Hopper House (The Jenkins Cycle Book 3) (15 page)

A
fter putting away
Tara’s phone, I returned to the living room and found Nate watching a show on cycling.

“I don’t mean to harp on it,” Nate said, “but you’re leaving tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Not like I’m not grateful. I just wanna get things back to normal, you know?”

I nodded. “I know.”

“Tara’s been through a lot,” he added. “She used to cry a lot more. Now she slips off and cries so I don’t see it. I just wanna give her some stability right now. But I
am
grateful to you. Understand?”

I nodded again and watched the tension ease out of him as he settled into his show.

“Thanks for being cool about it,” he said.

In truth, I did think he was a little ungrateful. But I also thought he and Tara had a right to a Jenkins-free life.

Nate sure was into his cycling show. It was like he had this weird ability to focus completely on one thing at a time: his anger at me, his worry about Tara, his interest in the show. My guess was he used that intensity at the gym every day and probably didn’t realize he was different. Total alpha male. No wonder Tara liked him so much.

Because I had zero interest in cycling, or alpha males, I headed upstairs to Scott’s old office in hope of using the computer. Pausing outside Tara’s room, I remembered the time I’d slipped into bed with her without thinking, only to get half-murdered when she woke up.

The computer still didn’t have a password. I fired up a browser and ran a search on Trevor Ellis. His condition had been downgraded from critical to serious.

Thanks for that, I guess.

I’d had several rides after my patriotic exit in New Jersey as Andre, but still didn’t know the hitman’s fate. I’d spared him because he had a code, but now I regretted that decision. I wondered how far I’d fallen, where Andre’s murders were okay but Stephen’s weren’t.

A quick search yielded the hitman’s fate: stabbed to death in jail awaiting charges of murder and kidnapping. No suspects, no witnesses.

Can’t say I didn’t try.

Another search yielded a pleasant surprise—Queens District Attorney Rachael Anderson hadn’t been innocent after all. The headlines said it best: “Runaway DA In Cahoots With The Mob.”

Well, I’ll be damned. Rose was right.

The story said Rachael had been the unwitting target of a corruption investigation. She’d worked with specifically named crime families—not Lenny and the Carpinos—contributing to a power shift in the city as they dodged one raid after another, survived search warrants, and glided through wiretaps talking about the weather. Before her death, the criminals she’d worked for had enjoyed the good life.

Again,
not
Lenny and the Carpinos, who now flourished in the power vacuum her death left behind.

I
n the morning
, Tara skipped and pirouetted around the room making scrambled eggs, bacon, English muffins, and keeping our juice glasses topped off. It was as if she were purposely banishing last night’s pall from the new and decidedly cheerful day.

“These are the best eggs I’ve had in my whole life,” Nate said before forking more into his mouth. The way he said it, I believed every word.

Tara laughed. “You say that every time I make them.”

Nate chewed contentedly, eyes half-closed. Then he surprised all of us.

“If your butt was made of these eggs,” he said, “I’d chew my way to your heart.”

Tara squealed with laughter and gave him a big kiss.

For my part, I kept my mouth shut, content to watch the new couple surprise and delight each other. When breakfast was over, I offered to help clean, and then it was just Tara and me and a sink full of dishes.

“Nate’s a great guy,” I said, “and lucky. And not just because he won the lottery.”

Tara said, “I don’t know how anyone could win the lottery twice in a row like that. He’s giving away this one to charity. The whole thing. He’s also gonna make sure that poor girl Beth is taken care of for the rest of her life, the dear.”

I knew he was helping Scott’s saddest victim, but nothing about this second stroke of fortune.

“Twice?” I said. “
In a row?
”

Tara paused in putting a plate with filigreed purple flowers into the dishwasher.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” She looked around sheepishly and lowered her voice. “About two weeks ago, I told him he should play again, just for fun. He did—then he won. This one’s not as big as the last one. Only forty million.” She laughed. “
Only
forty million, would you listen to me? He’s so blessed. He doesn’t seem to care about money. He’s already given away half of his first jackpot. The few places he invested in are doing really well—
amazingly
well. Which shows that sometimes good things happen to good people.”

I thought about that as I put away dishes. Luckily, she didn’t notice how I knew where the plates, spoons, and glasses went.

Later that morning, Tara announced she was off to visit her mom. After she left, Nate and I hopped in his Ferrari and headed to the church.

“Eat your way to her heart?” I said as we pulled out. “You silver-tongued devil.”

“That’s me,” he said, smiling proudly.

Soon we were in a more densely packed section of Toledo. I almost asked him to stop somewhere for about three hundred scratch-off tickets to see the magic for myself, but then we arrived.

The church parking lot was nearly empty, but for a Humvee with temporary tags. Black, shiny, and new.

“Someone’s overcompensating,” I said as we passed it. “Wonder if it’s the minister’s.”

“Show some respect.”

“Just joking around, buddy, relax.”

“We’re about to enter a church,” Nate said. “And while you’re at it, don’t call Father Hendricks
the
minister
. He’s a priest.”

When I’d met Anthony Hendricks, he’d been officiating Nate and Erika’s wedding, slumming as a Universalist minister. Now he was a Catholic priest again, despite not being completely on board with the church’s dogma.

“I didn’t know you were Catholic,” I said.

“I am now. Tara’s Catholic, so now I’m Catholic.”

“It’s that easy?”

He shrugged. “Tara makes it easy. And God’s God.”

Together, we went in. Nate paused to kneel and cross himself awkwardly. Deeper inside, the minister sat talking with an old man in one of the pews. The old man laughed at something the minister said. A minute later, they both got up and shook hands.

The man walked by us and said, “Good morning.”

Nate surprised him by shaking his hand and telling him, “God be with you.”

When the man left earshot, I said, “Taking the Catholic thing kind of seriously, huh?”

Nate nodded.

“Over here,” the minister called, heading toward us.

“How are you, Father?” Nate said and shook his hand, too.

“Fine, thank you,” he said before staring intently at me. “Is that you, Dan?”

“
I am that I am.
”

He frowned. “Follow me. Let’s not talk out here.”

We followed him back to that almost-secret door I’d knocked on the day before, which opened to a small office. Like the last time I was here, classical music played from a small radio sitting on a shelf. The minister turned it down, then indicated we should sit.

“Nate says you’re holding back my information,” I said. “I’d like to know why.”

The minister snorted. “I’ll give you ten reasons, and they’re all lying dead in a morgue in Washington State.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. “How could I know the guy would do that?”

“You were there. You should have done more to stop him. But you don’t seem to have a problem with life and death. You have yours, and screw everybody else.”

At his harsh words, I felt mildly dizzy.

“What about you?” I said, shaking it off. “You’re the prophet, right? How come God didn’t tell you to call the police before it happened?”

He shook his head, face reddening, and my dizziness intensified.

“That’s not how these things work,” he said. “We’re given a little knowledge if we’re lucky and the rest is up to us. Otherwise what’s the point of living? You’re a selfish—”

“Father Hendricks, please,” Nate said. “Can you just get to the thing? What we talked about?”

The minister took a deep breath and let it out, and the pressure vanished.

“Thanks to Nate and his resources,” he said, “I have a list of about sixty properties belonging to a real estate holding company. I also have their headquarters.”

I smiled. “So give me the headquarters.”

“He can’t,” Nate said. “If he does that, you’ll go there and kill someone.”

It was true, no use denying it.

“I go there, kill him, and the threat to my family disappears.”

“If you
kill
him,” the minister said, “who will send out cars to pick up the demons?”

I laughed. “Now you want to help people like Stephen? You’ve changed in our months apart.”

“Not help them,” he said. “Banish them.”

“I don’t want nothing to do with killing,” Nate said, hands up, eyes wide in alarm.

The minister made a sound of frustration. “Nobody’s killing anyone. Dan and me, in a car for the next couple of weeks. We’re going to hit these houses and … well…”

“Well?” I said.

“May as well test it.” He pointed a finger at me. “
Poke!
”

And with that word,
poke
, the room flipped upside down. I hadn’t been kicked, exactly, but it was close. He’d used his holy powers on me again—
on purpose
.

“What the hell did you do that for?” I said, brushing off Nate’s steadying arm.

“Still got my touch,” the minister said, blowing the tip of his forefinger like smoke from a six shooter. “Imagine if I’d really tried.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re going to roll in there like Father Merrin with holy water and a crucifix? You said there were sixty houses. That’s a lot. Then what—do it forever? You
do
know what happens when we get kicked out, right? We come back.”

The minister chuckled evilly. “Not when I do it, they won’t. Leave that part to me. And God. When we kick them out, they’ll be gone for good.”

We…

Not me and him, but God and him. It was interesting that he felt so sure of himself. Did he know something I didn’t? From one of those prophet dreams? Or was it all guesswork and faith?

“What about the threats to my family?” I said at last. “The landlord wants twenty thousand a month.”

“I thought you said it was ten?”

“I told you, I got that,” Nate said. “A little money is worth it to get rid of these assholes … uh, sorry, Father.” He crossed himself. “My guess is he makes way more money off these others than he’ll ever get from threatening you. He can’t afford to have them exorcised. Especially if they stay gone.”

The minister said, “I’d planned to hunt this Stephen creature down myself. Door to door, if I had to. It was Nate’s idea to hit the owner financially. If we can freeze this man’s cash flow, he’ll be way too busy struggling with his other problems to worry about your family. We just have to hit them hard. Send them back to Hell where they belong.”

I looked at Nate with newfound respect. One minute he’s complaining about how weird this is and wanting me gone, and the next he’s an old war veteran in the fight against evil.

The minister gazed at him like a proud father.

“I’ll only be around maybe two and a half more weeks,” I said. “If we hit these houses, there’s no telling if anyone will be there. You may have to do it for months before you see results. Even then, who knows how many hoppers actually use the houses? I only just discovered them myself.”

Confidently, the minister said, “We’ll do what we can. There can’t be more than two hundred fallen
irin
. It’s written in the Book of Enoch.”

Of course it is.

I needed the landlord’s address and didn’t have a way to pay my own investigators. For now, I’d play along. So long as Nate sent the money, I had plenty of time.

Something else occurred to me. “Got a piece of paper?”

The minister gave me a pen from a drawer and slid over a post-it note.

I took out George’s driver’s license and wrote down his address and license number.

“This guy’s not a killer or anything bad,” I said. “He’s more like Nate, except he doesn’t win the lottery every time he plays.” I looked at him. “How does that work, by the way?”

Nate smiled innocently and shrugged.

I shook my head. “Never mind. He’ll probably get fired from his job. From what I can tell, he really needs that job. If you can maybe hook him up with a little cash, you’ll have done another good deed. You know how you love good deeds.”

Nate took the post-it note. “If he’s like me, he’ll feel super happy. Then he’ll come back a few minutes later not knowing what happened. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Nate,” the minister said, then looked at me. “I’ve scheduled a sabbatical for the next two months. If I’m going to make the most of it, you and I need to leave today.”

T
he minister didn’t own
a car. In Nate’s typically selfless manner, he’d bought us that brand new Hummer outside. The perfect vehicle for our crusade against evil.

Nate and the minister shook hands. Then Nate seemed to realize he’d established an all-day precedent and shook my hand, too.

“Say bye to Tara for me,” I said.

“Will do. Good luck out there. Whatever happens, I don’t wanna hear about it.”

As Nate drove away, the minister said, “He’s perhaps the most single-mindedly good person I’ve met in my life.”

“Whereas
I’m
more well rounded.”

He handed me the keys and said, “You drive.”

I had no interest in the minister’s Book of Enoch war. All I wanted was that address.

Time for a little Jenkins guile…

“So where to?” I said lightly. “Maybe I should have a look at that list, so I know where I’m going.”

“Forget it. Take I-75 South, to Columbus.”

Rats.

After getting on the interstate, I said, “Are you seriously going to exorcise these hoppers?”

“Demons,” he said tightly. “Just like you, though unworthy of reprieve. I’m convinced you’re here by God’s will—to help me, and thereby redeem yourself.”

A minute later I said, “Yeah, but are you
really
going to exorcize them?”

“Yes,” he said testily, “I’m really going to. And if it works and they’re banished, then I was right about them being unworthy.”

Nice little bit of sophistry he had going on. Real Cotton Mather stuff, straight from the witch trials. Not every hopper was as bad as Stephen. With the revelations about Rachael and her ties to the Mob, Rose was off the hook. As crimes went, being in bed with the Mob wasn’t exactly a whack-’em and stack-’em offense, but at least the DA had been guilty of something.

“What about rosary and holy water?” I said. “You bring any of that?”

He offered a sad smile at my naiveté. “The Lord is my armor, Dan.” He opened his precious list and told me an address in Columbus. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to clear my mind and prepare.”

The ride south should have taken two and a half hours, but I turned it into three by faking bathroom breaks to buy snacks. The minister didn’t appear to notice. The more we drove, the quieter he got. If I had to guess, he had stage fright. Now he had to stop being a simple priest and turn into The Prophet.

I tried talking about strategies for when we got there. For example, what we’d say when a hopper answered the door (because I couldn’t use my code). He didn’t nod at my suggestions or disagree or offer anything in reply. When I glanced at him, his eyes were shut, and his mouth moved in silent prayer—which meant he probably hadn’t noticed the cherry pie I’d bought him at the last stop.

“Leave it alone, Dan,” he said, eyes still shut.

I placed the pie gently back in the cupholder.

Much like the hopper house in Seattle, the one in Columbus was remote enough you couldn’t see any neighbors through the trees. Large without being ostentatious, right on the shores of the Hoover Reservoir. I wondered if all hopper houses were near water.

There was a car parked out front when we arrived.

“We’re close enough,” I said, and parked where the curve of the long driveway hid most of the big vehicle behind a row of tall hedges. “The other houses may have had cameras hidden outside. I never checked. The last thing we need is the landlord seeing our tags. Then he could learn about Nate.”

The minister nodded impatiently, already unbuckling.

“What are your plans when we get inside?” I said.

“What do you think?” he said, exasperated. “We go in, I cast out the demon, we move on to the next. Very simple.”

I stared at him in wonder. “What if his ride’s a homicidal maniac? You just want to let him go?”

“We’ll figure that out when it happens. Besides, you’ve had a lot of experience with criminals. That’s why you’re here. You can tie him up, then we’ll call the police from a payphone.”

I’d seen payphones in recent years, but precious few.

“I don’t suppose you brought a gun?” I said.

“Don’t be absurd. We’re not shooting anyone. This need of yours to shoot at your problems is a sign of a diseased mind.”

“Fine, you go in first.”

“Of course,” he said and got out.

We walked up the driveway to the front door. There was a keypad system to get in, but I ignored it. I wondered what the landlord would say about a priest showing up and exorcising his guests. Hard to claim it was all gamma rays and science in the face of the minister and his faith.

“Let me do all the talking,” I said, smoothing my hair for some reason.

He snorted. “Are you sure? You’re usually so quiet.”

The minister knocked on the door three times. His jaw clenched and unclenched nervously, transferring his tension to me. I forced myself to take a steadying breath. The door didn’t open. Not even after he tried again, harder and longer.

“I don’t suppose you know the number for that thing?” he said, pointing at the keypad.

I hadn’t told him about Ross’s code, and now wasn’t really the time.

“It’s complicated."

The door cracked open an inch.

“Hello?” a woman said.

I angled for a look through the crack and flashed my most trustworthy smile.

“My code’s messed up,” I said, shaking my head. “I keep entering it and nothing works.”

“Oh … you live here too?”

That was an odd thing to say. Why would a hopper ask if—

The minister barreled his way into the house. The woman—young, slim, completely naked—fell back with a shriek.

Clamping both hands to her head, he shouted, “
I cast you
out of this stolen vessel, demon! Spawn of Satan! Defiler!
”

I stared at him in stunned amazement.

The woman screamed and thrashed, flailing around with her hands and grabbing the minister’s hair.

“
Out,
unclean spirit!
Tremble and flee! Depart, foul transgressor!
”

Though the minister’s words were clearly directed at the woman, his anger spilled onto me, leaving me nauseous and dizzy. I couldn’t look at him. The woman screamed hysterically and kept screaming.

I slammed the door shut.

“Get off me, you fucking perv!” she shouted, breaking away and running up a flight of stairs.

“I cast you out!” he shouted after her.

“Would you calm down?” I said, trying not to laugh. “Can’t you see she’s not a hopper?”

He blinked at me in confusion. “What? Are you sure? But we … oh good grief. Did we pick the wrong house?”

I considered letting him twist there in shock, but we had to go after her. The last thing we needed was the woman calling 911.

“It’s the right house,” I said, pointing at the camera aiming down at us. “Now let’s go.”

I took the steps three at a time and arrived at a landing with a hall going left to right. I chose right, which brought me to the master bedroom. The woman stood shaking a naked man lying on the bed, shouting for him to wake up. She saw me—shrieked—and groped around the nightstand. Possibly for a phone, or possibly the wine bottle she picked up and threw at me. Her aim was off—it thudded harmlessly behind me.

“
Ghah!
” the minister yelled in pain.

When I turned and looked at him, he held his head with one hand while a trickle of blood seeped down his face. He stared jerkily around the room. A second later, his eyes rolled back and he fell on his ass.

The still-naked woman grabbed something red, rubbery, and gross and sent it sailing at us. Terrible aim. It bounced off the wall onto the hardwood floors, where it proceeded to buzz and jiggle around in a slow circle.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” she shouted.

“
Can’t do that ma’am,
” I said in my best Dan Aykroyd. “
We’re on a mission from God.
”

The minister clambered to his feet and shoved unsteadily toward the woman. She screamed and ran for the bathroom, then slammed the door shut.

“Let her go,” I said.

“She hit me with a bottle!”

I examined his head. Like Trevor’s cut, it bled a lot the way head wounds do. But it wasn’t gushing.

“It’s times like this,” I said to him, “you gotta ask yourself:
What would Enoch do?
”

The minister stepped past me and looked at the unconscious man, who didn’t seem asleep so much as out cold. He had a starburst tattoo on one shoulder, long hair, and a thin goatee.

“We have to wake him up to exorcize him,” the minister said. “Otherwise we won’t know if it works.”

I thought about that. “Should we put him in the shower?”

“With that banshee in there throwing things?” he said. “Slap him on the bottom like a baby. Should snap him right out of it.”

“I’m not slapping anyone on the ass,” I said. “You do it.”

“If I touch him…”

He was right. The first time the minister touched me, I’d experienced a kick.

I stared at him a second. “You wearing street clothes under those robes?”

He nodded.

“You wearing a belt?”

He nodded again.

“Then use your belt. Just be careful.”

The minister bit his lip, a study in indecision. Then he reached under his robes and removed his belt.