Sorcerer (8 page)

“Are you Mrs. Wychek?”

“What do you want?”

“My name’s McGrath.  I need to speak to Mr. Wychek, it’s very important.”  Jeff looked at the dark stairway leading to the second floor.  It was filthy and strewn with garbage.  “Could you open the door please?”

“I don’t know you.”

“Ma’am, please, my name is Jeff McGrath and—”

“What do you want with my husband?”

“I need to speak with him about some personal business.”

“What kind of personal business?  If this is about the car payment the bank already did a repo, came and took it a couple nights ago.”

“It’s not about the car.”

“What bill’s it about?”

“It’s not about any bill, I—”

“Then what do you want?”

With a sigh, Jeff rubbed his eyes.  This was ludicrous.  He obviously wasn’t going to get anywhere without turning up the heat.  “Ma’am, I need to speak to your husband, understand?  Now if he’s not home I need you to tell me where I can find him.  This is very important.  I’m not playing games.”

“Get out of here or I’ll call the cops.”

Jeff thought a moment.  “I don’t think Foster Hope would appreciate that.”

After a lengthy pause he heard locks disengaging.  The door opened slowly, but only a crack, the security chain catching.  Through the opening, a middle-aged woman with bleary eyes and a drawn face peeked out at him.  Her hair was mussed and unwashed, her skin pale and unhealthy looking, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.  She also looked deeply frightened.  Her eyes were filled with tears and her lips trembled like a scolded child’s.  “Please,” she whispered, “please, we…I didn’t know, I…”

“It’s all right,” he said, holding his hands up in an effort to calm her.  “I’m not going to hurt you or cause you any trouble.  I just need to speak to Stephen.”

“Please,” she hissed, shaking as tears streamed her face.  “
Please
.”

Jeff forced a swallow.  “Tell me where he is.  I only want to talk.”

“We have kids,” she said, choking on her tears.  “Please, I—”

“I want to help your husband, do you understand?  Tell me where I can find him and I’ll do everything I can to help him make this right with Mr. Hope.”

Her watery eyes seemed to focus for the first time, and her mouth fell open.  “You don’t…You don’t know what’s happening, do you?”

Jeff looked around nervously, as if expecting to find Hope in the shadows, watching him from the top of the stairs.  “Look, I don’t want to be here, but I don’t have any choice.  They’re making me do this.  All I’m supposed to do is talk to your husband and try to convince him to contact Mr. Hope.  That’s all.”

She shook her head, the tears coming faster now.

“Do you know why they’re doing this?  What did he do to you and your husband?  What are they doing to me?”  Jeff placed his hand against the doorframe to steady himself.  “If you know, please Mrs. Wychek, tell me.  What’s happening?  What have we done?  Why us?”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks with a shaking hand, but they were quickly replaced.  “Sometimes,” she said softly, “you don’t have to go looking for the Devil.  Sometimes he goes looking for you.”

Despite the heat, Jeff felt a sudden burst of cold from deep within him.  “Is there anything we can do?”

“Pray?” she asked hopelessly, her hand suddenly fingering a gold cross around her neck.

“Where is your husband, Mrs. Wychek?”

“He’s not my husband anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

“Can you tell me where he is?”

Her sad and frightened eyes looked to the floor.  “Yes,” she whispered.  “God forgive me…but yes.”

*  *  *  *

Moments later Jeff was back in Boston.  There was a slight break in the stifling heat as an enormous bank of storm clouds slowly rolled in off Boston Harbor.  The cab moved through the streets between the theater district and Chinatown, then finally pulled onto a side street and lurched to a stop near a vacant lot strewn with garbage and debris.  The driver pointed to a rotting shell of an apartment building just beyond the lot.  “That’s it.”

“Crazy,” he mumbled, “no one could actually
live
 here.”

“That’s the address you gave me.  You want me to wait again?”

“No.”

Jeff paid him and stepped out.  As he crossed the lot thunder rumbled in the distance and a cool breeze provided an unexpected chill.  He reached the base of the steps and looked up at the dilapidated, graffiti-covered structure.  Most of the windows were blown out and the front doors were missing.  He glanced around.  The neighborhood was deserted.

A drizzle began to fall, startling a congregation of blackbirds perched along the roof into flight.  Jeff watched until they disappeared into the dark clouds overhead.  He slowly forced himself up the front steps.

As he entered what had once been a lobby his eyes adjusted to the sudden change in light.  A variety of lurid smells wafted all around him, and rain trickled in through several cavities in the high ceiling.  A timeworn staircase stood to his right.  Jeff ascended it cautiously, testing each step with his weight before continuing.

When he reached the top he followed a long hallway filled with garbage and the splintered remains of furniture to the first apartment.  The door had rotted from its hinges and collapsed just inside the entrance.  He climbed over the door and into an open area.  Broken pallets and a few discarded empty crates lay scattered about, and upon seeing him, a covey of plump rats scurried off, seeking refuge in corners or small portals previously gnawed in the decaying walls.

A rustling sound diverted Jeff’s attention.  A large piece of tattered plastic hung over one of the windows, rippling in the mounting breeze, and on the floor just beneath it sat a pile of spent liquor bottles.  

“Hello?”  The only reply was the echo of his voice.  “Is anyone here?”

“Joint’s taken,” a voice behind him said suddenly.

Jeff spun round to see a man standing a few feet away.  “Jesus,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.  “You scared the hell out of me.”

“What do you want?”  Keeping a wary distance, the man produced an enormous hunting knife from his belt and brandished it about between them with a slow and threatening arcing motion.

“Take it easy,” Jeff said putting his hands up.  “I don’t want any trouble.”

His eyes widened, as if he were losing sight of him.  “Who are you?”  

It was difficult to tell the man’s age.  His clothes were soiled and worn, his hair and face needed to be washed and he was clearly exhausted.  “McGrath.”

“I don’t know nobody named McGrath.”

“I’m looking for Steven Wychek.”

The man stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Are you Mr. Wychek?” Jeff asked, already wondering if he could outrun this man if need be.  “Do I have the right person?”

The man slowly lowered the knife to his side.  “Nobody knows where I am.  How did you find me?”

“Your wife told me you were hiding here.”

“My…wife…”  His hostility turned to terror.  “My God,” he muttered.  “You…You’re one of them.”

“No, I’m not, I—I’m caught up in this the same as you.”  Confused, Jeff continued to hold his hands up to assure the man that he harbored no bad intentions toward him.  “A man named Foster Hope hired me, he’s forcing me to work for him.”

Wychek raised the knife a bit higher, ready to use it if need be.  

“That’s not necessary, OK?”  Jeff smiled nervously.  “All I want to do is—”

“Stay where you are.”

“I won’t come any closer,” he said, hoping to mask his own fear with a docile tone.  “Relax, OK?  Mr. Hope asked me to tell you that it’s in your best interest to settle your debt with him and that you should contact him as soon as possible.  He just wanted me to deliver that message.  That’s it.”

The man gave a questioning stare.  “You don’t know what you’re into yet, do you?”

“Honestly?” Jeff asked through a sigh.  “No.  I don’t have any idea.”

“You will.”  Wychek moved toward the window, the knife leveled in front of him.  “But by then it’ll be too late.”

Jeff glanced in the direction of the doorway, fairly certain if he made a quick dash for it he could make it outside well ahead of the man.  “What do you owe him?  What does he want from you?”

“Everything.”  Wychek slumped a bit, defeated.  “And I’m tired of running, McGrath.  I’m tired of being afraid.”

“Come with me, and I’ll get in touch with Mr. Hope.  I’m sure we can all sit down and work out an arrangement both of you can live with.”

“You crazy or just dumb as a brick?”

“I’m frightened and confused, same as you.”

“Funny how it all fits together,” he said, as if to himself.  “All I wanted was to get out from under my problems, I…I wanted me and my wife to be free from them, you know?  My drinking, the drugs, my running around, I—I can’t stop, I’m a fuckup, and she—she’s a good woman, my wife.  Too good for me, she never deserved this.  I wanted to get better so we could both be happy…free.  He told me he could help us, told me he could make it all come true.  But it was a trick.  He’s a cruel and evil
fuck
.”  

“Maybe you and I can help each other.”

“Ain’t no help against his kind.”

“He’s powerful, rich and plays demented games with people’s lives, but he’s a man just like you and me.”

“No he’s not.”

“Come with me,” Jeff said again.  “We’ll confront the bastard together and get to the bottom of this.”

Wychek hopelessly bowed his head.  “You tell Foster Hope I’ll see him real soon.”

Before Jeff had a chance to respond, Wychek rushed to the window, and with a horrific scream, launched himself through the plastic drape and plummeted to the street below.

A stomach-churning thud followed.

Jeff ran to the window and saw the carcass of an old refrigerator in the alley below.  Sprawled across the top was Wychek’s broken body.  It flopped over like a rag doll, leaving behind a wide red wake as it slid lifelessly to the ground.

Staggering back, Jeff fell to his knees and vomited.  When the nausea had left him he forced himself back to his feet and staggered from the room.

Ignoring the now heavy rain and a burning sensation deep in his gut, he crossed the vacant lot at a full run.  As he rounded the corner and joined a more congested street he slowed his pace and tried to appear calm.

At the next block he leaned against the corner of a bank, fumbled his cell phone from his belt and frantically punched in the number he’d been given.  It was answered on the first ring, but all Jeff heard was heavy breathing.  “Hello?” he said, voice breaking.  “Hello!”

“Jeff, is that you?” Mr. Hope asked.

“Something terrible has happened!”

“Calm down.  What’s going on?”

“Wychek’s dead,” he said, blurting the words but trying to keep his voice down due to the amount of people passing by.  “He’s dead.”

“I want to be certain I heard you correctly.  Would you repeat that please?”

“Wychek.  Is.  Dead.”

“Dead, you say?”

Jeff wiped rainwater from his face with his free hand, looked out at the street and pressed the phone tighter against his ear.  “
Yes
,” he hissed.  “He threw himself out a fucking window.”

“Excellent work, Jeff.”

“What?”  Jeff spun back against the building.  “Are you out of your mind?”

“You’ve successfully completed your first negotiation.  Unfortunately, I just don’t see it working out for you here at
International Facilitator, Inc.
  Your lack of enthusiasm in this situation clearly shows you don’t possess what it takes to become a permanent member of our team.”

“A man is dead!”

“Yes, how marvelous.  Be that as it may, I’m afraid I’ll have to terminate your employment with us, effective immediately.  However, I am a man of my word, Jeff, and I do plan to live up to my end of our bargain.  You will be paid for your efforts today, as promised, and the compensation will grant you what you asked for, financial independence.  Meet me at the offices and payment will be arranged.”

“I don’t want your money, I want answers!”

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

The line clicked and disconnected.

“Mr. Hope?  Mr. Hope!”  Jeff snapped his phone shut and tried to clear his mind.  He was soaked to the bone and his heart was crashing against his chest with such force he was afraid he might actually be having a heart attack.  He slumped against the building, and despite his trembling hands, managed to flip open his phone and hit redial.

“The number you have reached is not in service,” a pleasant recorded voice announced.  “Please check the number and try again.”

Jeff closed the phone and dropped it into his coat pocket as he fought back tears of anger, shock, frustration and disbelief.  “This isn’t…this can’t be happening.”

He turned, and there on the corner, watching him through the rain, was Ernie Graham.

-10-

If the sight of Jeff hurrying in his direction alarmed him, Ernie Graham showed no signs of it as he stood statue-still in the downpour.  When Jeff was within reach, he grabbed Graham’s arm and squeezed tight, not sure if he’d intended to hurt him or if he was only hanging on for dear life.  “
You
,” he snarled.  “What do you know about these people?”

He stared at him dully.  “What people?”

“Don’t fuck with me.”  Jeff turned and started them both down the street, hand still clamped on Graham’s arm.  “You told me to stay away from Jessica Bell.  You said you heard things, saw things, knew things.”

“You’re hurting my arm.”

“Tough shit, start talking.”

“Where are we going?”

As they reached the first alley they’d come to, his question was answered.  About halfway through, Jeff spun him around and pushed him against the wall.  Ernie slammed the bricks, grimaced and began to cough.  

“It didn’t have to be you!” Graham said.  “It could’ve been somebody else!”

“What does that mean?”  

He doubled over and coughed harder until he hacked up a big ball of phlegm.  “It didn’t have to be you,” he said again, spitting it out.  “You could’ve been kinder to me, you—”