hard to sync up memories of Tyleski
with Drexler's description of the Taser guy. No point in getting sidetracked into the possibility that Tyleski could have grown a beard and been right under Hank's nose for who the hell knew how long.

  "According to Drexler, the Taser guy had brown hair and brown eyes, just like Tyleski, and he also knew all sorts of stuff no one outside the Order should know. So, couldn't he and Tyleski be the same person?"

  Szeto looked a little more interested. "Possible. "

  "But still not probable?"

  "I do not know. "

  "Can we agree on still improbable, but less so?"

  Szeto shrugged. "If you wish. "

  "Good. Then, as I recall, last summer you were looking for a woman who knew lots more than she should. "

  Szeto's eyes flashed. "Louise Myers, yes. We know where is bitch but the One does not wish her touched. "

  "But what if we - ?"

  "The One has spoken. "

  Hank sighed. The One, the One, the One.

  "Okay. Be that as it may, I recall that she had a protector who killed just about every man you sent against her. A man you never saw and could never find. And the Myers gal comes from that same town as the man Drexler knew as a boy, the one who vanished without a trace. "

  Szeto dropped his feet from the desk and leaned forward. "You really think. . . ?"

  "All I'm saying is we've got three guys messing with us - 'Tyleski,' the Taser guy, and the killer - and no one knows who they are or where they are. They're untraceable. "

  "But you mention boy. "

  "Yeah. The boy - a fourth guy we can't find. A circle is a perfect shape, and I see things circling back to a certain boy in that small town in Jersey. Could all four mystery men turn out to be just one guy?"

  Szeto pounded his fist on the desk. "But we do not know where he is!"

  "The boy's got to have family - "

  "All dead or disappeared. "

  "Then we're left with Louise Myers, who you're afraid to touch. "

  Szeto smiled like a snake. "You are free to approach her. Do not let me stop you. "

  Going against the One . . . uh-uh.

  "Well then, looks like we're stuck, amigo. "

  "No. Not stuck. He has been to high school and to university. We can get picture - "

  "Right-right-right. Yearbooks. " Hank hadn't thought of that.

  "And you can see if face is same as Tyleski. "

  "Well, that'll answer some questions about who he is, but we won't be any closer to knowing where. Let's just hope that if the One changes his mind about the Myers babe, he lets your people know. Because she can point us to him, and I sorely want to get my hands on that fucker. "

  Szeto rose to his feet and puffed up behind the desk. "The One speaks to me. He will tell me first. "

  Hank stared at Szeto as the implications of that remark sank in.

  First?

  "I thought he spoke to your boss - "

  "No. Speaks to me. He comes to me for solution to problems. If he does not wish Myers woman disturbed, okay. I am in her hometown many times. I can find other way perhaps. "

  "In Jersey? What for?"

  "Is not your concern. The One gives me many things to do and I am taking care of them all. "

  Many things to do?

  "Like what?"

  That smirk again. "If the One wishes you to know, I am sure he will tell you. "

  Had Drexler been taken out of the loop? Hank didn't like that. Not one bit. Because if Drexler had been booted aside, Hank might be next.

  . . . You might be the most surprised of all . . .

  Hell, he might have been given the boot already and didn't even know it.

  THURSDAY Chapter 8

 

  Dawn followed Dr. Heinze through the Midtown Tunnel onto the Long Island Expressway. Her stomach totally knotted when he turned off on Woodhaven Boulevard and headed south into Rego Park. She'd grown up in this area. He continued on to Forest Hills where he eventually parked his car in the driveway of a two-story brick house with a manicured lawn and shrubbery that probably looked beautiful in season.

  Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

  Now where had that come from? Oh, yeah. Her mother used to recite that nursery rhyme line every time they pulled into their driveway.

  Dawn's throat tightened. God, how she missed her.

  She shook it off and stared at the house. Well, Dr. Heinze, I now know where you live.

  What she was going to do with that information, Dawn hadn't a clue, but she tucked the address away, just in case . . .

  She wound her way back to Queens Boulevard and Rego Park, and slowed as she passed the Tower Diner where she used to wait tables . . . where she first met Jerry Bethlehem or whatever his real name was . . . where he started spinning the lies that led her into his bed and got her pregnant with the child she was now chasing.

  Full circle.

  Her hands seemed to have a life of their own as they turned the wheel, taking her off Queens Boulevard into the confusing local residential streets. She headed for 68th Drive, which paralleled 68th Road and 68th Avenue. She slowed before an older, stucco-walled house with high-peaked gables and an attached two-car garage. On impulse she pulled into the driveway.

  Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

  Mom's house. The house Dawn had left to move in with Jerry. She remembered it being better kept, then realized it had been almost a year since her mother had died in there, leaving a huge hole in her life.

  A sob burst from her as she saw the foreclosure sign. Mom had loved that place, had worked so hard to earn it, and now . . .

  She stared at the darkened windows.

  What would you do, Mom? Would you tell me to find my baby or let him go?

  Dawn realized her mother might very well tell her to let him go. She'd warned her against Jerry from the get-go, but Dawn wouldn't listen. And Dawn was totally sure she'd tell her now that nothing good could ever come from something that came from Jerry.

  And maybe she was right.

  But I can't let it go, Mom. I can't.

  A car pulled out of a driveway two doors down - the Schanz house. It turned this way and slowed as it approached, the driver probably wondering about a car parked outside the deserted Pickering place. Dawn's pulse picked up as she recognized Mrs. Schanz behind the wheel. Couldn't be seen here by that old busybody - not when she was a "person of interest" in her mother's death.

  She turned her head, praying the biddy wouldn't recognize her in the failing light.

  After Mrs. Schanz moved on, Dawn backed out and gunned away. She headed back to Manhattan, but she'd be back in the morning to trail Dr. Heinze from his house to the foundation - just to make sure he didn't make any stops between.

  She shook her head, realizing how this had totally become a sickness. But she couldn't let go. She couldn't.

  THURSDAY Chapter 9

  A voice had invaded Hank's head. A cut from his conversation with Szeto kept playing and replaying as he walked up from the Lodge toward Allen Street.

  "The One speaks to me. He will tell me first. "

  "I thought he spoke to your boss - "

  "No. Speaks to me. "

  Couple that with how distracted Drexler had seemed the last time he'd seen him -

  No, more than distracted - upset. Drexler was pretty damn near the most together, focused guy he'd ever met. But not yesterday. Yesterday he looked like he was being held together by spit and baling wire.

  Had something gone wrong at the Order? Their High Council had an inside track on everything connected to the Change, and Drexler was Hank's connection to those bozos. Hank was counting on riding with them to Mover-Shaker status after the Change.

  But then Drexler had made that "the most surprised of all" remark.

  Hank had to get all this straightened out, and the only guy he knew who could do that was Drexler.

 
; But he wasn't answering his phone. Hank had left half a dozen messages.

  Only one thing to do. Go over there and get some face time, whether Drexler liked it or not.

  Hank reached Allen Street and found it at a standstill. Something must have happened on the outward-bound Williamsburg Bridge around the corner. He'd planned on taking a cab but Drexler's place wasn't all that far away. He decided to walk.

  THURSDAY Chapter 10

  "Hello, Mister Drexler. "

  Ernst had just stepped into his dark and supposedly empty apartment. He fumbled with the grocery bag he was carrying, almost dropping it in shock at the sound of the voice.

  The One would occasionally surprise him by suddenly appearing in his office or apartment. But this was not the One's voice. Ernst almost wished it were. It would mean . . .

  "Who are you?"

  "An old acquaintance. "

  Ernst felt for the wall switch, found and flipped it. The light revealed a nondescript man in his midthirties relaxing in a chair on the far side of the room. He looked like someone off the street: jeans, baseball cap, sweatshirt. He was clean shaven, with brown hair, brown eyes . . . and was that one of Ernst's Grolsch lagers in his hand?

  Something about his face ignited a spark of familiarity, but not bright enough for recognition.

  "You look familiar. . . "

  "Remember your little sojourn at the Lodge in Johnson, New Jersey?"

  And then it all came crashing back.

  "Jack. "

  The man nodded. "Your former groundskeeper. "

  Controlling his initial shock, Ernst walked across his front room and set the bag on the counter. As the answers to a number of long-running questions began to flash through his mind, he realized he might be in mortal danger.

  Might be. Jack certainly had changed from the skinny teenager Ernst had known. He'd filled out but remained wiry instead of bulky. He didn't look the least bit threatening. In fact, he appeared perfectly innocuous.

  But if what Ernst suspected were true, he was anything but. Hard to believe, looking at him now, but no one knew better than Ernst how appearances could deceive.

  Talk . . . get him talking.

  "How did you get in here?"

  "The door. "

  "And how did you reach the door?"

  "The stairs. "

  Ernst clenched his jaw. The building was supposed to have excellent security. He'd have to have a talk with the management.

  "I have armed guards from the Order who routinely. . . "